Peggy's eyes were red with weeping. Her hat was on wrong side before, and her veil was tied in a hard knot, as it had been on the night of her arrival; but Peggy did not care. She submitted while Margaret set the hat straight; then clung round her neck, and sobbed till Carlos was quite distracted. "Margaret, I--I want to tell you!" she whispered through her tears. "I am going to be a different girl at home now. I am going to--try--to remember the way you do things, and to be a little like you. Oh, Margaret, only a little! but I want you to think that I am trying, and--and--I will remember about my buttons--and--have my boots blacked. Oh, Margaret, you have been so good to me, and I do love you so, and now I--am--going away to leave you!" Margaret was in tears, too, by this time, seventeen having got the upper hand of thirty-seven completely. "My dear!" she said. "My dear, darling little Peggy, I shall miss you,--oh, so much! And dear, you have taught me as much as I have taught you, and more. Think of the bog! oh, Peggy, think of the bog! and the gutter-spout! I shall never be such a coward again, and all because of you, Peggy. And we will write to each other, dear, every week, won't we? and we will always be sisters, just the same as own sisters. Good-bye, my little girl! good-bye, my dear little girl!" The sobbing Peggy was lifted into the carriage; and now it was Rita's turn to cling about Margaret with fondest words and caresses. "Marguerite, we part!" she said. "_Tres chere_, how can I leave thee? I--I have learned much since I came here. We are different, yes! but I know that it is lovely to be good, though I am not good myself. You would not have me good, Marguerite? It would destroy my personnel! But I love goodness, and thee, the spirit of it. Don't shake your head, for I will not submit to it. You are good, I tell you,--good like my mother, my angel. You will think of me, _cherie_?--you will think of your Spanish Rita, and warm your kind, cool heart with the thought? Yes, I know you will. You will be happy here with the uncle. Yes! he's like you,--you will suit each other! For me, it would be death in two weeks; yet he is noble, he has the grand air. _Tres chere_, I have left for you the bracelet with the rubies; it is on your toilet-table. You admired it,--it was yours from that moment, but I waited, for I knew that one day we must part. They are drops of blood, Marguerite, from my heart,--Rita's heart,--which beats ever for you. _Adios, mi alma!_" All this was poured into Margaret's ear with such rapidity and fire that she could make no reply; could only embrace her cousin warmly, and promise constant thought and frequent letters.