It was at this moment of her utmost poverty that Margaret's love and fortitude were put to the severest trial. In the depth of the winter, she received an unexpected visit from young Barry, who, claiming as he did a more than common interest in her fate, and a more than passing share of her acquaintance, well knew that he should not be denied admission into her father's cottage. He entered, looking extremely pale and thin; but Margaret was glad to see him; and more especially as he declared that he had walked all the way from Levington. She dusted a seat for him; and placed it by the crackling fagot-fire, requesting him to rest himself after his walk. It was about half-past two o'clock in the afternoon; her father was cutting fagots on the heath; her mother, who had been unwell, had gone upstairs to lie down; her youngest brother was attending the sheep; and she was alone at the time young Barry entered. He seated himself, and answered her kind inquiries after his health, and received her grateful expressions of thankfulness for his kindness to her upon former occasions, and especially upon that day when he had received his wound. Barry heard this with that true modesty which a good man always feels. He said it was only his duty; he regretted the conduct of his former friends and fellow-labourers, which had driven Margaret from her place, and he asked her if she intended to go to service again. She replied, "Not in this part of the country. I hope soon to go and stay with my Uncle Leader at Brandiston, who, though he has a large family of his own, has yet kindly consented to take me in, if I should want a home." "Margaret," said the young man, fixing his eyes upon her intently, "are you in want of a home, and are there any circumstances in the world that will ever induce you to share mine with me? I am come over for no other purpose than to ask you this question. Give me a hopeful answer." It is impossible for any woman, with a woman's heart, not to feel grateful to an honourable man, who, regarding not the poverty and reverse of circumstances which she may have experienced, renews those earnest vows which once, in happier days, he had before offered. Margaret felt young Barry's kindness, and owned it with the deepest thankfulness, if not in words of eloquence, yet in words of such simplicity and earnestness, as spoke the noble resolution of a good and honest, though, alas, mistaken mind! "I do not say, John, that there are no circumstances under which I might not be induced to accept your kindness, and for which I might not endeavour to render you the service and obedience of my whole life; but there is one circumstance which would utterly preclude my acceptance of your offer; yet forgive me if I say, I hope that one circumstance will for ever exist." "What is that one, Margaret? Name it."