"How do you mean, a stronger interest?" asked Hester, trying to command her voice. "Tell me what you mean, Margaret." "I mean," said Margaret, steadily, "that no one is so much attached to Mr Hope as you are." "I think," said Margaret, after a pause, "that Mr Hope has a high respect and strong regard for you." She paused again, and then added, "If I believed anything more, I would tell you." When Hester could speak again, she said, gently and humbly, "I assure you, Margaret, I never knew the state of my own mind till this last night. If I had been aware--" "If you had been aware, you would have been unlike all who ever really loved, if people say true. Now that you have become aware, you will act as you _can_ act--nobly--righteously. You will struggle with your feelings till your mind grows calm. Peace will come in time." "Do you think there is no hope?" "Consider his state." "But if he should recover? Oh, Margaret, how wicked all this is! While he lies there, we are grieving about me! What a selfish wretch I am!" Margaret had nothing to reply, there seemed so much truth in this. Even she reproached herself with being exclusively anxious about her sister, when such a friend might be dying; when a life of such importance to many was in jeopardy. "I could do anything, I could bear anything," said Hester, "if I could be sure that nobody knew. But you found me out, Margaret, and perhaps--" "I assure you, I believe you are safe," said Margaret. "You can hide nothing from me. But, Mrs Grey--and nobody except myself, has watched you like Mrs Grey--has gone away, I am certain, completely deceived. But, Hester! my own precious sister, bear with one word from me! Do not trust too much to your pride." "I do trust to _my_ pride, and I will," replied Hester, her cheeks in a glow. "Do you suppose I will allow all in this house, all in the village, to be pitying me, to be watching how I suffer, when no one supposes that he gave me cause? It is not to be endured, even in the bare thought. No. If you do not betray me--" "I betray you?" "Well, well! I know you will not: and then I am safe. _My_ pride I can trust to, and I will." "It will betray you," sighed Margaret. "I do not want you to parade your sorrow, God knows! It will be better borne in quiet and secrecy. What I wish for you is, that you should receive this otherwise than as a punishment, a disgrace in your own eyes for something wrong. You have done nothing wrong, nothing that you may not appeal to God to help you to endure. Take it as a sorrow sent by Him, to be meekly borne, as what no earthly person has any concern with. Be superior to the opinions of the people about us, instead of defying them. Pride will give you no peace: resignation will."