"If all public men are equally unhappy in their domestic relations, God help them!" Philip replied petulantly. "Neither name nor fame will ever remunerate a man for such a sacrifice."

"Ethelind is too young, too inexperienced in the ways of the world, to enter as some women do with a man's enthusiasm, and more than a man's zeal, into the high holy aspirations which form the moving spring of great men's actions. She only sees you now devoting your time and talents to your country, and she grows jealous over what she believes should be exclusively her own. In time she will grow wiser, and learn to be as proud of you as we all are,—as I am."

"You would never have been jealous of me, Ann,” he exclaimed vehemently. "Think what a help your courage and council would have been to me. There are times when a man needs comfort and encouragement in the arduous toils of a public life. He craves for sympathy and assistance, just as a thirsty traveller craves for water in the hot desert."

"And do not women, think you, crave also for sympathy in those domestic cares which men despise and laugh at, but which are as arduous and wearing to a young thing like Ethel as your larger sphere of duties is to you? Believe me, whatever you require in a wife, Ethel is fully capable of giving you, Philip; but the gifts, be they great or small, must be reciprocal."

Philip heaved a deep sigh. plead so heartily for Ethelind.

"Ann," he said, "it is good of you to I, of all people, have no right to darken your lot with my grievances; I wish I could learn to bear them as bravely as you have done your own."

Ann put out her thin hand on the small iron cross which rests upon a gravestone in that little churchyard. "Yes, the shadow of the cross has fallen on me," she said slowly; "but as the day creeps on, so the shadow lessens." She rose up to go away. "Come, busy bee," she added, "it is time you and I were moving." She stooped down to tie on the child's sun-bonnet, and gather up the scattered daisies into her little basket. Philip laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Ann," he said very earnestly, "if any one can help us, it is you. Will you come to us this autumn, at Redenham? I know what I am asking; but for Ethel's sake, for my child's sake, do not deny me." Ann's sallow face flushed, and then faded back to a deadly white. "Never mind," Philip said hastily, "I know you will do so if you can; but do not promise."

"Yes, Philip," she said at last, in a low voice, "if Ethel asks me, I will."

"God bless you," Philip replied heartily; and seizing his child, he kissed her warm little cheek. "I must go now," he said hurriedly, looking at his watch, "or I shall miss the last boat;" and a moment after he had disappeared beyond the churchyard-gate.

Barbara told Ann Philip's fly had been waiting for him more than

twenty minutes. She had no patience with young nervous wives, who would neither leave home themselves nor give their husbands a moment's peace out of their sight.

CHAPTER XXXI.

AFTER Lady Redenham's visit to Brighton an irrepressible longing took possession of Mrs. Atherton to return to Wylminstre; and she and Margaret, at the special desire of John Waldron and his sister, took up their residence in the unoccupied rooms of the old house in Acre Lane.

It was far on in spring, and so suddenly as to take even those about her by surprise, that Mrs. Atherton passed away; even Ralph could not be summoned in time. Of their scattered family, Ralph and Margaret could only follow their mother, and lay her beside their father's grave in the gray old cathedral-cloisters: for Grace was at Naples, and Ethelind, from whom the intelligence had as yet been studiously kept, was lying ill at Redenham, with the long-coveted one-week-old heir sleeping in his little cot beside her.

Margaret turned away from the dead to think and act for the living; for her uncle was gradually becoming more feeble, and Ralph was looking careworn, and gray hairs were prematurely visible in his brown curly hair.

The rector of Grafton was dead, and the curate, who in his two years' residence had done so much for the parish, had again to search for a home, with the additional care of a delicate wife and two little infants to provide for. The mastership of the grammar-school at Fairleigh was vacant, and Margaret and her brother, as soon as Mrs. Atherton's funeral was concluded, went there to reconnoitre. Katie, in her lonely parsonage, read and re-read Margaret's graphic description of the old school-house and its curious tumble-down old chapel, until she almost fancied shr could see it; and discussed all the pros and cons with their eccentric old neighbour Mr. Owen, who had taken an intense interest in the energetic young curate and his bright hopeful little wife. After a sharp contest, Ralph came out the successful competitor; and, fetching Katie from Grafton, with Margaret to assist, the old school-house soon grew into something like decent order. Fond as Margaret was of children, she became at last quite enthusiastic over the long rows of little curtainless beds, with their white coverlets showing so distinctly against the dark wainscoted walls and the high Gothic windows, through which the morning sun shone down so cheerfully on the rosy faces beneath. There was something, too, quite awe-inspiring in the large gloomy schoolroom, where, on a raised dais, Ralph sat enthroned in his high-backed chair in the imposing dignity of cap and gown.

