town. Well; I had reason to suspect
—to imagine—I had better say nothing about
it, too. But I felt sure of sympathy from
Mr. Bell. I don't know that he gave me
much strength. He has lived an easy life
in his college all his days. But he has been
as kind as can be. And it is owing to him
we are going to Milton."

"How?" said Margaret.

"Why, he has tenants, and houses, and
mills there; so, though he dislikes the place
—too bustling for one of his habits—he is
obliged to keep up some sort of connection;
and he tells me that he hears there is a good
opening for a private tutor there."

"A private tutor!" said Margaret, looking
scornful: "What in the world do manufacturers
want to do with the classics, or literature,
or the accomplishments of a gentleman?"

"Oh," said her father, "some of them really
seem to be fine fellows, conscious of their
own deficiencies, which is more than many a
man at Oxford is. Some want resolutely to
learn, though they have come to man's estate.
Some want their children to be better
instructed than they themselves have been. At
any rate, there is an opening, as I have said,
for a private tutor: Mr. Bell has
recommended me to a Mr. Thornton, a tenant of
his and a very intelligent man, as far as I can
judge from his letters. And in Milton,
Margaret, I shall find a busy life, if not a happy
one, and people and scenes so different that I
shall never be reminded of Helstone."

There was the secret motive, as Margaret
knew from her own feelings. It would be
different. Discordant as it was—with almost
a detestation for all she had ever heard of the
north of England, the manufacturers, the
people, the wild and bleak country—there
was yet this one recommendation—it would
be different from Helstone, and could never
remind them of that beloved place.

"When do we go?" asked Margaret, after
a short silence.

"I do not know exactly. I wanted to talk
it over with you. You see, your mother
knows nothing about it yet: but I think in a
fortnight—after my deed of resignation is
sent in, I shall have no right to remain."

Margaret was almost stunned.

"In a fortnight!"

"No—no, not exactly to a day. Nothing
is fixed," said her father, with anxious
hesitation, as he noticed the filmy sorrow that
came over her eyes and the sudden change in
her complexion. But she recovered herself
immediately.

"Yes, papa, it had better be fixed soon and
decidedly, as you say. Only mamma to know
nothing about it! It is that that is the great
perplexity."

''Poor Maria!" replied Mr. Hale tenderly;
"Poor, poor Maria! Oh, if I were not
married—if I were but myself in the world, how
easy it would be! As it is—Margaret, I dare
not tell her!"

"No," said Margaret sadly," I will do it.
Give me till to-morrow evening to choose my
time. Oh, papa!" cried she with sudden
passionate entreaty, " say—tell me it is a nightmare
—a horrid dream—not the real waking
truth! You cannot mean that you are
really going to leave the Church—to give up
Helstone—to be for ever separate from me,
from mamma—led away by some delusion—
some temptation! You do not really
mean it!"

Mr. Hale sat in rigid stillness while she
spoke. Then he looked her in the face, and
said in a slow, hoarse, measured way—"I do
mean it, Margaret. You must not deceive
yourself into doubting the reality of my
words, my fixed intention and resolve." He
looked at her in the same steady, stony manner
for some moments after he had done
speaking. She, too, gazed back with pleading
eyes before she would believe that it was
irrevocable. Then she arose and went, without
another word or look, towards the door.
As her fingers were on the handle, he called
her back. He was standing by the fireplace,
shrunk and stooping; but as she came near
he drew himself up to his full height, and,
placing his hands on her head, he said,
solemnly:

"The blessing of God be upon thee, my
child."

"And may He restore you to His Church,"
responded she, out of the fulness of her heart.
The next moment she feared lest this answer
to his blessing might be irreverent, wrong—
might hurt him as coming from his daughter,
and she threw her arms round his neck. He
held her to him for a minute or two. She
heard him murmur to himself, "The
martyrs and confessors have had even more pain
to bear—I will not shrink."

"They were startled by hearing Mrs. Hale
inquiring for her daughter. They started
asunder in the full consciousness of all that
was before them. Mr. Hale hurriedly said—
"Go, Margaret, go. I shall be out all to-morrow.
Before night you will have told
your mother."

"Yes." she replied. And she returned to
the drawing-room in a stunned and dizzy
state.

CORNISH STONE.

IF you would study any very very hard
stones, go to Cornwall. Whether you will
read sermons in the stones depends
principally on yourself; but the stones are
there. You may classify them as you
please into white and coloured, uniform and
variegated, metalliferous and non-metalliferous,
granular and smooth. At any rate,
however you group them, it is noteworthy
how many useful purposes they subserve.
Take granite and serpentine, for instance;
each may be regarded as the type of a class;
the one class comprising rough stones