“We know not whether death be good, But life at least it will not be; Men will stand sadd’ning as we stood, Watch the same fields and sky as we, And the same sea. “Let this be said between us here-- One love grows green when one turns gray, This year knows nothing of last year, To-morrow has no more to say To yesterday. “Live and let live, as I will do-- Love and let love, and so will I; But sweet for me no more with you, Not while I live, not though I die. Good-night, good-by!” It was a new song, sent in, with many others, by the earl. Margery played it through, and sang the words in a low, sad voice, till the passion of the music awoke a chord within her; and then, as she neared the end, her tones rang out clear and sweet through the large room. As the echoes died away, the door opened, and the footman ushered in a lady. Margery rose quickly, gave one look, then, with a sudden exclamation of pleasure, hastened forward and threw her arms round the newcomer. “Miss Lawson!” she cried, with honest joy. “I am so glad--so glad to see you once again!” Miss Lawson kissed the fair cheek in silence, while tears glistened in her eyes. If ever she had doubted the warmth, the generosity, the goodness of Margery’s nature for an instant, the genuine pleasure and affection of the girl now would have shamed her. She was still the Margery of old, the sweet, loving Margery she knew so well. “You are glad, child?” she said, quietly. “So am I to see your dear face again; the months have seemed long since you went, though your letters have told me all you have done. You are the same Margery; yet you are changed, dear.” “I am older and--a married woman,” Margery responded, with a forced little laugh. “My dignity makes me older. But come and sit with me. How much I have to say, and yet I scarcely know where to begin!” Miss Lawson let her remove her bonnet and cloak and push her with affectionate hand into an easy-chair in the inner room, close to a blazing fire. With undisguised pleasure her eyes rested on the girlish figure. It was not until Margery had gone from the village that the rectory governess realized how deeply the waif had crept into her heart. “You are not surprised to see me?” she said, after a while, as Lady Court seated herself on a stool at her feet. “I have been thinking of you so much and so often that you seem part of my life. You are come to stay with me, dear Miss Lawson? Yes, yes, you must stay; I shall not let you go.” “I must return to-morrow; Mrs. Carr will expect me. I left Hurstley on purpose to see you, Margery.” “How good of you!” exclaimed Margery, warmly, fondling the worn hand between her two soft palms. “This is just what I wanted to complete everything.” “You are happy?” asked Miss Lawson, abruptly.