Her husband started at this echo of the thoughts for which he was at the moment painfully rebuking himself. He had nothing to say; but gave his greeting in a brotherly kiss, like that which he had offered on his marriage with her sister, and on his entrance upon his home. "How quiet, how very quiet she is!" exclaimed Hester, an Margaret left the room, after a few words on the events of the evening, and a calm good-night. "I hope it is all right. I hope she is quite satisfied." "Satisfied is the word," said her husband. "People are quiet when they are relieved--calm when they are satisfied--people like Margaret. It is only great minds, I believe, which feel real satisfaction." Hester gave him pain by a deep sigh. She was thinking how seldom, and for how short a time, she had ever felt real satisfaction. "And how often, and for how long," she asked, "do great minds find themselves in that heaven?" "By the blessing of God, not seldom, I trust," replied he; "though not so often as, by obeying their nature, they might. Intellectual satisfaction is perhaps not for this world, except in a few of the inspired hours of the Newtons and the Bacons, who are sent to teach what the human intellect is. But as often as a great mind meets with full moral sympathy--as often as it is loved in return for love--as often as it confides itself unreservedly to the good Power which bestowed its existence, and appointed all its attributes, I imagine it must repose in satisfaction." "Then satisfaction ought to be no new feeling to Margaret," said Hester. "She always loves every one: she meets with sympathy wherever she turns; and I believe she has faith enough for a martyr, without knowing it. Ought not she--must not she, have often felt real satisfaction?" "Yes." "I wonder you dole out your words so sparingly about such a being as Margaret," said Hester, resentfully. "I can tell you, Edward, though you take so coolly the privilege of having such a one so nearly connected with you, you might search the world in vain for her equal. You little know the wealth of her heart and soul, Edward. I ask you whether she does not deserve to feel full satisfaction of conscience and affections, and you just answer `Yes,' with as much languor as if I had asked you whether the clock has struck eleven yet! I can tell you this--I have said in my own heart, and just to Morris, for years, that the happiest man of his generation will be he who has Margaret for a wife: and here you, who ought to know this, give me a grudging `Yes,' in answer to the first question, arising out of my reverence for Margaret, that I ever asked you!" "You mistake me," replied Hope, in a tone of gentleness which touched her very soul. "One's words may be restrained by reverence as well as by want of heart. I regard Margaret with a reverence which I should not have thought it necessary to put into words for your conviction."