“Not any, Madge,” said Tom, demurely, “because I know you care for him too. Poor fellow!” “Why is he a poor fellow, Tom? Because _two_ young women care for him?” “Oh, no! He is to be congratulated on that account. I love him very much in a cousinly way; but if he wanted me to marry him, which he never has done, I would not, for I think it would not be right, since we are cousins. But I call him a poor fellow because I know how worried and troubled he is.” “Is he, Tom? I expect he confides in you more than in me.” “I am sure he does; but you need not therefore be jealous, Margaret. Some things he could not tell you.” “But you can, Tom, and I shall be most thankful if you will. Does his mother hate me as much as she did? That is a great trouble to me also. What would I not give if I could win Mrs. Hunter’s good opinion! But I have no chance. She avoids me as much as possible, and when we happen to meet she will not look at me or speak to me if she can help it. Sometimes I think I will break through all reserve, and tell her that I will not marry her son until she wishes it, for I do not mean to do so.” “You had better not say _that_, Margaret. Aunt is very one-sided and narrow in many of her notions, and as stubborn as only a woman can be. John’s happiness ought to be of far more consequence to you than his mother’s good opinion. The one you can insure; the other you may deserve, but it is doubtful if you will get it.” “You are not very encouraging, Tom; but I do not despair, notwithstanding all that you say, and I know, of Mrs. Hunter. She will, perhaps, receive me yet as a daughter some day, if I am patient. My grandfather often says that all things come to those who wait, and I am only in a hurry for John’s sake.” Margaret spoke the last three words with such tender emphasis that the colour came into Tom’s face. She would never tell any one of the battle which she had fought with herself over her cousin; but she thought the victory was completely won, and had spoken quite sincerely when she congratulated her friend. The two talked together of John, and when one was not sounding his praises the other was. They both knew, though Tom more than Margaret, of the many troubles that made him look grave, and caused him—and them too, for the matter of that—many an anxious hour. He was doing the right thing by his men; he was cultivating his land to its fullest extent and farming on the most scientific principles; but at present he had been able to do nothing toward paying off the mortgage, which pressed heavily upon his mind. Margaret’s dreams were often of what she would do if she had a legacy—how she would help John without his knowing who did it, and change his losses into successes. But her love was able to do so little to express itself; and her faith was so sorely tried when she saw that he was not happy, that frequently she was not the bright Margaret which she knew she ought to be.