“I am so glad to come,” said Harry, with all his heart in his voice. He wrapt her in the warm furs, feeling somehow, with a delicious sense of calm and security, that, for the moment, she belonged to him. “The morning is so fine, and the ponies are so fresh, that I think we might take a turn round the park,” he said. “You are not afraid of them?” “Oh no! the bonnie little beasties,” cried Margaret, leaning back with languid enjoyment. She had often harnessed the rough pony at Loch Arroch with her own hands, and driven him to the head of the loch without thinking of fear, though she looked now so dainty and delicate; but she did not feel inclined to tell Harry this, or even to recall to herself so homely a recollection. Margaret had been intended by nature for a fine lady. She lay back in the luxurious little carriage, wrapped in the furred mantle, and felt herself whisked through the sunny wintry air to the admiration of all beholders, with a profound sense of enjoyment. She liked the comfort dearly. She liked the dreamy pleasure which was half of the mind, and half of the body. She liked the curtseys of the gatekeepers, and the glances of the stray walkers, who looked after her, she thought, with envy. She felt it natural that she should thus be surrounded by things worthy, and pleasant, and comfortable. Even the supreme gratification of the young attendant by her side, whose infatuation began to shew itself so clearly in his eyes, was a climax of pleasure to Margaret, which she accepted easily without fear of the consequences. Yes, she thought, he was falling in love with her, poor boy; and it is seldom unpleasant to be fallen in love with. Most probably his people would put a stop, to it, and as she did not mean to give him what she called “any encouragement,” there would be no harm done. Whereas, on the other hand, if his people did not interfere, there was always the chance that it might come to something. Margaret did not mean any harm--she was only disposed to take the Scriptural injunction as her rule, and to let the morrow care for the things of itself. She lay back in the little carriage with the grey feather in her hat swaying like her slight figure, and Sibby held fast in her arms. “I feel as if I were in a nest,” she said, when Harry asked tenderly if she felt the cold; and thus they flew round the park, where a little stir of Spring was visible in the rough buds, and where here and there one dewy primrose peeped forth in a sheltered nook--the ponies’ hoofs ringing, and their heads tossing, and their bells tinkling--Harry lost in a foolish joy beyond expression, and she wrapped in delicious comfort. He was thinking altogether of her, she almost altogether of herself--and of her child, who was another self. “I have enjoyed it so much,” she said softly, as he helped her to get out in front of the hall door. “I do not think I ever spent so happy a morning,” Harry said very low.