When dusk came on, Margaret shut the street-door and went into the parlour. Mrs. Rymer sat there writing a letter. Margaret just glanced in. "Mother, can you listen to the shop, please?" "I can if I choose--what should hinder me?" responded Mrs. Rymer. "Where are you off to, Margaret?" "To sit with my father for a few minutes." "You needn't bother to leave the shop for that. I dare say he's asleep." "I won't stay long," said Margaret. "Call me, please, if any one comes in." She escaped up the staircase, which stood in the nook between the shop and the parlour. Thomas Rymer lay back in the easy-chair by his bit of bedroom fire. He looked as ill as a man could look, his face thin and sallow, the fine nose pinched, the mild brown eyes mournful. "Papa, I did not know you were getting up," said Margaret, in a soft low tone. "Didn't you hear me, child?" was his reply, for the room was over the shop. "I have been long enough about it." "I thought it was my mother moving about." "She has not been here all the afternoon. What is she doing?" "I think she is writing a letter." Mr. Rymer groaned--which might have been caused by the pain that he was always feeling. Mrs. Rymer's letters were few and far between, and written to one correspondent only--her son Benjamin. That Benjamin was random and must be getting a living in any chance way, or not getting one at all, and that he had never been at home for between two and three years, Margaret knew quite well. But she knew no worse. The secret hidden between Mr. and Mrs. Rymer, that they never spoke of to each other, had been kept from her. "I wish you had not got up," said Margaret. "You are not well enough to come down to-night." He looked at her, rather quickly; and spoke after a pause. "If I don't make an effort--as Darbyshire tells me--it may end in my becoming a confirmed invalid, child. I must get down while I can." "You will get better soon, papa; Mr. Darbyshire says so," she answered, quietly swallowing down a sigh. "Ay, I know he does. I hope it will be so, please God. My life has been only a trouble throughout, Margaret; but I should like to struggle with it yet for all your sakes."