When she had believed herself sinned against, she knew where to seek for alleviation; but how shield her heart from the intolerable sting of believing herself to be the one in fault? To have ruined her happiness for life through a narrowness of soul that refused to trust implicitly the heart and honour of the man she had chosen! To her high generosity of feeling the anguish that these reflections brought with them was intolerable. Sinking on a seat, she remained motionless--tearless; endeavouring to still by the pressure of her hands, the wild beating of her heart. And few people, after committing some deadly crime, would have felt more conscience-stricken, more self-debased, than Margaret, when she reproached herself for the ungenerous want of a romantic confidence. How long she sat there she knew not; but she was roused by the clear voice of Harriet, among the shrubs exclaiming: "Run, Everard! Why don't you run? How can you expect to find any one at this snail's pace?" "I do run," was the faint reply. Margaret, thinking it better to declare herself, called to Harriet, who was presently at her side. Everard Gage creeping slowly after. Harriet turned to look at him. "Come, make haste, and give Miss Capel your arm--or, no; run as fast as you can to the house, and bring out a shawl." Everard turned, and disappeared slowly down the walk. "Well, now, ma mie," said Harriet, sitting down beside her; "was the room too hot?" "Yes; but it was rather the sound of so many voices that disturbed me," said Margaret. "Well, then, little one, go to bed," said Harriet. "If you sleep soundly, you will be well to-morrow. I can't think what is come to the child; her hands are as cold as ice." Margaret took Harriet's arm, and returned to the house. At the portico, they met Everard Gage, who had just succeeded in finding a shawl. Harriet rallied him upon the haste he had made, attempted to push him out of her path with the points of her slender fingers, and led Margaret up the great staircase. She helped to undress her with great care and quickness, brought her some coffee, saw her drink it, and then desired her to go to sleep. Strange to say, she had not long been out of the room, before Margaret obeyed her directions, and fell into a profound slumber. Yielding to the advice of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, it was late in the morning before she went down stairs. As the day was very hot, the ladies had all agreed not to go out. The evening was the gay time at Wardenscourt; and it was good policy not to look fagged, when there were so many people always to dinner. Margaret found the ladies assembled, all at their worsted work, except Harriet, who was playing with Lady James Deacon's little boy, and enticing him to do all sorts of mischief to the ladies' work-baskets.