I sprang down at once; in a second I was by my father, with my arms round his neck, my cheek to his. He bore no sign of external injury; but his brow was ashy pale; his look was dim; his lips were white. He recognized me, for he looked from me to Cornelius, with a glance that lit suddenly. The young man laid his hand on my shoulder; tears ran down his face, and his lips trembled as he said, "May God forsake me when I forsake your child!" My father made an effort; he raised himself on one elbow. "Tell Kate--" he began; but the words that should have followed died away in a mere incoherent murmur: he sank back; there was a sound of heavy breathing; then followed a deep stillness. I felt the hand of Cornelius leaning more heavily upon my shoulder. "Sarah!" he said, looking towards the door, and speaking in a whisper. She came forward, took my hand, and led me away. She wept bitterly; I looked at her, and shed not one tear. I know not what I felt then; it was dread, it was agony, stupor, and grief. Alas! I learned in that hour how bitter a chalice even a poor little child may be called upon to drink; how early all may learn to feel the weight of that hand which, heavy as it seems, chastens not in its wrath, but in its tenderness. CHAPTER II. My father was dead. He who had kissed me a few hours before,--whose return--God help me, unhappy child!--I had expected, but whose caresses had ceased for ever, for whose coming I might listen in vain,--my father, who loved me so very dearly, was dead. Of what had befallen me, of the change in my destinies, this was all I clearly understood, and this, alas! I understood but too well. When Cornelius came to me, as I sat alone in the back parlour, where Sarah had taken and left me, when he said, "Margaret, you must go with Sarah!" I neither refused nor resisted. I asked not even why or where I was going. I had been a proud and obstinate child, I was now humble and submissive. I felt, in a manner I cannot define, it was so acute and deep, that my power was over. He who knew not how to deny aught to my entreaties or tears was lying in the next room, cold and inanimate: nor voice, nor embrace of his child would move him now.