There was one pleasure that never palled upon her--the effect of natural beauty is so different upon different temperaments. The freshness of a sea-bound coast, the tints of grey and green, the harmony of all, is felt by some who recognise the quickened circulation, and call it health-giving; and so it is. To a poet, however, this harmony of nature says something more--there is a deeper and fuller meaning in it all, whether the faculty of expression be given or not. Heaven and earth do not seem far apart when the soul is stirred to its very depths. The secret of those forces that carry awe when manifested in their grandest power, has a key-note, which, begun here, is carried upwards. Margaret had the power of expression, and her poems became to her the best and highest part of her life; she no longer cared to publish them; so much of herself was in them that she shrank from letting any one read them. She lived in a world of her own, a world full of beauty, but one in which self entered too much. Grace's letter, with its violent expressions of remorse, and its incoherent account of having left Paul, broke in upon her self-absorbed feelings with rather a rude shock. She knew Grace too well to doubt the despair of which her sister wrote, as though it and remorse henceforward were to be her portion; but she could not doubt her sincerity about the money; the cry was too natural, and Margaret's own sentiments were in such complete accordance with it. It had been painful to her the ease with which Grace had accepted the money, and she felt thankful now that they had this point in common. In her own mind the argument she had used seemed conclusive. "I vowed a vow I could not keep, and the benefit arising from a broken vow cannot justly be mine." She rose to answer this letter, which had disturbed her, and, opening the door, found Mr. Stevens just coming into the hall. "Can you spare me a moment?" he said, with some anxiety. She answered "Yes," trusting that his business was really business. "I have had such an extraordinary letter from Mr. Sandford," he began. "I wrote to him about money matters, and his answer is, that he is not in a position to advance a penny anywhere. I am afraid things have gone very wrong; have you heard anything?" "Nothing to this effect. Mrs. Dorriman cannot imagine why he does not come." "He says, '_I am utterly penniless, and can do nothing!_' It is most extraordinary!" "I wonder if Mrs. Dorriman knows anything? shall I go and find her?" "No; I have written to Mr. Sandford for an explanation; till I hear again there is no use making her unhappy." "It will affect her?" Margaret asked, with real interest. "It will affect her. She told me once she had no settlements, and was entirely dependent upon her brother." "I am so grieved." "It will, of course, affect you also, Mrs. Drayton. It seems very hard upon both of you." "And my sister is giving up that money; Paul Lyons cannot bear her having it."