They crept out of the kitchen together, Margaret's hand on Towsey's shoulder. The tears came into the old woman's eyes as they crossed the threshold. "I nursed you a lot of times when you were a baby," she whispered; "and now you are such a beauty--she said it," and she nodded upward, "only yesterday." They went along the passage and stopped near the foot of the stairs that were between the kitchen door and the door of the best parlor. They could hear Hannah's voice. She was sitting by her mother's bedside reading the Bible. Towsey went up a few steps and stopped and craned her neck, and came back. "The door's nearly to," she whispered. "Hannah won't see." Margaret softly followed Towsey up-stairs, keeping close to the wall till she reached the landing, then she slipped into the cupboard that was next her mother's room. She remembered how she had looked into it the day that Tom Carringford came to the farm four months ago; her mother's long cloak and best dress had been hanging there then, and they were there now. Margaret knew the feel of them so well--it gave her a thrill to touch them. It was quite dark within the cupboard; even if the door were open and Hannah passed, she would not be likely to see her. She was afraid to move the door lest it should be noticed, but she hid a little way behind it. Towsey, seeing she was safe, looked in at Hannah, who, perhaps, made some sign to her, for she went softly down to the kitchen again. Then, as Margaret stood hidden and listening, out of her mother's bedroom door there came still the sound of Hannah reading of love and mercy; but her voice told that neither had entered her own heart. Presently Mrs. Vincent asked feebly, "Has any one come, Hannah?" "Did she know?" Margaret wondered. "The doctor said he wouldn't be here again to-day--he thought you better this morning," Hannah answered. "I feel sure I am dying, Hannah. I shall never see him again." "She is thinking of my father," Margaret thought, and could hardly keep herself from crying out. "You don't know how to do with illness," Hannah said; "you've not had any for so long. We are all in God's hands, remember that." "I want you to send for Margaret--she's so young," Mrs. Vincent pleaded; "I can't bear to think of her away from home." But Hannah answered firmly: "She has disgraced us, mother." "She has done nothing wrong," Mrs. Vincent answered; "nothing could make me believe that." "She has disgraced us with her play actors and her forwardness. Would you have an unbeliever beside your sick-bed?" "But I want her," Mrs. Vincent said. "I want her and her father," she moaned. "I can't die without seeing them again." "You are making too much of the illness," Hannah answered, anxiously. "People have more of it before they die." "Tell Towsey to send for Margaret," Mrs. Vincent said, as if her mind were detaching itself from Hannah's argument.