“I shall be away from here, and that will be enough,” was Margery’s muttered thought. “I will speak to Mrs. Carr to-night. She will spare me to-morrow, I know,” continued Miss Lawson. “You must be ready about eight in the morning, Margery. Your luggage will not be much; perhaps you can arrange with Reuben to take it for you to the corner of the lane, and I will meet you there with the village fly.” “Thank you,” said Margery again. All was settled, and a feeling of peace stole into her breast. She would disappear--leave behind her everything that recalled her brief dream of bliss, her agony of grief. Stuart would be troubled no more with the sight of her sad face to dim his happiness. He had regarded her as a poor village girl, without heart, mind or pride--a toy with which to while away the long, dull hours; and, as he had forgotten her--as she had gone from his memory--she would creep away in deed and in truth. She felt, as she sat in the twilight of the room that had seen her so often in her young, fresh content, that she would be satisfied if her name could be forgotten by Hurstley forever, if, with her departure, the veil of mystery that hung over her birth might envelop her in its folds, and she might be lost. Miss Lawson, turning from her writing-desk, saw the plaintive look on the girl’s face. “What is it, Margery?” she asked, abruptly. Margery broke from her thoughts. “I was wishing,” she began, then hesitated, rose suddenly, and went and stood beside her governess, putting one little hand on the elder woman’s. “You are so kind, so thoughtful,” she said, gently. “You ask me no questions, do not examine me as to why I have come to-night. I must leave Hurstley, and at once; there is a reason, but I cannot tell you yet. Still you will believe and trust me, will you not? Yes, yes, I know you will. I have only you to help me now in the whole world, and you will not fail me.” “You wish me to do something more?” “I want to be lost to Hurstley. I want no one but you to know where I have gone. I want you to keep my secret.” Miss Lawson drew the girl into the fast-fading light, and scrutinized her face earnestly, almost sternly. The weary sadness in the beautiful eyes, the trembling lips, the wistful expression, told their tale. Miss Lawson was satisfied. “Yes,” she promised, “I will do as you wish--your secret shall be safe.” CHAPTER XIII.