Part 1 of Chapter 10 of Dearbrook. To see the whole of the present company from the oldest to the youngest. This was the best part of his speech to the ears of the children. It made an impression also upon some others. Two or three days afterwards, Sydney burst, laughing, into the dining room, where his mother and her guests were at work, to tell them that he had seen Mr. Hope riding a pony in the oddest way in the lane behind his lodgings.  He rode the pony in and out among the trees, and made it scramble up the hill behind, and it went as nicely as could be wherever he wanted it to go. Mr. Hope's new way of riding was easily explained, the next time he called. Miss Young was certainly included in the invitation to Dingleford Woods. It was a pity she should not go, and she could not walk in wild places. The pony was training for her. Mrs. Gray quite agreed that Miss Young ought to go, but thought that Mr. Hope was giving himself much needless trouble. There would be room made for her in some carriage, of course, no doubt, but no kind of carriage could make its way in the woods, and, but for this pony, Miss Young would have to sit in a carriage or under a tree the whole time that the rest of the party were rambling about. Whereas this quiet, active little pony would take care that she was nowhere left behind. It could do everything but climb trees. It was to be taken over to Dingleford the evening before, and would be waiting for its rider on the verge of the woods when the party should arrive. Miss Young was touched and extremely pleased with Mr. Hope's attention. In the days of her prosperity she had been accustomed to ride much and was very fond of it, but since her misfortunes she had never once been in the saddle, lame as she was and debarred from other exercise. To be on a horse again and among the woods was a delicious prospect, and when a few misgivings had been reasoned away, misgivings about being troublesome, about being in the way of somebody's pleasure or convenience, Maria resigned herself to the full expectation of a most delightful day if the weather would only be fine. The children would be there, and they were always willing to do anything for her. Sydney would guide her pony in case of need, or show her where she might stay behind by herself if the others should exhibit a passion for impracticable places. She knew that Margaret would enjoy the day all the more for her being there, and so would Mr. Hope, as he had amply proved. Maria was really delighted to be going, and she and the children rejoiced together. This great pleasure involved some minor enjoyments too in the way of preparation. On Sunday Mr. Hope told her that he believed the pony was now fully trained, but he should like that she should try it, especially as she had been long out of the habit of riding. She must take a ride with him on Monday and Tuesday afternoons for practice. The Monday's ride was charming, through verdant woods and home over the heath from crossly end. The circuit, which was to have been three miles, had extended to ten. She must be moderate, she said to herself the next day, and not let Mr. Hope spend so much of his time upon her, and besides, the pony had to be sent over to Dingleford in the evening, after she had done with it, to be in readiness for her on Wednesday morning. The ride on Tuesday was happily accomplished, as that of Monday, but it was much shorter. Mr. Hope agreed that it should be short, as he had a patient to visit on the Dingleford road, so near the hamlet, that he might as well take the pony there himself. It would trot along beside his horse. Sydney saved him part of the charge. He would at all times walk back any distance for the sake of a ride out on whatever kind of saddle, or almost any kind of quadruped. He was in waiting at the farrier's gate, when Miss Young returned from her ride, and having assisted her into the house, he threw himself upon her pony and rode three miles and a half on the Dingleford road before he would dismount and deliver his bridle into Mr. Hope's hand. Tea was over, and the tea things removed, before he appeared at home, seated and delighted with his expedition. He ran to the dairy for a basin of milk, and declared that his being hot and tired did not matter in the least, as he had no lessons to do, the next day being a holiday. It was about two hours after this, when Hester and Margaret were singing to Sophia's playing, that Mr. Gray put his head in at the door and beckoned Mrs. Gray out of the room. She remained absent a considerable time, and when she returned, the singers were in the middle of another duet. She wandered restlessly about the room till the piece was finished, and then made a sign to Sophia to follow her into the storeroom, the double door of which the sisters could hear carefully closed. They were too much accustomed to the appearance of mystery among the ladies of the Gray family, to be surprised at any number of secret conferences which might take place in the course of the day. But evening was not the usual time for these. The family practice was to transact all private consultations in the morning, and to assemble round the work table or piano after tea. The sisters made no remark to each other on the present occasion, but continued their singing, each supposing that the storeroom conference related to some preparation for the next day's excursion. It was too dark to distinguish anything in the room before their hostess re-entered it. Margaret was playing quadrilles, Hester was standing at the window, watching the shadows which the risen moon was flinging across the field, and the lighting up of Mrs. Endervie's parlor behind the blinds. And Sidney was teasing his twin sisters with rough play on the sofa when Mrs. Gray returned. "'You are all in the dark,' said she, in a particularly grave tone. "'Why, did you not ring for lights, my dears?' And she rang immediately. "'Be quiet, children. I will not have you make so much noise.' The little girls seemed to wish to obey, but their brother still forced them to giggle, and their struggling and treaties were heard. "'Now don't, Sidney. Now pray, Sidney, don't.' "'Mary and Fanny, go to bed,' said their mother, decidedly, when lights were brought. "'Sidney, bid your cousins good night, and then come with me. I want to ask you a question.' "'Good night already, mother. Why, it is not time yet this half hour. It is enough that I choose you to go to bed. Wish your cousins good night, and come with me.' This gray led the way once more into the storeroom, followed, rather sulkily, by Sidney. "'What can all this be about?' whispered haster to Margaret. "'There is always something going on which we are not to know. Some affair of fruit or wine or bonbons, perhaps, which are all the better for making their appearance unexpectedly.' At this moment Sophia and her mother entered by opposite doors. Sophia's eyes were red, and there was every promise in her face that the slightest word spoken to her would again open the sluices of her tears. Mrs. Gray's countenance was to the last degree dismal, but she talked, talked industriously, of everything she could think of. This was the broadest possible hint to the sisters not to inquire what was the matter, and they therefore went on sewing and conversing very diligently till they thought they might relieve Mrs. Gray by offering to retire. They hesitated only because Mr. Gray had not come in, and he so regularly appeared at ten o'clock that they had never yet retired without having enjoyed half an hour's chat with him. "'Sophia, my dear,' said her mother, "'are the night candles there. Light your cousin's candles. I am sure they are wishing to go, and it is getting late. You will not see Mr. Gray to-night, my dears. He has been sent for to a distance.' At this moment the scrambling of a horse's feet was heard on the gravel before the front door. Sophia looked at her mother, and each lighted a candle precipitately and thrust it into a hand of each cousin. "'There, go, my dears,' said Mrs. Gray. "'Never mind stopping for Mr. Gray. I will deliver your good-night to him. You will have to be rather early in the morning, you know. Good-night, good-night.' Thus Hester and Margaret were hurried upstairs, while the front door was in the act of being unbarred for Mr. Gray's entrance. Morris was dispatched after them, with equal speed, by Mrs. Gray's orders, and she reached their chamber-door at the same moment that they did. Hester set down her candle, bade Morris shut the door, and threw herself into an arm-chair with wonderful decision of manner, declaring that she had never been so treated to be amused and sent to bed like a baby in a house where she was a guest. "'I am afraid something is the matter,' said Margaret. What then? They might have told us so, and said plainly that they had rather be alone. People must choose their own ways of managing their own affairs, you know, and what those ways are cannot matter to us, as long as we are not offended at them.  