“It is so sudden,” responded Margery, faintly; her hands were clasped together; her face, hidden behind the flopping sunbonnet, was perplexed, pained and troubled. What must she do? How could she leave Hurstley, where every tree and stone was precious to her, and where her heart was bound? Should she speak openly of her love at once, her future marriage with the young squire of Crosbie Castle? The words were on her lips--and then she hesitated. Instinctively she felt that Miss Lawson would not approve of the engagement, and she vividly recalled madame’s unceasing dislike. No, she could not speak of it yet; it was so new, so strange; perhaps, after all, it might not be--and her hands pressed her heart closely. She would leave all to him; he must speak out, she could not. And what, then, must she say to this proposal? Could she leave Hurstley--go from the sun which gave her being life, into a lonely, strange world--leave all that she knew and loved so well--the tiny cottage, the sweet-smelling woods and lanes, and the poor, sick woman, a mother in all but truth? That last thought came as a golden gleam. “Mother!” she said, hurriedly, “I cannot leave her.” “Then you renounce all thought of independence,” she observed, coldly, watching the girl’s face with something like a frown on her own. “I do not,” replied Margery, firmly. “I have listened to your advice, and I will take it; but I must first think of her. She will miss me, Miss Lawson--I know she will.” “Well,” said Miss Lawson, after a pause, “that is true. It would be cruel to leave her now. I will write to my sister and thank her in your name, and explain why you refuse.” “You are not cross with me?” Margery murmured, putting out her hand suddenly. “Cross? No, my child. I wish it might have been arranged; but you are right; it is your duty to stay with Mary Morris, and help to cheer her sad life. In the future, if ever you want help, come to me, and what I can do I will.” Margery’s eyes met the governess’ steady gaze, and then she bent forward and kissed her. “I will come to you,” she said, simply; and the two women separated. Margery hurried down the hill toward home. She felt weary, almost exhausted; it had been a day of extreme mental excitement. As she passed the woods and the stream, her thoughts went back to Stuart, and she felt again the power of his love. Why should she have doubted him? Why not have spoken bravely of their love? Had he not said himself that storms might come, but he would face them all? To-morrow she would seek Miss Lawson, and, strong in the knowledge of Stuart’s great, honest heart, tell her all. Now she must hasten to the sick woman, and watch beside her with tender care and hope. * * * * *