The minutes slipped away, and it was not till the chiming of a distant clock fell on her ear that Margery began to realize how long she had sat and how late it was. She rose hurriedly and made her way through the wood to the path. She had her secret to whisper to the poor, sick mother at home, and the thought lent speed to her feet. What joy she would bring to that tender heart! What happiness to share her new delights with such a one! She ran down the hill, the ripple of the stream sounding in her ears like music, and approached the garden gate. A lady was seated in the cottage doorway, and, as Margery was hurrying up the path, she rose and came to meet her. “Miss Lawson!” exclaimed Margery, in surprise. “I have been waiting here nearly an hour,” the governess returned; “your mother has been extremely unwell, and----” “Mother ill!” exclaimed Margery, with a sudden pang. “Oh, let me go to her!” Miss Lawson put a detaining hand upon the girl’s arm. “You must not disturb her; she has just dropped off to sleep. Reuben has gone to fetch Dr. Metcalf, and Mrs. Carter is sitting indoors to see to her.” Margery’s face had grown very sad. “What is it?” she asked, in a low voice. “She was weak when I left her to-day, but not more than usual.” “She had a severe fit of coughing, and it brought on an attack of the hemorrhage again; it has stopped now, but it has left her very weak. You can do nothing just now, Margery, and I came purposely to talk to you.” Miss Lawson was a small, thin woman with a quiet, determined face, which from long contact with the world had grown almost stern; but there were gleams of warmth and kindliness from the clear, gray eyes and a touch even of tenderness about the mouth sometimes. Now, though she spoke in her keen, dry way, there was an expression of kindness, almost affection, on her features as she looked at Margery. The girl turned back from the door at once. “Shall I bring you a chair here, Miss Lawson?” she asked, quietly--this news of her mother’s illness had fallen as a cloud on the brilliancy of her joy. “No. Come outside and stroll part of the way home with me,” said Miss Lawson. “I have something of importance to say to you--indeed, I have wanted to speak to you for several days past; but I had nothing very definite in my mind at the time. To-day I have.” Margery followed the rectory governess down the path in silence. “Margery,” began Miss Lawson, abruptly, “have you ever thought about your future? Have you ever thought what will become of you when Mary Morris dies?” The flush called up by the first sentence died away quickly, and Margery’s face paled. She put her hand suddenly to her heart. “Is she going to die so soon?” she murmured, involuntarily. “Oh, Miss Lawson, you do not think she will die soon?”