Leaving Susannah to assist Katie in her nursery, Margaret returned to Wylminstre, where her uncle's increasing weakness rendered her presence needful to him and to her aunt.

VOL. II.

N N

Dr. Harford had finished his round of patient-seeing, and was sitting beside his wife's work-table with the newspaper in his hand.

"John Waldron told me to-day," he said, "that Charles Sedgeley has proposed again, and Margaret Atherton has refused him."

"Poor fellow! and after so many years' constancy. Margaret is no longer a girl. If she does not take care, she will end in being an old maid, like her aunt Sarah."

"There are few men worthy of Margaret Atherton," the doctor replied. "I never met with any one like her. How invaluable she is to her family! By the way, I wonder what has become of young Vyvian? One hears nothing of him now."

"He was here a year or so ago," Mrs. Harford said; "for I remember both John and Sarah Waldron saw him. She can hardly be keeping single for his sake. Constancy and true love are well enough, but even a virtue may be exaggerated. Besides, he used her very badly."

"I suppose, from all I hear, he was awfully passionate and hotheaded; and her father and brother must have thought so, or they would not so entirely have broken with him, after his having for years been like one of the family."

"Margaret had from a child a marvellous influence over him. A word or look from her could check or control him instantly. When his regiment went to India, the Dean would not allow any formal engagement, though to all intents and purposes they were so. I think, much as he liked him, he had not quite sufficient confidence to trust his favourite child with him; besides, they were both very young. The sudden death of his uncle brought him back unexpectedly to England, to look after the property to which he was heir-at-law. He had heard rumours that Margaret was engaged to Charles Sedgeley. So he posted off to Wylminstre directly after his arrival, and met Sedgeley coming out of the Deanery. He begged hard to see Miss Atherton alone. What followed I cannot tell, for it was kept a profound secret by them all; but from that day to this Guy Vyvian, I know, has had nothing to do with the Ather

tons.

"For my part," Mrs. Harford added, "I must say I pity poor Charles Sedgeley; and I think Margaret would show her good sense if she forgot all about this boy-and-girl love, and rewarded him for his long-tried constancy."

Spring and the bright summer's sun stole over the loving watchers by the sick-bed of John Waldron, and then no further anxiety harassed them on his account. The active yet peaceful tenor of his life had closed in as quiet and peaceful a death-bed. Crowds followed him to his grave his own large circle of friends, besides the rich and poor of Wylminstre, each anxious to testify their respect and sorrow. Sarah Waldron would deny no one; and Ralph and Margaret supported their aunt as she followed the unpalled coffin to the little graveyard, which almost bordered the orchard at the bottom of the garden in Acre Lane.

A pin's fall might have been heard as that large motley assembly gathered round the open grave. Margaret almost started as the clear, soft, and not unmusical notes of a woman's voice broke the stillness, in earnest supplication for all present. Reverently every hat was lifted until the voice ceased, and the crowd turned away to the small gloomy chapel adjoining, where Margaret and her brother listened impatiently to the strange disjointed addresses which occasionally broke the stillness of that long hour's exercise. By Mr. Waldron's will his property, after amply providing for his sister, so as to insure a continuance of many of his charities, was to be equally divided between Ralph and Margaret, and which, if it did not constitute a fortune, was. at least enough to enable Margaret liberally to assist Grace and Frank, and to set Ralph's mind at ease in the maintenance of his increasing family.

CHAPTER XXXII.