Morris feared there was something amiss, and she believed Alice knew what it was, but she had not told either cook or housemaid a syllable about it. By Morris's account Alice had been playing the mysterious in the kitchen as her mistress had in the parlor. Mr. Gray had been suddenly sent for, and had saddled his horse himself, as his people were all gone, and there was no one on the premises to do it for him. A wine-glass had also been called for, for Miss Sophia, whose weeping had been overheard. Master Sidney had gone to his room very cross, complaining of his mother's having questioned him over much about his ride, and then sent him to bed half an hour before his usual time. A deadly fear seized upon Margaret's heart when she heard of Sidney's complaint of being over much questioned about his ride. A deadly fear for Hester. If her suspicion should prove true, it was out of pure consideration that they had been amused and sent to bed like babies. A glance at Hester showed that the same apprehension had crossed her mind.  It was not for long, however. She presently said, with decision, that whatever was the matter it must be some entirely private affair of the Greys. If any accident had happened to any one in the village, if bad news had arrived of any common friend, there would be no occasion for secrecy. In such a case Mrs. Gray would have given herself the comfort of speaking of it to her guests. It must certainly be some entirely private, some family affair. Hester was sincere in what she said. She knew so little of the state of her own heart that she could not conceive how some things in it could be defined or speculated upon by others. Still only on the brink of the discovery that she loved Mr. Hope, she could never have imagined that anyone else could dream of such a thing much less act upon it. She was angry with herself for letting her fears now point for a moment to Mr. Hope, for, if this bad news had related to him, her sister and she would, of course, have heard of it the next moment after the Greys. Margaret caught her sister's meaning and strove to the utmost to think as she did, but Sidney's complaint of being over much questioned about his ride was fatal to the attempt. It returned upon her incessantly during the night, and when, the next morning, she slept a little, these words seemed to be sounding in her ear all the while. Before undressing, both she and Hester had been unable to resist stepping out upon the stairs to watch for signs, whether it was the intention of the family to sit up or go to rest. All had retired to their rooms some time before midnight, and then it was certain that nothing more could be learned before morning. Each sister believed that the other slept, but neither could be sure. It was an utterly wretched night to both, and the first which they had ever passed in misery without speaking to each other. Margaret's suffering was all from apprehension. Hester was little alarmed in comparison, but she this night underwent the discovery which her sister had made some little time ago. She discovered that nothing could happen to her so dreadful as any evil befalling Mr. Hope. She discovered that he was more to her than the sister whom she could have declared, but a few hours before, to be the dearest on earth to her. She discovered that she was forever humbled in her own eyes, that her self-respect had received an incurable wound, for Mr. Hope had never given her reason to regard him as more than a friend. During the weary hours of this night she revolved every conversation, every act of intercourse which she could recall, and from all that she could remember the same impression resulted, that Mr. Hope was a friend, a kind and sympathizing friend, interested in her views and opinions, in her tastes and feelings, that he was this kind friend and nothing more. He had in no case distinguished her from her sister. She had even thought at times that Margaret had been the more important of the two to him. That might be from her own jealous temper, which she knew was apt to make her fancy everyone preferred to herself, but she had thought that he liked Margaret best as she was sure Mr. Enderby did. Whichever way she looked at the case it was all wretchedness. She had lost her self-sufficiency and self-respect, and she was miserable. The first rays of morning have a wonderful power of putting to flight the terrors of the darkness, whether their causes lie without us or within. When the first beam of the mid-summer sunshine darted into the chamber, through the leafy limes which shaded one side of the apartment, Hester's mood transiently changed. There was a brief reaction in her spirits. She thought she had been making herself miserable far too readily. The mystery of the preceding evening might turn out a trifle. She had been thinking too seriously about her own fancies. If she had really been discovering a great and sad secret about herself, no one else knew it, nor need ever know it. She could command herself, and in the strength of pride and duty, she would do so. All was not lost. Before this mood had passed away she fell asleep, with prayer in her heart and quiet tears upon her cheek. Both sisters were roused from their brief slumbers by a loud tapping at their door. All in readiness to be alarmed, Margaret sprang up and was at the door to know who was there. "'It is us. It is we. Fanny and Mary, cousin Margaret,' answered the twins, "'come to call you. It is such a fine morning. You can't think.' "'Papa does not believe we shall have a drop of rain today. The baker's boy has just carried the rolls, such a basketful, to Mrs. Rowland's, so you must get up. Mama is getting up already.' The sisters were vexed to have been thrown into a terror for nothing, but it was a great relief to find Mr. Gray prophesizing fine weather for the excursion. Nothing could have happened to cast a doubt over it. Margaret, too, now began to think that the mystery might turn out a trifle, and she threw up the sash to let in the fresh air with the gaiety of spirits she had little expected to feel. Another tap at the door. It was Morris, with the news that it was a fine morning, that the whole house was a stir, and that she had no further news to tell. Another tap before they were half-dressed. It was Mrs. Gray, with a face quite as sorrowful as on the preceding evening, and the peculiar nervous expression about the mouth, which served her instead of tears. Have you done with Morris yet, my dears?' Morris, you may go, said Hester, steadily. Mrs. Gray gazed at her with a mournful inquisitiveness while she spoke, and kept her eyes fixed on Hester throughout, though what she said seemed addressed to both sisters. There is something the matter, Mrs. Gray, continued Hester calmly. Say what it is. You had better have told us last night. I thought it best not to break your sleep, my dears. We always think bad news is best told in the morning. Tell us, said Margaret, Hester quietly seated herself on the bed. It concerns our valued friend, Mr. Hope, said Mrs. Gray. Hester's color had been going from the moment Mrs. Gray entered the room. It was now quite gone, but she preserved her calmness. He was safe when Sydney lost sight of him on the ridge of the hill on the Dingleford Road, but he afterwards had an accident. What kind of accident, inquired Margaret? Is he killed? asked Hester. No, not killed. He was found insensible in the road. The miller's boy observed his horse, without a rider, plunge into the river below the dam and swim across, and another person saw the pony Sydney had been riding, grazing with a side-saddle on, on the common. This made them search, and they found Mr. Hope lying in the road insensible, as I told you. What is thought of his state? asked Margaret. Two medical men were called immediately from the nearest places, and Mr. Gray saw them last night, for the news reached us while you were at the piano, and we thought, yes, but what do the medical men say? They do not speak very favorably. It is a concussion of the brain. They declare the case as not hopeless, and that is all they can say. He has not spoken yet, only just opened his eyes, but we are assured the case is not quite desperate, so we must hope for the best. I am glad the case is not desperate, said Hester. He would be a great loss to you all. Mrs. Gray looked at her in amazement, and then at Margaret.  