"There's always something to be sorry for; we have to bear it as the penalty of our weakness. I'd give all I had in the world to remember that we'd both stood by mother at the last," Hannah answered, with a sigh, and then she said--almost tenderly, "You had better try and sleep a little; you look worn out, and there's father to tell yet. It'll be bad for him; I don't know how he'll take it." She held Margaret closer in her arms and watched her, and gradually, worn out with the long night and weeping and excitement, they fell asleep. Towsey came in a couple of hours later and looked at them. "I never thought to see them like that together," she said, and went softly out again. "I wish she had seen it; but there, perhaps she does--she may be standing by looking on for all we know." Sir George Stringer went to Great College Street early that afternoon; the expression of Margaret's face haunted him, and he could not rest till he had seen her again. Mrs. Gilman had told him of Margaret's sudden departure the night before and the reason of it. "Poor thing! poor thing!" he said to himself as he walked away. "I think I'll go to Chidhurst for the week-end. I might be of some use to her--that young scoundrel, Tom, is in Scotland, and she has only the grim half-sister to look after her." He walked across the fields in the evening to the farm, and stopped, hesitating in the porch, afraid to enter or to ring and disturb the silence that death consecrates. Hannah saw him and came forward, grim as usual, but gaunt and sad. "Did you want to see any one?" she asked. "I heard that your mother was dead," he answered, awkwardly; "I came to see if I could be of any use. I have known her husband all my life--where is Margaret?" "She's lying down; she's made her head bad with fretting." "What have you done about her father?" "We haven't told him yet. Margaret says he's coming back. It will be bad for him then." "But he ought to be told." "We'll send a telegram to-morrow. It'll be time enough; it's no good hurrying sorrow on him. He'll have had a day longer to think he'll see her again." Sir George looked at her shrewdly. "A kind woman at heart," he thought, and then he said aloud, "You know that he is Lord Eastleigh now?" "Yes, I know; but I can't see that it matters. It won't make any difference to the end." "You are quite right"; and he shook her hand. "Give my love to Margaret," he said, and turned away. "It would be a good thing," he thought, as he went back across the fields to his house, "if we all lived in the country; people get spoiled when they congregate in cities; that woman looked quite indifferent to Vincent's title. Upon my soul, I liked her to-night." XXXIII