“Shocking thought! But you do not believe in such a sleep? Surely, Margaret, you believe in life eternal?” “Would I did not!” “O Margaret!--but you are sick; you are very feverish. Your eyeballs glare like coals of fire; your face seems charged with blood. I am afraid you are going to have another attack, like the last.” “Be not afraid. I have no such fear.” “I will sit with you, at least,” said the kind-hearted woman. “Nay, that I must positively forbid, Mrs. Thackeray; I will not suffer it. I will not sit with YOU. Go you to church. You will be late. Do not waste your time on me. I mean to ramble among the hills this morning. THAT, I think, will do me more good than anything else. There, I am sure--there only--I will find peace.” The worthy widow shook her head doubtfully. “But I am sure of it,” said Margaret. “You will see. Peace, peace--the repose of the heart--the slumber of the brain!--I shall find all there!” Mrs. Thackeray, finding her inflexible, rose to depart, but with some irresoluteness. “If you would let me walk with you, Margaret--” “No! no!--dear Mrs. Thackeray--I thank you very much; but, with a mood such as mine, I shall be much better alone.” “Well, if you are resolved--” “I am resolved! never more so.” These words were spoken in tones which might have startled a suspicious mind. But the widow was none. “God bless you!” she said, kissing her at parting. “I will see you when I come from church.” “Will you?” said Margaret, with a significant but sad smile. Then, suddenly rising, she exclaimed:-- “Let me kiss you, dear Mrs. Thackeray, and thank you again, before you go. You have been very kind to me, very kind, and you have my thanks and gratitude.” Mrs. Thackeray was touched by her manner. This was the first time that the proud spirit of Margaret Cooper had ever offered such an acknowledgment. It was one that the gentle and unremitting kindnesses of the widow amply deserved. After renewing her promise to call on her return from church, Mrs. Thackeray took her departure.