She comprehended and respected the effort her sister was making. Oh, Mrs. Gray, said Margaret, must we go to-day? Surely it is no time for an excursion of pleasure. That must be as you feel disposed, my dears. It would annoy Mrs. Rowland very much to have the party broken up, so much so that some of us must go. But my young people will do their best to fill your places if you feel yourselves unequal to the exertion. She looked at Hester as she spoke. Oh, if anybody goes, we go, of course, said Hester. I think you are quite right in supposing that the business of the day must proceed. If there was anything to be done by staying at home, if you could make us of any use, Mrs. Gray, it would be a different thing. But, well, if there is nothing in your feelings which, if you believe yourselves equal to the exertion, Margaret now interposed. One had rather stay at home and be quiet when one is anxious about one's friends. But other people must be considered as we seem to be agreed, Mr. and Mrs. Rowland and all the children. So we will proceed with our dressing, Mrs. Gray. But can you tell us, before you go, how soon, how soon we shall know, when this case will probably be decided? It might be a few hours, or it might be many days, Mrs. Gray said. She should stay at home today in case of anything being sent for from the farmhouse where Mr. Hope was lying. He was well attended, in the hands of good nurses, former patients of his own, but something might be wanted and orders had been left by Mr. Gray that applications should be made to his house for whatever could be of service, so Mrs. Gray could not think of leaving home. Mr. Gray would make inquiry at the farmhouse as the party went by to the woods, and he would just turn his horse back in the middle of the day to inquire again, and thus the Rowland's party would know more of Mr. Hope's state than those who remained at home. Having explained, Mrs. Gray quitted the room, somewhat disappointed that Hester had received the disclosure so well. The moment the door was closed, Hester sank forward on the bed, her face hidden, but her trembling betraying her emotion. I feared this, said Margaret, looking mournfully at her sister. You feared what? asked Hester, quickly, looking up. I feared that some accident had happened to Mr. Hope. So did I. And if, said Margaret, I feared something else. Nay, Hester, you must let me speak. We must have no concealments, Hester. You and I are alone in the world, and we must comfort each other. We agreed to this. Why should you be ashamed of what you feel? I believe that you have a stronger interest in this misfortune than any one in the world. And why, how do you mean a stronger interest? asked Hester, trying to command her voice. Tell me what you mean, Margaret. I mean, said Margaret steadily, that no one is so much attached to Mr. Hope as you are. I think, said Margaret, after a pause, that Mr. Hope has a high respect and strong regard for you. She paused again and then added, if I believed anything more I would tell you. When Hester could speak again, she said, gently and humbly, I assure you, Margaret, I never knew the state of my own mind till this last night. If I had been aware, if you had been aware, you would have been unlike all who ever really loved if people say true. Now that you have become aware, you will act as you can act, nobly, righteously. You will struggle with your feelings till your mind grows calm. Peace will come in time. Do you think there is no hope? Consider his state.   Margaret had nothing to reply, there seemed so much truth in this. Even she reproached herself with being exclusively anxious about her sister, when such a friend might be dying, when a life of such importance to many was in jeopardy. I could do anything, I could bear anything, said Hester, if I could be sure that nobody knew. But you found me out, Margaret, and perhaps I assure you I believe you are safe, said Margaret, you can hide nothing from me. But Mrs. Gray, and nobody except myself has watched you like Mrs. Gray, has gone away, I am certain, completely deceived. But Hester, my own precious sister, bear with one word from me. Do not trust too much to your pride. I do trust to my pride, and I will, replied Hester, her cheeks in a glow. Do you suppose I will allow all in this house, all in the village, to be pitying me, to be watching how I suffer, when no one supposes that he gave me cause? It is not to be endured, even in the bare thought. No, if you do not betray me. I betray you? Well, well, I know you will not, and then I am safe. My pride I can trust to, and will. It will betray you, sighed Margaret. I do not want you to parade your sorrow, God knows. It will be better born in quiet and secrecy. What I wish for is, that you should receive this otherwise than as a punishment, a disgrace in your own eyes, for something wrong. You have done nothing wrong, nothing that you may not appeal to God to help you to endure. Take it as a sorrow sent by him, to be meekly born, as what no earthly person has any concern with. Be superior to the opinions of the people about us, instead of defying them. Pride will give you no peace, resignation will. I am too selfish for this, sighed Hester.  I have not even the grace to love him, except for my own sake, and while he is dying, I am planning to save my pride. I do not care what becomes of me. Come, Margaret, let us dress and go down. Do not trouble your kind heart about me. I am not worth it. This mood gave way a little to Margaret's grief and endearments, but Hester issued from her chamber for the day in a state of towering pride, secretly alternating with the anguish of self-contempt. It was a miserable day, as wretched a party of pleasure as could be imagined. Mrs. Rowland was occupied in thinking, and occasionally saying, how strangely everything fell out to torment her, how something always occurred to cross every plan of hers. She talked about this to her mother, Sophia, and Hester, who were in the barouche with her, till the whole calvacade stopped just before reaching the farmhouse where Mr. Hole played, and to which Mr. Gray rode on to make inquiries. Margaret was in with Mr. Rowland in his gig. It was a breathless three minutes till Mr. Gray brought the news. Margaret wondered how Hester was bearing it. It would have pleased her to have known that Mrs. Rowland was holding forth so strenuously, upon her disappointment about a dress at the last buckly ball, and about her children having had the measles on the only occasion when Mr. Rowland could have taken her to the races in the next county, that Hester might sit in silence and bear the surprise unobserved. Mr. Gray reappeared quite as soon as he could be looked for. There might have been worse news. Mr. Hope was no longer in a stupor. He was delirious. His medical attendance could not pronounce any judgment upon the case further than that it was not hopeless. They had known recovery in similar cases. As Mr. Gray bore his report from carriage to carriage, everyone strove to speak cheerfully and to make the best of the case, and those who were not the most interested really satisfied themselves with the truth that the tidings were better than they might have been. The damp upon the spirits of the party was most evident when all had descended from the carriages and were collected in the woods. There was a general tremor about accidents. If one of the gentlemen had gone forward to explore, or the children had lagged behind for play, there was a shouting and a general stop till the missing party appeared. Miss Young would feign have declined her pony, which was duly in waiting for her. It was only because she felt that no individual could well be spared from the party that she mounted at all. Mr. Hope was to have had the charge of her, and though she had requested Sidney to take his place, as far as was necessary, Mr. Enderby insisted on doing so, a circumstance which did not add to her satisfaction. She was not altogether so heart-sick as her friends, the Ibbotsons. But even to her everything was weariness of spirit. The landscape seemed dull, the splendid dinner on the grass tiresome, the sunshine sickly, and even the children with their laughter and practical jokes fatiguing and troublesome. Even she could easily have spoken sharply to each and all of the little ones. If she felt so, what must the day have been to haste her? She bore up well under any observation that she might suppose herself the object of. But Margaret saw how laboriously she strove and in vain to eat, how welcome was the glass of wine, how mechanical her singing after dinner, and how impatient she was of sitting still. The strangest thing was to see her walking in a dim glade in the afternoon, arm in arm with Mrs. Rowland, as if in the most confidential conversation Mrs. Rowland apparently