"Precisely so," answered Kate. "That is just what mother says of her, and yet nearly all the village are ready to fall down and worship her." "Let them, then," said Mag; "I have no objections, provided they keep their molten calf to themselves. No one wants her here. But what is it about her?--tell me." Briefly then Kate told her how Mr. Hamilton was, and for a long time had been, in the habit of spending one evening every week with Mrs. Carter; and that people, not without good cause, were already pointing her out as the future mistress of the homestead. "Never, never!" cried Mag vehemently. "Never shall she come here. She our mother indeed! It shall not be, if I can prevent it." After a little further conversation, Kate departed, leaving Mag to meditate upon the best means by which to avert the threatened evil. What Kate had told her was true. Mr. Hamilton had so many questions to ask concerning his old classmates, and Mrs. Carter had so much to tell, that, though they had worked industriously all winter, they were not through yet; neither would they be until Mrs. Carter found herself again within the old homestead. The night following Kate's visit Mag determined to speak with her father; but immediately after tea he went out, saying he should not return until nine o'clock. With a great effort Mag forced down the angry words which she felt rising within her, and then seating herself at her work she resolved to await his return. Not a word on the subject did she say to Carrie, who retired to her room at half-past eight, as was her usual custom. Alone now Margaret waited. Nine, ten, eleven had been struck, and then into the sitting-room came Mr. Hamilton, greatly astonished at finding his daughter there. "Why, Margaret," said he, "why are you sitting up so late?" "If it is late for me, it is late for you," answered Margaret, who, now that the trial had come, felt the awkwardness of the task she had undertaken. "But I had business," answered Mr. Hamilton; and Margaret, looking him steadily in the face, asked: "Is not your business of a nature which equally concerns us all?" A momentary flush passed over his features as he replied, "What do you mean? I do not comprehend." Hurriedly, and in broken sentences, Margaret told him what she meant, and then tremblingly she waited for his answer. Frowning angrily, he spoke to his daughter the first harsh words which had ever passed his lips toward either of his children. "Go to your room, and don't presume to interfere with me again. I trust I am competent to attend to my own matters!" Almost convulsively Margaret's arms closed round her father's neck, as she said, "Don't speak so to me, father. You never did before--never would now, but for _her_. Oh, father, promise me, by the memory of my angel mother, never to see her again. She is a base, designing woman."