“Do you think you are right to leave your brother just at this moment, when he is settling down?” Edgar said. A little cloud rose upon Margaret’s face. Did not she know better than anyone how foolish it was? “Ah!” she said, “but if granny is dying, as they say, I must see her,” and the ready tears sprung to her eyes. Edgar was so touched by her looks, that, though it was dreadfully against his own interest, he tried again. “Of all the women in the world,” he said, “she is the most considerate, the most understanding. It is a long and an expensive journey, and your life, she would say, is of more importance than her dying.” He ventured to look her in the face as he spoke these words, and Margaret grew crimson under his gaze. “I do not see how it can affect my life, if I am away for a week or two,” she said lightly, yet with a tone which showed him that her mind was made up. Perhaps he thought she was prudently retiring to be quit of Harry--perhaps withdrawing from a position which became untenable; or why might it not be pure gratitude and love to the only mother she had known in her life? Anyhow, whatever might be the reason, there was no more to be said. I will not attempt to describe the feelings of Harry Thornleigh, when he found that Margaret had gone away, and gone with Edgar. He came back to Lady Mary raving and white with rage, to pour out upon her the first outburst of his passion. “The villain!--the traitor!--the low, sneaking rascal!” Harry cried, foaming. “He has made a catspaw of Gussy and a fool of me. We might have known it was all a lie and pretence. He has carried her off under our very eyes.”