offering the confidence and Hester receiving it. Look at them, said Mr. Enderby. Who would believe that my sister prohibited solitary walks and teta-tets only three hours ago on the ground that everyone ought to be sociable today? I shall go and break up the conference. Pray do not, said Margaret, let them forget rules and pass their time as they like best. Oh! But here is news of hope. Mr. Gray has now brought word that he is no worse. I begin to think he may get through, which, God knows I had no idea of this morning. Do you really think so? But do not tell other people, unless you are quite confident that you really mean what you say. I may be wrong, of course, but I do think the chances improve with every hour that he does not get worse, and he is certainly not worse. I have a strong pre-sentiment that he will struggle through. Go then, and tell as many people as you choose. Only make them understand how much is pre-sentiment. The teta-tet between the ladies, being broken off by Mr. Enderby with his tidings, was not renewed. Hester walked beside Miss Young's pony, her cheek flushed and her eye bright. Margaret thought there was pride underneath, and not merely the excitement of renewed hope, so feeble is that hope must yet be, and so nearly crushed by suspense. Before the hour fixed for the carriages to be in readiness, the party had given up all pre-tents of amusing themselves and each other. They sat on a ridge, watching the spot where the vehicles were to assemble, and message after message was sent to the servants to desire them to make haste. The general wish seemed to be, to be getting home, though the sun was yet some way from its setting. When the first sound of wheels was heard, Hester whispered to her sister, I cannot be in the same carriage with that woman. No, you must not either. I cannot now tell you why. I dare say Miss Young would take my place, and let me go with the children in the wagon. I will do that, and you shall return in Mr. Rowland's gig. You can talk or not as you please with him, and he is very kind. He is no more to be blamed for his wise behavior, you know, than her mother or her brother. It shall be so. I will manage it. Margaret could manage what she pleased, with Maria and Mr. Enderby both devoted to her. Hester was off with Mr. Rowland, and Margaret with one child on her lap, and the others rejoicing at having possession of her, before Mrs. Rowland discovered the shifting of parties which had taken place. Often during the ride she wanted to speak to her brother. Three times out of four he was not to be had, so busy was he joking with the children, as he trotted his horse beside the wagon, and when he did hear his sister's call he merely answered her questions, said something to make his mother laugh, and dropped into his place beside the wagon again. It struck Maria that the wagon had not been such an attraction in going, though the flowers with which it was canopied had then been fresh, and the children more merry and good humored than now. The report to be carried home to Dearbrook was that Mr. Hope was still no worse. It was thought that his delirium was somewhat quieter. Mrs. Gray was out on the steps to hear the news when the carriage approached. As it happened the gig arrived first and Hester had to give the relation. She spoke even cheerfully, declaring Mr. Enderby's opinion that the case was going unfavorably and that recovery was very possible. Mrs. Gray, who had had a wretchedly anxious day by herself not having enjoyed even the satisfaction of being useful, nothing having been sent for from the farmhouse, was truly cheered by seeing her family about her again. I have been watching you for this hour, said she, and yet I hardly expected you so soon. As it grew late I began to fancy all manner of accidents that might befall you. When one accident happens it makes one fancy so many more. I could not help thinking about Mr. Gray's horse. Does that horse seem to you perfectly steady, Hester? Well, I am glad of it, but I once saw it shy from some linen on a hedge, and it was in my mind all this afternoon. Here you are, all safe, however, and I trust we may feel more cheerfully now about our good friend. If he goes on to grow better, I shall get Mr. Gray to drive me over soon to see him. But, my dears, what will you have after your ride? Shall I order tea, or will you have something more substantial? Tea, if you please, said Hester. Her tongue was parched, and when Margaret followed her upstairs she found her drinking-water, as if she had been three days in the great desert. Can you tell me now, asked Margaret, what Mrs. Roland has been saying to you? No, not at present. Better wait, Margaret. What do you think now? I think that it all looks brighter than it did this morning, but what a wretched day it had been. You found it so, did you? Oh, Margaret, I have longed every hour to lie down to sleep in that wood, and never wake again. I do not wonder, but you will soon feel better. The sleep from which you will wake tomorrow morning will do nearly as well. We must sleep to-night, and hope for good news in the morning. No good news will ever come to me again, said Hester. No, no, I do not quite mean that. You need not look at me so. It is ungrateful to say such a thing at this moment. Come, I am ready to go down to tea. It is really getting dark. I thought this day never would come to an end. The evening was weary some enough. Mrs. Gray asked how Mrs. Rowland had behaved, and Sophia was beginning to tell, when her father checked her, reminding her that she had been enjoying Mrs. Rowland's hospitality. This was all he said, but it was enough to bring one of Sophia's interminable fits of crying. The children were cross with fatigue. Mrs. Gray thought her husband hard upon Sophia, and to complete the absurdity of the scene, Hester's and Margaret's tears proved uncontrollable. The sight of Sophia's sent them flowing, and though they laughed at themselves for the folly of weeping from mere sympathy, this did not mend the matter. Mrs. Gray seemed on the verge of tears herself when she observed that she had expected a cheerful evening after a lonely and anxious day. A deep sob from the three answered to this observation, and they all rose to go to their apartments. Hester was struck by the peculiar, tender pressure of the hand given her by Mr. Gray as she offered him her mute good night. It caused her a fresh burst of grief when she reached her own room. Margaret was determined not to go to rest without knowing what it was that Mrs. Rowland had said to her sister. She pressed for it now, hoping that it would rouse Hester from more painful thoughts. Though I have been enjoying that woman's hospitality, as Mr. Gray says, declared Hester, I must speak of her as I think to you. Oh, she has been so insolent. Insolent to you? How? Why? Nay, you had better ask her why. Her confidence was all about her brother. She seems to think, she did not say so, or I should have known better how to answer her, but she seems to think that her brother is, I can hardly speak it even to you, Margaret, is in some way in danger from me. Now you and I know that he cares no more for me than for any one of the people who were there today, and yet she went on telling me, and I could not stop her, about the views of his family for him. What views? Views which, I imagine, it by no means follows that he has for himself. If she has been impertinent to me, she has been even more so to him. I wonder how she dares meddle in his concerns as she does. Well, but what views, persisted Margaret? Oh, about his marrying, that he is the darling of the family, that large family interests hang upon his marrying, that all his relations think at his time he was settling, and that he told her last week that he was of that opinion himself. And then she went on to say that there was the most delightful accordance in their views for him, that they did not much value beauty, that they should require for him something of a far higher order than beauty, and which indeed was seldom found with it. What a creature! Did she say that to you? Indeed she did, and that her brother's wife must be of a good family with a fortune worthy of his own, and naturally of a county family. A county family, said Margaret, half laughing. What matters county or city when two people are watching over one another for life and death, and for hereafter? With such people as Mrs. Rowland, said Hester, marriage is a very superficial affair. If family, fortune, and equipage are but right, the rest may be left to providence. Temper, mind, heart, the worst of all, however, was her ending, or what was made her ending by our being interrupted. Well, what was her finish? She put her face almost