It was the afternoon of the third day, Alec’s last day at home; and the four young people were sitting out of doors. Margaret was sewing something for her brother; Alec and Cameron were stretched on the grass, playing a game of chess. Blake was glancing over a newspaper, when, happening to look up, he saw Cameron looking at Margaret’s downcast face with such a tender, admiring gaze, that he dropped his eyes immediately, while a strange thrill passed through his heart. Cameron had no idea that he had been observed, for Alec’s eyes were fastened on the chess-board, while Blake was sitting in the background, apparently intent on his newspaper. ‘Check!’ cried Alec; and Cameron bent once more over the board. Blake rose, and walked slowly away, across the empty stackyard. So he was not alone in his admiration of Margaret! Was he content that another should woo and win her? Passionately he told himself that he was not content. He wandered on for some minutes, not thinking where he was going, and after making a circuit returned to the farm. Suddenly he came upon Margaret, sitting on a bench which overlooked the little flower-garden. He sat down beside her, and was surprised to see that her eyes were filled with tears. She was the first to speak. ‘Mr. Blake,’ she said, ‘I wish to ask a great favour from you. I wish you to keep a watch over my brother in London. He will be quite among strangers; and he has seen very little of the world. I should think he might easily be led astray. Will you see him when you can, and do your best to warn him if he is in danger, to keep him from bad companions, and to encourage him when he is cast down, as I am sure he often will be?’ Her beautiful eyes, still laden with tears, were turned upon her companion. ‘I will, indeed,’ said Blake, ‘for your sake, as well as for his own.’ ‘Thank you,’ said Margaret simply. ‘But I wish,’ he continued in a low voice, hardly conscious of what he said--‘I wish you would give me a better right to look after him--the right of a brother.’ She looked up hastily, not understanding his meaning. His face made it plain to her. ‘Dear Margaret,’ he began, gently laying hold of her hand. But she started to her feet. ‘No, no, Mr. Blake,’ she said, almost in a whisper. ‘That can never be.’ ‘Never, Margaret? Why not? Why should you turn from me? You know me well, and I hope, at least, you don’t dislike me. If you can but learn to love me, how happy you would make me!’ ‘No,’ she answered; ‘I don’t think I could make you happy. Your life has not been like mine. My ways, my thoughts are not like yours. You have tastes and habits which--oh, it is quite impossible!’ ‘All that goes for nothing, Margaret. Tastes and habits are soon acquired. You would soon learn to love the world of art, the wider world I could lead you into;’ and again he tried to take her hand. But again she drew it away. ‘I know I could make you happy,’ said Hubert.