The next night the attendance was less, for some of the men spent the evening at the public-houses, talking the matter over; but our friends were not discouraged. They resolved to keep on—and wait. They were trying to feel their way, and by a wise judiciousness overcome the suspicion and opposition which they would probably encounter. But from that seed-sowing harvest day could be dated a most beneficent change in Darentdale. The homes of the people put on a more comfortable appearance, and the spiritless women, feeling that something was expected of them in return for the sympathy and help which they received, began to be more sprightly, and to take some pride in making their rooms not only clean but pretty. By the end of the year but few had grown weary in well-doing, and in many hearts that had been hopeless before new hopes were springing up. No one more approved this effort for the people than Mr. Harris. He contributed nothing to the cakes and tea, but he had done a kindness on his own account that was very acceptable, for he had presented every poor person with an armchair! And this he did as a sort of thank-offering for the pleasure it was to him to know that a good man cared for his Margaret. But a few days after the harvest festival Margaret’s mind was considerably disturbed by an anonymous letter. It ran thus:—“A friend sends you this word of warning. Why do you try to tempt a gentleman from his duty and fealty to another? Already you and yours have wrongful possession of a house and money that by right belong to him. Will you rob him also of his good name, and cast a blight over his life? If you care for him you will not do this; unless, indeed, you are false and fast. Two hearts will break if he be drawn into your meshes; for who and what are you, and _who were your parents?_ Has he come back to his native land to be beguiled by one who will but try to drag him down to her own level? His friends are determined to prevent this sacrifice; so you will but cause him and them the more trouble by your guile. A stigma attaches to you, which God forbid that he should share.” To the last sentence Margaret breathed a fervent Amen. But it will be readily imagined that this letter caused her a very bad half-hour. Had she really an enemy—she who was used to seeing nothing but kindness in every face? And, if so, what was the enemy’s name? She could not tell. But the pain had a greater sting in it when the thought suggested itself that perhaps this letter was not the work of an enemy, but of a friend. For, after all, there was some truth in it. Who and what was she, and who were her people? She really could not answer the question, for she did not know. And that was the reason why she had hesitated to accept John Dallington. “The time has surely come for me to know,” she said. “I have had vague fears, but they must be either dispelled or confirmed now. It is not fair to me or any one else that I should be left in any uncertainty.”