under my bonnet, as she looked smiling at me, and said there was a young lady, she wish she could tell me about it, the time would come when she might. There was a sweet girl, beloved by them, all for many years, from her very childhood, whom they had hopes of receiving, at no very distant time, as Philip's wife. I do not believe it, cried Margaret. After a pause she added, Do you believe it, Hester? I am sure I do not know. I should not read Mrs. Rowland's word very highly, but this would be such a prodigious falsehood. It is possible, however, that she may believe it without its being true, or such a woman might make the most for the occasion of a mere suspicion of her own. I do not believe it is true, repeated Margaret. At all events, concluded Hester, nothing that Mrs. Rowland says is worth regarding. I was foolish to let myself be ruffled by her. Margaret tried to take the lesson home, but it was in vain. She was ruffled, and in spite of every effort she did believe in the existence of the nameless young lady, it had been a day of trouble, and thus was it ending in fresh sorrow and fear. Morris came in, hesitated at the door, was told she might stay, and immediately busied herself in the brushing of hair and the folding of clothes. Many tears trickled down, and not a word was spoken, till all the offices of the toilet were finished. Morris then asked, with a glance at the bookshelf, whether she should go or stay.  Margaret, will you, can you read? Margaret took the volume in which it was the sister's common practice to read together and with Morris at night. While Morris took her seat and reverently composed herself to hear, Margaret turned to the words which have stilled many a tempest of grief from the moment when they were first uttered to mourners through a long course of centuries. Let not your heart be troubled, believe in God, believe in me. Morris sometimes spoke on these occasions. She loved to hear of the many mansions in the house of the father of all, and she said that though it might seem to her young ladies that their parents had gone there full soon, leaving them to undergo trouble by themselves, yet she had no doubt they should all be at peace together sooner or later, and their passing troubles seem as nothing. Even this simple and obvious remark roused courage in the sisters. They remembered what their father had said to them about his leaving them to encounter the serious business and trials of life, and how they had promised to strive to be wise and trustful and to help each other. This day the serious business and trials of life had manifestly begun. They must strengthen themselves and each other to meet them. They agreed upon this, and in a mood of faith and resolution fell asleep. Mr. Hope's case turned out more favorably than any of his attendants and friends had ventured to anticipate. For some days the symptoms continued as alarming as at first, but from the hour that he began to amend, his progress towards recovery was without drawback and unusually rapid. Within a month, the news circulated through the village that he had been safely brought home to his own lodgings, and the day after the ladies at Mr. Gray's were startled by seeing him a light from a gig at the door and walk up the steps feebly. But without assistance he could not stay away any longer, he declared. He had been above a month shut up in a dim room without seeing any faces but of Doctor, Nurse, and Mrs. Gray and debarred from books. Now he was well enough to prescribe for himself, and he was sure that a little society and a gradual return to his usual habits of life would do him more good than anything. Mrs. Gray kept all her own children out of sight during this first visit that Mr. Hope might not see too many faces at once. She admitted only Hester and Margaret and Alice, who brought him some refreshment. The girl made him a low curtsy, and looked at him with an expression of awe and pleasure, which brought tears into the eyes of even her mistress. Mr. Hope had been a benefactor to this girl. He had brought her through a fever. She had of late little expected ever to see him again. Mr. Hope replied to her mute looks. Thank you, Alice. I am much better. I hope to be quite well soon. Did not you make some of the good things Mrs. Gray had been kind enough to bring me? I thought so. Well, I am much obliged to you, and to everybody who has been taking pains to make me well. I do not know how it is, he continued, when Alice had left the room, but things do not appear as they used to do. Perhaps my eyes are dim still, but the room does not seem bright, and none of you look well in Mary. Mrs. Gray observed that she had drawn the blinds down, thinking he would find it a relief after the sunshine. Margaret said ingenuously, We are all well, I assure you, but you should not wonder if you find us rather grave. Much has happened since we met. We have been thinking of you with great anxiety for so long that we cannot on a sudden talk as lightly as when you used to come in every day.  We have thought of you as near-deaths, and, Margaret, and sense that, as having a sick room experience which we respect and stand in awe of, and that is reason enough for our looking grave. You feel as if you had to become acquainted with me over again. Well, we must lose no time. Here's a month gone, and I can give no account of. Hester felt how differently the case stood with her. The last month had been the longest she had ever known, tedious as to the state captive, serving his novocate to prism life. She would have been thankful to say that she could give no account of the past month. She inquired how the accident happened, for this was still a mystery to everybody. Mr. Hope could not clear up the matter. He remembered parting with Sidney and trotting with the brittle of the pony in his hand. To the top of the ascent, the point where Sidney lost sight of him, he had no distinct remembrance of anything more. Only a sort of impression of his horse raring bolt upright, he had never been thrown before, and his supposition was that a stone cast from behind the hedge might have struck his horse, but he really knew no more of the affair than anyone else. The ladies all trusted he would not ride the same horse again. With this he would not promise. His horse was an old friend, and he was not in a hurry to part with old friends. He was glad to find that Miss Young had not laid the blame on the pony, but had ridden it through the woods as if nothing had happened. Not exactly so, said Margaret, smiling. The young folks did not enjoy their excursion very much. I fancy, said Mrs. Gray, smiling also. Mrs. Rowland was quite put out, poor soul, you know she thinks everything goes wrong on purpose to plague her. I think she had some higher feelings on that occasion, said Mr. Hope, gently but gravely. I am indebted to her for a very anxious concern on my account and for kind offices in which perhaps none of my many generous friends have surpassed her. Mrs. Gray, somewhat abashed, said that Mrs. Rowland had some good qualities. It was only a pity that her unhappy temper did not allow them fair play. It is a pity, observed Mr. Hope, and it is at the same time an appeal to us to allow her the fair play she does not afford herself. That sofa looks delightfully comfortable, Mrs. Gray. Oh, you are tired, you are faint perhaps. Shall I ring, said Hester, moving to the bottom? No, no, said he, laughing. I am very well at present. I only mean that I should like to stay all day. If you will let me, I am sure that sofa is full as comfortable as my own. I may stay, may I not? No, indeed you shall not, this first day. If you will go away now before you are tired and if I find when I look in upon you this evening that you are not the worst for this feat, you shall stay longer tomorrow, but I assure you it is time you were at home now. My dears, just see whether the gig is at the door. So I only sent away by begging to stay, said Mr. Hope. Well, I have been giving orders to sick people for many years, that I suppose it is fairly my turn to obey now. May I ask you to send to widow rise today? I looked in as I came and her child is in want of better food, better cooked than she is able to give him. I will send him a dinner from our table. You are not going to see any more patients today, I hope. Only two that lie quite in my road. If you send me away, you must take the consequences. Farewell, tell tomorrow. Mr. Gray and I shall look in upon you this evening. Now do not look about you out of the doors. To catch anybody's eye, or will you be visiting a dozen patients between this house and your own? There were, indeed, many people standing about within sight of Mr. Gray's door, to see Mr. Hope come