"I have a plan of life, too," said Margaret. "It is to do the duty that lies nearest at hand; and the duty that lies nearest at hand is, to keep you up to yours. After this, there is one which lies almost as close, I cannot leave Hester and Edward till this crisis in their fortunes is past. I am bound to them for the present." "What are their claims to mine?" "Nothing, if they were fortunate, as I trust they yet may be;--nothing, if you had followed your plan of life up to the point when we may carry it out together. We are wrong, Philip, in even thinking of what you say. You must go and study law, and you must go without me. Indeed, I could not be happy to join you yet. Your good name would suffer from what Mrs Rowland might then say. Your future prospects would suffer from the interruption of your preparation for your profession. I should feel that I had injured you, and deserted my own duty. Indeed, Philip, I could not be happy." "And how happy do you imagine we shall be apart?" Margaret gave him a look which said what words could not--what it was to be assured of his love. What, it seemed to ask, could all the evil tongues in the world do to poison this joy? "Besides," said she, "I have the idea that I could not be spared; and there is great pleasure in that vanity. Edward and Hester cannot do without me at present." "You may say so at any future time." "No: when the right time comes, they will not want me. Oh, Philip! you are grieved for them, and you long to see them prosperous. Do not tempt me to desert them now. They want my help; they want the little money I have; they want my hands and head. Let this be your share of the penalty Mrs Rowland imposes upon us all--to spare me to them while their adversity lasts." "I would not be selfish, Margaret--I would not trespass upon your wishes and your duty, but the truth is, I sometimes fear that I may have some heavier penalty even than this to pay for Priscilla's temper. Ah! you wonder what can be heavier. Remember she has put misunderstanding between us before." "But she never can again. Ours was then merely a tacit understanding. Now, supposing me ever to hear what she may hint or say, do you imagine I should give the slightest heed to it? I would not believe her news of a person I had never seen; and do you think she can make the slightest impression on me with regard to you." "It seems unreasonable at this moment; but yet, I have a superstitious dread of the power of spirits of evil." "Superstitious, indeed! I defy them all, now that we have once understood each other. If she were able to do far more than she can--if she could load the winds with accusations against you--if she could haunt my dreams, and raise you up in visions mocking at me--I believe she could not move me now. Before, I blamed myself--I thought I was lost in vanity and error: now that I have once had certainty, we are safe."