DURING the following two years, diversified occasionally by visits to Fairleigh, assisting Ralph in his favourite project,-the restoration of the old chapel,-Margaret's home was with her aunt Sarah in Acre Lane. Twice she had found her way to Deignton; once to assist Mr. Weldon in meeting the difficulty of overflowing numbers in his school. Margaret suggested a trained master to assist them.

Mr. Weldon shook his head. "He will set us all to rights. Rachel Grey will stand no chance. He will new-fangle all our old-fashioned schemes, and turn the school topsy-turvy."

Margaret could suggest no other solution of their difficulty. Little boys had grown into young men ; the night-school overflowed. It was clear that it had outgrown Rachel Grey entirely.

Before quitting Deignton, Margaret had carried her point, and had seen the master himself installed under the vicarage roof, and coöperating very harmoniously with Rachel in the daily work. Six months later, Margaret was again a guest of the vicar; but this time it was to be present at the marriage of the grave sedate Rachel Grey to the clever, merry, light-hearted trained master, who had won the hearts of his pupils, and the staid quiet schoolmistress into the bargain.

Margaret was rich enough now to keep her own little pony-carriage, in which she could drive about the neighbourhood with her aunt, who would never have consented to such a luxury on her own account.

"Aunt Sarah," Margaret said, slackening the speed of her ponies as they crested the summit of a green hill on the bright breezy downs which surrounded the old city, "I had a note from Ethelind this afternoon. She and Philip wish me to pay them a visit in town. It is the first time she has asked any of us; and though I am not much used to a gay London life, I should not like to refuse. So when you go up to the yearly meeting, I must go with you."

A pleasant smile played over aunt Sarah's face. "I am very glad

to hear it," she said. "I dare say that dear child needs thee. Margaret, thou must go."

"Then, too, I had a long letter from Grace, written in such capital spirits. They had fallen in several times abroad with Mrs. Leigh and her daughter, who are just returned to England, and with a Lord Redcar, who is a great friend of the Redenhams; and she had again met Mr. Chudleigh, the nephew of Mr. Weldon, with whom she made acquaintance at Deignton."

"And does she say nothing of returning home? I am old-fashioned and English; and I should not wish that dear child to marry a foreigner."

Margaret laughed. "We have not much to fear on the score of foreigners, aunt," she said. "In spite of her four years' residence abroad, Gracie's sympathies are English; and if there is truth in these rumours of wars, the Aylmers must of necessity return home."

Aunt Sarah heaved a deep sigh. Margaret could not see her face, hidden as it was in the depths of her dark drab bonnet; but the grave sadness of her voice almost startled her niece.

"I could wish, then, that, like thy uncle's, my race had run out, Margaret, dear child; then, I do think, even I should feel thankful that thy engagement with Guy Vyvian had never been renewed."

The lash of her whip fell with unusual violence across the backs of Miss Atherton's spirited little ponies, and the next minute they were cantering along the smooth turf on the brow of the hill, until they broke into the high road to Wylminstre.

Leaving her aunt at her friend Miss Wilkins's, at Wandsworth, Margaret accepted that lady's offered carriage, and drove to Belgrave Square. Most joyfully Lady Redenham welcomed Margaret, and listened to the latest news of Grace and Ralph.

"I hope my old-fashioned dressmaker at Wylminstre will not shock you," Margaret said, as she and her sister watched Valerie unfolding the new dresses which had made aunt Sarah and Old Betty hold up their hands in astonishment. "I would not willingly call up a remark that your sister, Ethie, was too antediluvian for Belgravia.”

"As if that could happen!" Ethel replied. "As if, so quiet and good as your taste is, it could ever be outré or Gothic. As to ornaments, Valerie has an unlimited order to supply you from my store."

Margaret smiled. "Aunt Sarah always impressed on me," she said, "that a meek and quiet spirit' was a woman's best ornament. If I do not possess that, I certainly have few others."

Ethelind's eyes fell, as Margaret spoke, on an old-fashioned ring with a quaint device of two hands locked over a single and very bright ruby of unusual size. "Oh, Maggie," she said, "how well I remember that ring! Years and years ago, as long back almost as I can remember! But surely," and she looked more closely, "there used to be a little pendant? What has become of the heart, Maggie?"