out. All Mr. Gray's children and servants were peeping through the shrubbery. Mrs. Underby waved her hand from a lower and two maids looked out from an upper window. The old man of a hundred years who was sunning himself on the bank as usual rose and took off his hat, and the little Reeves and their school fellows stood whispering to one another that Mr. Hope looked really bad still. Mrs. Plumstead dropped a low curtsy as she stood taking in the letter bag at her distant door. Mrs. Gray observed to Hester on the respect which was paid to Mr. Hope all through the place as if Hester was not feeling it in her heart of hearts at the moment. Mrs. Gray flattered herself that Mr. Hope was thinking of Hester when he said his friends did not look well. She had been growing thinner and paler for the last month, and no doubt remained in Mrs. Gray's mind about the cause. Hester had commanded herself to her sister's admiration, but she could not command her health. And that was giving way under perpetual feelings of anxiety and humiliation. Mrs. Gray thought all this had gone quite far enough. She was more fond and proud of Hester every day and more ancient that she should be happy the more she watched her. She spoke to Margaret about her. Margaret was prepared for this, having foreseen its probability. And her answers, while perfectly true and sincere, were so guarded that Mrs. Gray drew from them the comfortable inference that she alone penetrated the matter, and understood Hester's state of mind. She came to the resolution at last of making the young people happy a little sooner than they could have managed the affair for themselves. She would help them to an understanding, but it should be with all possible delicacy and reward to their feelings. Not even Mr. Gray should know what she was about. Opportunities were not wanting. When are opportunities wanting to matchmakers? If such do not find means of carrying their points, they can construct them. Few matchmakers go to work so innocently and securely as Mrs. Gray, for few can be so certain of the inclinations of the parties as she believed herself. Her own admiration of Hester was so exclusive and the superiority of Hester's beauty so unquestionable that it never occurred to her that the attraction, which drew Mr. Hope to the house, could be any other than this. About the state of Hester's affections, she felt justly confident, and so interview, nothing remained to be done, but to save her from further pining by bridging about an explanation. She was frequently with Mr. Hope at his lodgings during his recovery, seeing that he took his afternoon rest and beguiling a part of his evenings, in short, watching over him as over a son and declaring to Hester that he was no less dear to her. One evening, when she was spending an hour in Mr. Hope's parlor, where Mr. Gray had deposited her till nine o'clock, when he was to call her, she made the same affectionate declaration that Mr. Hope himself, that he was as dear to her as if he had been her own son. And she continued, I shall speak to you with the same freedom as I should use with Sydney and may perhaps 10 years hence. Pray do, said Mr. Hope, I shall be glad to hear anything you have to say. Are you going to find fault with me? Oh dear, no, what fault should I have to find with you unless indeed it be a fault or a folly to leave your own happiness and that of another person? It needless uncertainty. Mr. Hope changed color quite to the extent of her wishes.  But you are growing stronger every day now and the case is becoming so serious on the other side that I own, I dread the consequences of much further delay. You see, I speak openly. She had every encouragement to do so for Mr. Hope's countenance was flush with what appeared to her to be delight. You observed yourself, you know, that Hester did not look well and indeed the few weeks after your accident were so trying to her, the exertions she made to conceal her feelings were so. But I must spare her delicacy. I trust you are quite assured that she has not the most remote idea of my speaking to you thus. Indeed no human being is in the least aware of it. Hester, Ms. Ibbitson, pray Mrs. Gray, do not say another word. Let us talk of something else. Presently, when I have finished, you must have seen that I love this dear girl as a daughter and there is not a thought of her heart that she can conceal from me. Though her delicacy is so great that I am confident she thinks me unaware of her state of mind at this moment, but I saw how the affair was going from the very beginning and the failure of her health and looks since your accident have left me no doubt whatever and have made me feel it my duty to give you encouragement, your modesty requires and to provide to you how holy her happiness lies in your hands. Hester, Ms. Ibbitson, I assure you, Mrs. Gray, you must be completely mistaken. I beg your pardon. I am not so easily mistaken as some people. There is Mrs. Rowland now. I am sure she fancies that her brother is in love with Hester. When it is plain to everybody but herself that he and my other young cousin are coming to a conclusion as fast as need be. However, I know you do not like to hear me find fault with Mrs. Rowland and besides I have no right to tell Margaret's secrets so we will say no more about that. Mr. Hope sighed heavily. These remarks upon Enderby and Margaret accorded but too well with his own observations. He could not let Mrs. Gray proceed without opposition but all he was capable of was to repeat that she was entirely mistaken. Yes, that is what men like you always say. In all sincerity, of course, your modesty always stands in the way of your happiness for a while but you are no losers by it. The happiness is all the sweeter when it comes that last. But that is not what I mean. You have made it difficult for me to explain myself. I hardly know how to say it but it must not be said. You have mistaken my intentions, mistaken them all together. It was now Mrs. Gray's turn to change color. She asked in a trembling voice, do you mean to say Mr. Hope that you have not been paying attentions to Hester Ibbotson? I do say so that I have paid no attentions of the nature you suppose. You compel me to speak plainly. Then I must speak plainly too, Mr. Hope. If anyone had told me you would play the part you have played, I should have resented the imputation as I resent your conduct now. If you have not intended to win Hester's affections, you have behaved infamously. You have won her attachment by attentions which have never varied from the very first evening that she entered our house till this afternoon. You have amused yourself with her, it seems. And now you are going to break her heart. Stop, stop Mrs. Gray, I cannot hear this. There is not a soul in the place that does not think as I do. There is not a soul that will not say. Let us put aside what people may say. If by any imprudence of my own I have brought blame upon myself, I must bear it. The important point is, surely Mrs. Gray, it is possible that you may be an error about Ms. Ibbotson's. Ms. Ibbotson's state of mind. No, Mr. Hope, it is not possible. And being in for it, as she said, Mrs. Gray gave such a detail of her observations and of unquestionable facts, as left the truth indeed in little doubt. And Margaret said, Mr. Hope, in a troubled voice, do you know anything of her views of my conduct? Margaret is not so easily seen through as Hester, said Mrs. Gray, an assertion from which Mr. Hope silently dissented.  