“Of course you are,” John rejoined, hastily. “But oh, my darling, we must not wait longer. Why should we? I am of age. I can please myself. I am not under my mother’s control, and she is wrong to try to thwart me. We should have to be economical, for I am getting poorer every day, and the lack of money tries and troubles me greatly; but you would not mind that. Say you will marry me, and will not let my mother come between us.” “John, dear, I dare not come between you and your mother. You are all she has. There is no change for the better, is there? I tried to see her to-day.” “You did?” “Yes, for I think if she would talk things over with me, she would feel differently; but the servant told me that she was not at home.” “We will see her together, Margaret, and she shall talk with you.” “And, perhaps, it will be right for me to let her decide whether or not I shall undertake this work?” “Nay, my darling, why should she decide? It is for you and me to decide, and we have done it already.” But though he spoke confidently there was a great doubt at his heart all the time, and Margaret had a curious feeling that she would have to go to that old homestead in Yorkshire—if not willingly, then against her will. “Talk to my cousin Tom about it,” said John, “and also to Arthur Knight’s friend, Miss Wentworth. It is she who ought to undertake this thing. She is just the person for it.” “Yes, I will see Tom to-morrow, and if she can spare the time we will go to Miss Wentworth and lay the matter before her.” The next day Margaret and Tom had a long talk about it, and Tom was most enthusiastic. “Margaret, I scarcely like to say it, because of John, for I do not know what he could do without you; but you were made for this work. There is nothing that so badly needs to be done just now, and God has given you a very motherly nature on purpose for it. Do not hastily refuse this call. I think it is from God.” “I have not told my grandfather yet, and I must. And we shall hear what Miss Wentworth says about it. But, Tom, most of all I want to know whether there is any hope of John’s mother receiving me kindly.” “Margaret, I am afraid there is not the very least chance of it. Aunt is really dreadful about John’s love for you; and it is only right that I should tell you.” “Then, Tom,” said Margaret, slowly, “I think I must do this thing that I am asked; not that I am able or worthy, but because it is given me to do. I dare not separate John’s mother from him, and the state of things that exists at present is really injuring him; so, for his sake—yes, and for another reason—I feel as if I must say Yes. It is such a splendid mission to be engaged in.” “It is. And if I may help you, Margaret, I will. But we must not be hasty. We have others to think of.” “Yes,” said Margaret; “and I think John’s mother shall decide it for me.” CHAPTER XXVII. A VISIT OF INQUIRY.