Margery raised her eyes from her writing. “I do not care for it, dear,” she answered, gently; “and I must finish these letters for the post. Remember, Wavemouth is not London; we do not go by steam down here.” “Your letters can wait,” said Miss Lawson. “They are not of such consequence as your health.” “My tenants at Beecham do not say that,” returned Lady Court, with a faint smile; “but, if you wish it very----” “I do wish it very much; indeed, I am rather dull, Margery.” The well-assumed plaintiveness of the elder woman’s last words was most successful. “Dull!” repeated Margery, putting down her pen at once. “Oh, forgive me! How selfish I am, dear friend!” “There, don’t waste time in self-reproach! Go and put on your hat--not your heavy bonnet. The fresh air will do you more good than sentimentalizing.” Miss Lawson brushed away a tear as the slender figure left the room. A year had gone--a sharp and trying spring, a summer of golden splendor, an autumn of cheerless misery, a winter of frost and chill, and spring was come again; and during all that time Margery had lived weighted down by a burden of anguish and sorrow. Miss Lawson had gone to her at the beginning of her grief, and, discarding all other ties, had given herself up to her old pupil, who clung to her so despairingly; and it was the elder woman’s one aim to drive the gloom and despondency from the girlish brow, and bring joy and happiness back to the youthful heart. She knew Margery’s secret now. Stuart and she were leagued together; but all through the year, though she had tried again and again, she could not bring the lovers and cousins together. Margery shrunk from meeting Stuart--shrunk with a heart full of remorse, pain and morbid gloom. Was it right that she should be glad, have happiness, when one who had loved her so truly and tenderly lay in the grave forgotten? Once, only once, had she spoken on this subject to Miss Lawson; and, like a wise woman, the governess said nothing, but decided to wait. “It is but natural, after all. Margery’s sensitive, generous spirit has received so terrible a shock that it has shattered all joy in life at one blow.” So spoke Miss Lawson as she reasoned with Stuart, who hungered for a kind word, a sign, from his early love. He honored her for her fealty to the dead, but he was human, and his heart cried out for peace after so much misery. He had been more than touched by the noble, generous thoughtfulness of the dying man; for, after all was over and the will read, a letter was sent him, and, alone in his chamber, Stuart learned the wish and desire of Nugent, Earl of Court.