The senator hesitated for once. “It’s got nothin’ to do with the proprieties,” said Mrs. Brackett, sternly, “nor what he was to her, nor her to him; it’s a plain case of humanity and--” “What is the nature of the sickness?” asked the senator. “It’s fever--” “Is it contagious?” asked the senator. “No, it ain’t!” almost shrieked the old lady. “And what if it was?” “Of course if it were contagious she couldn’t go,” said the senator. “It ain’t contagious, and, what’s more, he once laid down his life for her on the log, that time.” “If you assure me the fever is not contagious--” “You’ll let her come--” “It seems nonsense,” said the senator. “They are only children, and I don’t want her to get silly ideas.” “Only children!” exclaimed Mrs. Brackett. “Senator, give me the troubles of the grown-ups, childbirth, and losing the first-born with none to follow, the losing of husband and mother, and the approach of old age,--give me them and I’ll bear them, but spare me the sorrows and trials of little children which we grown-ups ain’t strong enough to bear. You can say I said so,” she finished defiantly. The senator bowed in agreement. “I believe you are right,” he said. “I will take you home in my carriage, Mrs.--” “Brackett,” said she, with pride. The senator stepped into the hall and raised his voice the least trifle. “Daughter!” She answered from several rooms away, and came running. Her hands were inky, and she held a letter. She was no longer the timid little girl of the island, for somehow that escapade had emancipated her. She had waited for a few days in expectation of damnation, but, that failing to materialize, had turned over a leaf in her character, and became such a bully at home that the family and servants loved her more and more from day to day. She was fourteen at this time; altogether exquisite and charming and wayward. “Aladdin O’Brien is very sick, daughter,” said the senator, “and we are going to see him.” “And don’t tell him that you didn’t come to ask after him yesterday,” said Mrs. Brackett, defiantly, “because I said you did. I had my reasons,” she went on, “and you can say I said so.” Margaret ran up-stairs to get her hat. She was almost wild with excitement and foreboding of she knew not what. The letter which she had been writing fell from her hand. She picked it up, looked hastily at the superscription, “Mr. Peter Manners, Jr.,” and tore it into pieces. IX