"And that unhappy Will!" he continued, "I suffer more from that subject than you would be willing to believe if I were to describe it: one day you will lay that to my other offences--if, indeed, you then can recall my name." "You do me great injustice in thought," said Margaret. "If it will be any relief to you, let me assure you again that there is nothing in the whole chapter of accidents which could give me so little concern. I am not called upon to bear poverty, recollect." "Then," said Mr. Haveloc, "we have but to part. How difficult it is to me, no words could speak--but those things which are inevitable, had best be quickly done. So--farewell." Without another word, or look, or gesture, he rushed out of the room and from the house. Margaret sat for some time trying to recollect every thing he had said. He had not asked her to forgive him--had simply said he could not undo the past; he had not begged, as he might have done, that she would give him time and opportunity to retrieve it. It had seemed that he was willing--even anxious, to be set free--he had made arrangements before seeing her, that proved he had decided this to be their last meeting. She was dead--and therefore he might have endeavoured to return to Margaret, if he had desired a reconciliation. But no--she had offended him, and he was too proud to wish it. Margaret tried to think it was best for both; but a sense of agony, amounting almost to suffocation, would not let it be. If she could have wept--but no tears came--so she lay helplessly in her chair, watching the ebony cabinet that stood opposite first receding farther and farther, then seemed to float before her eyes, until sense and memory went out together, and she fell into a deep swoon. It was some time before Blanche, who came down as soon as Mr. Haveloc left the house, could restore Margaret to consciousness. When she succeeded, she was full of condolence. "What a bore it was, my dear creature," said she, "that you should have had to receive that horrid man. Had it been any one else, it might have done you all the good in the world; for you might have had a nice little flirtation to raise your spirits. But as for him--I hate him; his manners are so abrupt. Of course he began talking of poor dear Mr. Grey. So mal-à-propos." "He did speak of my uncle," said Margaret. "I knew it!" exclaimed Blanche. "That was it. I wish there was a nice little dance you could go to; or a concert--but this place is a perfect hermitage; and your mourning too would be a drawback. How beautifully you were dressed at Bessy Gage's wedding. You had a cluster of pink daisies at the side of your bonnet. That was an excellent match! I would have almost married old Sir Philip, myself, for the sake of Sherleigh. I say, did Hubert Gage ever make you an offer?" Margaret blushed, but astonishment kept her silent.