He was aware that Mrs. Gray had been so occupied with Hester as not to have been open to impression from Margaret. Margaret is not so easily seen through as Hester, you know, and she and I have never talked over your conduct confidentially. But if Margaret does not perceive the alteration in her sister and the cause of it, it can only be because she is occupied with her own concerns. That is not like Margaret, thought Mr. Hope. However, she does see it, I am sure, for she has proposed their return to Birmingham, their immediate return. Though their affairs are far from being settled yet, and they do not know what they will have to live upon, they promise to stay till October too. And we are only half through August yet. Margaret can hardly have any wish to leave us on her own account, considering whom she must leave behind, it is for Hester's sake, I am confident. There is no doubt of the fact, Mr. Hope, your honor is involved. I repeat, you have won this dear girl's affections, and now you must act as a man of conscience, which I have always supposed you to be. Mr. Hope was tempted to ask for further confirmation from the opinions of the people who were about Hester, but he would not investigate the degree of exposure, which might have taken place. Even if no one agreed with Mrs. Gray, this would be no proof that her conviction was a wrong one. It might happen through Hester's successful concealment of what she must be striving to suppress. Mrs. Gray urged him to vote his honor and conscience. More closely than he could bear. He faintly begged her to leave him. He obtained from her a promise that she would inform no person of what had been said, and she again assured him that neither Hester nor anyone else had the remotest idea of her speaking as she had done this evening. On his part, Mr. Hope declared that he should reflect on what had passed and act with the strictest regard to duty as in Mrs. Gray's eyes. His duty was perfectly clear. This declaration was completely satisfactory. She saw the young people with her mind's eye, settled in the corner house, which belonged to Mr. Rowland, and was delighted that she had spoken. As soon as she was gone, Mr. Hope would discover she had little doubt that he had loved Hester all this time without having been conscious what the attraction had really been. And in a little while, he would be thankful to her for having smoothed his way for him. With these thoughts in her mind, she bade him goodnight, just as Mr. Gray drove up to the door. She whispered once more that he was as dear to her as a son, and that this was the reason of her having spoken so plainly. How are you this evening, Hope? Said Mr. Gray from the doorway. On the sofa, eh? Don't rise for me then. Rather done up, eh? Ah, I was afraid you were forgetting on too fast. Bad economy in the end. You will be glad to be rid of us, so I shall not come in. Take care of yourself, I beg of you. Good night. In what a state of mind was Hope left? His plain speaking motherly friend, little guest, what a storm she had raised in a spirit, usually as calm as the summer's morning. There was nothing to him so abhorrent as giving pain, nothing so intolerable, an idea as injuring any human being. And he was now compelled to believe that through some conduct of his own, some imprudence, in a case where imprudence is guilt, he had broken up the peace of a woman whom though he did not love, he respected and warmly regarded. His mind was in too tumultuous state for him to attempt to settle with himself the degree of his culpability. He only knew that he was abased in his own sense of deep injury towards a fellow creature. In the same breath came the destruction of his hopes, hopes of which till the moment he had been scarcely conscious, with regard to the one on whom his thoughts had been really fixed. He had pledged himself to act strictly according to his sense of duty. His consolation, his refuge in every former trial of life, since the days of childhood, had been in resolving to abide faithfully by the decisions of duty. In this he had found freedom, in this he had met strength and repose, so that no evil had been intolerable to him. But what was his duty now? It missed the contradictions of honor and conscious in the primest case, where should he find his accustomed refuge? At one moment he sought clearly the obligation to devote himself to her, whose affection he had gained thoughtlessly and carelessly. It is true, but to other guys purposely, at the next moment the sin of marrying without love, if not while loving another, rose vividly before him, and made him shrink from what an instant before, seemed clear duty, the only hope was in the possibility of mistake, which might yet remain. The whole could not be a mistake, without Esther and Enderby and Margaret and all Mrs. Gray's convictions. Some of all this must be true, the probability was that it was all true, and if so, he could almost repine that he had not died when his death was expected. Then he should not have known all this injury in woe, then he should not have had to witness Margaret's love for another, then Esther's quiet grief would have melted away with time, unemittered by reproach of him. No one had till this hour, loved and relished life more than he, yet now his glansom being caught himself mourning, that he had survived his accident. He roused himself from this, but all was fearful and confused before him. He could see nothing as it was, and as it ought to be, he could decide upon nothing. He must take time, he must be deliberate upon this, the most important transaction of his life. Thus he determined, as the last remains of Twilight faded away in his apartment, and the night air blew in chill from the open window. He was so exhausted by his mental conflict as to be scarcely able to rise to close the window and retired to rest. There was one hope familiar as the sunshine to his eyes, but usually feeble, still abiding in his mind for comfort, that he should sooner or later clearly discern what it was his duty to do. All was at present dark, but this light might flow in. He would wait, he would not act till it did. He did wait, for many days he was not seen in any of the haunts to which he had begun to return. The answer to inquiries was that Mr. Hope was not so well, and wished for entire quiet. Everyone was anxious, Hester was wretched, and Mrs. Gray extremely restless and uneasy. She made several attempts to see him, but in no instance did she succeed. She wrote him a private note, and received only a friendly verbal answer, such as all the world might hear. Mr. Hope did wait for his duty to grow clear in the accumulating light of thought. He decided at length how to act, and he decided wrong, not for want of waiting long enough, but because some considerations intruded themselves which warped his judgment and sophisticated his feelings. He decided upon making the great mistake of his life. Nothing had ever been clearer to his mind than the guilt of marrying without love. No man could have spoken more strongly, more solemnly than he, on the presumption, the dishonorableness, the profligacy of such an act. But he was unaware how a man may be betrayed into it, while he was neither presumption nor treachery, nor profligacy in his thoughts. Hope went through a world of meditation during the days of his close retirement. Some of his thoughts were superficial, and some deceived him. He considered Margaret lost to him. He glanced forwards to his desolation when he should lose the society of both sisters, an event likely to happen almost immediately. Unless he should so act as to retain them, he dwelt upon Hester's beauty and her superiority of mind to every woman, but one whom he had known. Her attachment to himself, her dependence upon him, he pondered these things, till the tone of his mind was lowered, and too many superficial feelings mingled with the sacredness of the transaction, and in pared its integrity under the influence he decided what to do. He had no intention, all this while, of taking Mrs. Gray's word for the whole matter without test or confirmation. From the beginning he was aware that his first step must be to ascertain that she was not mistaken, and this was his first step. There were two obvious methods of proceeding. One was to consult Mr. Gray, who stood in the place of guardian to these girls, as to the probability of his success with Hester in case of his proposing himself to her. The other was to ask the same question of Margaret. The advantage of speaking to Mr. Gray was that he might not be bound to proceed in case of Mr. Gray differing from his lady's view of the case, but then Mr. Gray was perhaps unaware of the real state of Hester's mind. From Margaret there was certainty of hearing nothing but the truth. However little of it, her feelings for her sister might allow her to reveal what such a conversation with her would compel him to proceed. All retreat would be cut off after it, and he naturally shrank from converting with Margaret of all people on this subject, but hope was equal to any effort which he thought a matter of duty, and he resolved not to flinch from this. He would speak first to Mr. Gray, and if Mr. Gray did not undertake to answer for Hester's indifference, he would seek an interview with Margaret. If Margaret should encourage his advances on her sister's behalf, the matter was decided. He should have a wife who might be the pride of any man, whom it would be an honor to any man to have attached. If as was still just possible, Margaret should believe that her sister felt no peculiar regard for him. He thought he might imitate so much of the truth as, without offering her feelings on her sister's account, would secure for him freedom to reconsider his purposes. No man disliked more than he, so circuitous a method of acting in the most important affair of life. He had always believed that, in the case of a genuine and virtuous attachment, there can or ought to be nothing but the most entire simplicity of conduct in the parties, no appeal to anybody, each other, no seeking of an intervention, where no stranger ought to intermeddle with the joy, but the present affair, though perpetually brightening before Hope's fancy, it could not for a moment be thought of as of this kind. And here the circuitous method, which had always appeared disgusting to his imagination, was a matter of necessity to his conscious. