It was evening, and Ann Johnson had gone to visit some friends, so that Margaret was left in the house alone. Her thoughts were very sad ones. She was trying to face her future and arrange her course of action, but it was very difficult. She shrank from a lonely lot, as every woman does. And what was she to do? The new work that was waiting for her seemed less attractive now. The poor girls who needed care and love and training became less interesting to her mind as she thought of her own position, and felt that she was herself a poor girl, needing everything. And, besides, how could she give up the Old House, which her grandfather had loved, and which belonged to her now? And, on the other hand, how could she live in it without him? She was not obliged to remain there, even if she did not accept the other engagement which had been offered her, for Mr. Harris had property, and had left her with a competency. But how could she go away and leave John? He had become unutterably dear to her in this time of her sorrow, for he had been most thoughtful and kind and strong for her, and she felt that she would have given much if she might have laid her head upon his shoulder and said, “John, take me anywhere you please, only do not leave me.” And might she not do this? Was it right to let Mrs. Hunter keep them apart, and spoil both their lives? She did not love John as Margaret did, or she would not have made him unhappy. Surely she must give way at last. Why not now? If only she could see her and talk to her! The front door was opened when Margaret’s thoughts had reached this point. “Ann is back soon,” she said to herself, and then it was borne in upon her that it was not Ann who was approaching. Neither was it John. Who could it be that came so unceremoniously into the house? A nameless fear possessed her, and she arose to meet her visitor. It was nearly dark, and the lamps were not yet lighted; but she saw at a glance that Mrs. Hunter stood before her. Mrs. Hunter in that house, unaccompanied, and at that hour! What could it mean? Margaret held out her hand, and looked her full in the face, and at that moment the swift conviction that had passed through John’s mind passed through hers also—Mrs. Hunter had become insane. Hate had made her mad. “Will you take a seat, Mrs. Hunter?” said Margaret, trying not to be nervous. “I am afraid you must be tired after walking so far. It is a beautiful night—at least—no—it rains, and I see you are wet. May I help you to remove your cloak?” Mrs. Hunter answered not a word. She sat down wearily in the chair, and passed her hand over her face; but the next instant she sprang up, and to Margaret’s surprise—and, it must be confessed, to her terror also—she seized her by the shoulders.