“Dearest friend, do not suffer that thought to disturb your peace of mind,” he replied tenderly; “they shall be mine; until their father’s return I will be a parent to them, and if he come not, Margaret—still they will be mine. I have wealth, and how freely it shall be used for their advantage and happiness you surely cannot doubt. My life has been a lonely one—they will cheer its decline”—he paused as if irresolute whether to proceed—“I waited long and in vain for that letter, Margaret—it came not!” It was the first allusion made to their former love. She feebly pressed the hand which held hers: “It was written, Richard—there came no answer.” “It _was_ written then—thank God for that!” he exclaimed. A cold shudder crept over the frame of Margaret. “Ah! I see it all,” she said. “Richard, we were betrayed! but may God forgive him, as I do!” There was no reply; but stooping down Lelland imprinted a kiss upon her cold brow, and turning away, the strong man wept as a little child! Once more he approached the bed. “Give your children to me, Margaret; I swear to you I will faithfully protect and cherish them. I shall never marry, and my whole life shall be devoted to them.” A sweet smile illumined her features. “Yes, Richard, they are yours. For my sake forgive their father, and should he return, O, I beseech you, lend him your counsel, and say to him all that I would say—” she paused—“perhaps he will tear the children from you; if so, at a distance watch over them, and protect them when they require it. Now, my friend, call them to me; I would say a few words to them, and I feel my strength rapidly failing.” Mary and Margaret remained with their mother near an hour, and then Lelland was hastily summoned to the chamber of the dying. She was already speechless, but with a look of ineffable sweetness, she turned her eyes first upon her children, then upon Lelland; with her little strength she placed their hands within his, her lips moved as if in prayer, celestial beauty overspread her countenance, and the weary soul of Margaret was at rest in the bosom of her God. Soon after the last melancholy rites Lelland placed the girls at school, under the care of a most excellent woman whom he engaged to accompany them. Not a day passed that he did not see them, and on Saturdays he took them on pleasant excursions into the country, as much as possible striving to divert their minds from dwelling upon their recent loss. In the meanwhile he took every measure he could possibly devise to discover Mr. Wingate—but for many months in vain, his disappearance was veiled in impenetrable mystery.