"No, he married someone else." "He never--never loved you, then." There was a positiveness now in her intonations. "Yes, he did, with all his heart. His mother came between us." Again silence fell on the room. Margaret would not look at Miss Clendenning. The little old maid had suddenly opened the windows of her heart, but whether to let a long-caged sorrow out or some friendly sympathy in, she could not tell. "May I know about it!" There was a softer cadence now in the girl's voice. "It would only make you unhappy, dear. It was all over forty years or more ago. Sallie, when she saw you, put her arms about you. You had only to come together. The oftener she sees you, the more she will love you. My lover's mother shut the door in my face." "In your face? Why?" Margaret moved closer to Miss Clendenning, stirred by a sudden impulse, as if she could even now protect her from one who had hurt her. Miss Lavinia bent forward and picked up the brass tongs that lay on the fender at her feet. She saw Margaret's gesture, but she did not turn her head. Her eyes were still watching the smouldering embers. "For no reason, dear, that you or any other Northern woman could understand. An old family quarrel that began before I was born." Margaret's cheeks flushed and a determined look came into her face. "The coward! I would not have cared what his mother or anybody else did, or how they quarrelled. If I loved you I would have married you in spite of everything." "And so would he." She was balancing the tongs in her hand now, her eyes still on the fire. She had not looked at Margaret once. "What happened then?" Miss Clendenning leaned forward, spread the tongs in her little hands, lifted an ember and tucked it closer to its neighbor. The charred mass crumbled at the touch and fell into a heap of broken coals. "I am a Clendenning, my dear; that is all," she answered, slowly. Margaret stared at her with wide-open eyes. That a life should be wrecked for a mere question of family pride was something her mind could not fathom. "Have you regretted it since, Cousin Lavinia?" she asked, calmly. She wanted to follow it out now to the end. Miss Clendenning heaped the broken coals closer together, laid the tongs back in their place on the fender, and, turning to Margaret, said, with a sigh: "Don't ask me, my dear. I never dare ask myself, but do you keep your hand close in Oliver's. Remember, dear, close--close! Then you will never know the bitterness of a lonely life." She rose from her seat, bent down, and, taking Margaret's cheeks between her palms, kissed her on the forehead. Margaret put her arms about the little lady, and was about to draw her nearer, when the front door opened and a step was heard in the hall. Miss Lavinia raised herself erect, listening to the sound. "Hark!" she cried, "there's the dear fellow, now"--and she advanced to meet him, her gentle countenance once more serene. Oliver's face as he entered the room told the story.