Then she sat down, and began to write to the address given to her. She found it difficult to write, most difficult to express herself; and as she sat thinking how best she could give--that most dangerous thing--a half-confidence, the door was pushed open gently, and Mrs. Dorriman, her face working with suppressed agitation, entered and took her in her arms. Mrs. Dorriman had gone to Torbreck thinking that she had some news to give which would change matters very much for Margaret, and, therefore, not so overwhelmed by the news of her engagement to Mr. Drayton as she would otherwise have been. After tearful inquiries about Grace, and many gentle exclamations of sorrow and wonder, she thought she would say something to Margaret about Mr. Drayton; she would be cautious. She was too timid to act upon her own conviction, she would be guided by her answer. "Are you really engaged to Mr. Drayton, my dear Margaret, quite engaged to him?" "I have promised," said poor Margaret. "But, perhaps, my dear, I could tell you something." "You must tell me nothing," she exclaimed, quickly. "I have promised--and--you must not make it harder for me." "Then it is hard?" "I am giving up my life!" "But perhaps, Margaret, what I have to say may change----" "Nothing can change things now," and Margaret spoke firmly; "I cannot go back, and he has done so much." "It is such a miserable mistake," and poor Mrs. Dorriman thought how she could say a word, "others would do as much----" "But Grace will not have it. No! do you think I should have consented, do you think I would consent, if it had been possible.... Oh!" she exclaimed and a look of terror came into her eyes, "even this is wrong. I should not speak of it so. Dear!" she continued, turning to poor bewildered Mrs. Dorriman, "you must help me, and not let me feel that you do not understand me. I have thought about it and prayed about it, and I must go through with it." She paused to regain her self-command, and then added, "and there is no one else." "There is no one else," repeated Mrs. Dorriman, vaguely; "I thought there was somebody else." Had she too seen that dawning passion which Margaret had stifled so vehemently? A burning flush rose to her face, and she answered angrily, "There is no one else." And then they talked of other things. After this Mrs. Dorriman held her peace. She wisely felt that in telling Margaret of Sir Albert's visit, and dwelling, as she intended to have dwelt upon, his anxiety to find her--she might be doing no good, and only making mischief. Mr. Drew, the lawyer to whom Margaret wrote, was accustomed to the vaguest statements possible, made him, from time to time, by his feminine clients. But he thought that in the whole course of his experience he had never read anything so impossible to understand as poor Margaret's effusion.