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12. Of Dear Brooke. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Andrus. Dear Brooke by Harriet Martineau. Chapter 12. A Turn in the Shrubbery. Mr. Gray looked extremely pleased when asked whether he supposed Hester might be one. His reply was simple enough. He was not in his young cousin's confidence. He could not undertake to answer for the state of mind of young ladies, but he knew of no other attachment, of nothing which need to scourge his friend Hope, who would have his hearty good wishes if he should persevere in his project. Yes, yes, he fully understood. It was not to be spoken of. It was to rest entirely between themselves till Hope should have felt his way a little. He knew it was the fashion in these days to feel the way a little more than was thought necessary or desirable in his time. But he liked that all should follow their own method in an affair which concerned themselves so much more than anyone else. So the matter should be a perfect secret as Mr. Hope desired, though he did not fancy it would have to be kept so close for any great length of time. This was over, now for the interview with Margaret, which had become necessary. His reappearance in the family party at Mr. Gray's under the inquisitive eyes of Mrs. Gray herself must be an awkward business at the best while he remained in uncertainty. The only way was to put an end to the uncertainty as soon as possible. He would go this very afternoon and certain his fate before the day was over. He went boldly up to the door and rang. The family were all out in the garden after dinner, Alice said, would Mr. Hope join them there or would he rest himself while she told them he had arrived? Alice's anxiety about his looks was not yet satisfied. I will step in here, said he, the door of the blue parlor being open. Send Morris to me. Morris, at that moment crossing the hall. Morris, I want to see Miss Margaret. Will you just tell her that someone was just to speak with her? I know she'll excuse my asking the favor of her to come in. Miss Margaret, sir? Yes. I am sure, sir, you look more fit to sit here than to be gathering apples with them in the orchard. Did you say Miss Margaret, sir? Yes. Whatever else may be in Morris's mind, thought Hope, it is clear that she is surprised at my wanting to see Margaret. Here she comes. He was not sorry that the step paused in the hall that there was a delay of some seconds before Margaret appeared. He felt as weak at that moment as on first rising from his bed after his accident. But he rallied his resolution before he met her eye, now timid and shrinking as he had never seen it before. Margaret was very grave and as nearly awkward as it was possible for her to be. She shook hands with him, however, and hoped that he was better again. I am better, thank you. Will you sit down and let me speak to you for a few minutes? It was impossible to refuse.  I hear, he said, that you are already thinking of returning to Birmingham. Is this true? Yes, we shall go home in a few days. Then before you leave us, will you allow me to ask your advice? At the word advice, a glow of pleasure passed over Margaret's face and she could not quite suppress a sigh of relief. She now looked up freely and fearlessly. All this was good for Mr. Hope, but it went to his heart and for a moment checked to speech. He soon proceeded, however. I want your advice as a friend and also some information which you alone can give me, what I have to say relates to your sister. This ecstasy of Hope was scarcely controllable. For her sister's sake she hung her head upon her bosom, the better to conceal her joy. It was a bitter moment for him who could not but note and rightly interpret the change in her countenance and manner. I wished to know, if you have no objection to tell me, whether your sister is disengaged. I have no objection to say, declared Margaret, looking up cheerfully, that my sister is not engaged. That is the information I wished for. Now for the opinion which I venture to ask of you, as of the one to whom your sister's mind is best known. Do you believe that, if I attempted, I am likely to win her? Margaret was silent. It was difficult to answer the question with perfect truth and with due consideration to her sister. I see, said Hope, that you do not approve my question, nor do I myself. Here tell me whether you suppose that she prefers anyone to me, that she had rather I should not seek her, whether, in short, you would advise me to withdraw. By no means, said Margaret, I cannot say anything tending to deter you. I know of nothing which needs discourage you, and, I assure you, you have my best wishes that you may succeed. She looked at him with the bright expression of sincerity and regard which had touched his heart oftener and more deeply than all Hester's beauty. He could not have offered to shake hands at the moment, but she held out hers, and he could not but take it. The door burst open at the same instant, and Mr. Enderby entered. Both let drop the hand they held, and looked extremely awkward in grave. A single glance was enough to send Mr. Enderby away without having Spotenken has errand, which was to summon Margaret to the orchard for the final shake of the apple-tree. When he was gone, each saw that the face of the other was crimson, but while Hope had a look of distress which Margaret wondered at, remembering how soon Mr. Enderby would understand the nature of the interview, she was struggling to restrain a laugh. Thank you for your truth, said Mr. Hope. I knew I might depend upon it from you. I have told you all I can, said Margaret Rising. And it will be best to say no more at present. It is due to my sister to close her conversation here. If she should choose, continued she gaily, to give us leave to renew it thereafter, I shall have a great deal to say to you on my own part. You have done me the honour of calling me friend. You have my friendship, I assure you, and my good wishes. Hope grasped her hand with a fervour which absolved him from the use of words. He then opened the door for her. I must return to the orchard, said she. Will you go, or will you repose yourself here till we come into the tea? Mr. Hope preferred remaining where he was. The die was cast, and he must thank. His hour of meditation was salutary. He had never seen Margaret so. He dared not dwell upon it, but then never had her simplicity of feelings toward him, her ingenious friendship, unmixed with a thought of love, been so clear. He had made no impression upon her, except through her sister, and for her sister. He recalled the stiffness and fear with which she had come when summoned to a tete-té, her sudden relief on the mention of her sister, and her joyous encouragement of his project. I ought to rejoice, I do rejoice at this, thought he. It seems as if everyone else would be made happy by this affair. It must have been my own doing. There must have been that in my manner and conduct which authorised all this expectation and satisfaction, and expectation and satisfaction which proved to be no fancy of Mrs. Gray's. I have brought it upon myself, the charge of Hester's happiness. She is a noble woman, bound to me by all that can engage my honour, my generosity, my affection. She shall be happy from this day if my most entire devotion can make her so. Margaret loves Enderby. I am glad I know it. I made him dreadfully jealous just now. I must relieve him as soon as possible. I do not know how far matters may have gone between them, but Margaret is not at liberty to explain what he saw till I have spoken to Hester. There must be no delay. I will do it this evening. I cannot bring myself to communicate with Mrs. Gray. If Mr. Gray is at home, he will make the opportunity for me. Hester Gray was at home, and on the alert to take a hint. I guessed how it was, said he. Margaret has been trying to keep down her spirits, but not a child among them all flew about the orchard as she did, when Mr. Enderby had been to look for her, and she followed him back. I thought at first it was something on her own account, but Enderby looked too dull and sulky for that. I have no doubt he is jealous of you. He found you together, did he? Well he will soon know why, I trust. Oh, you have a hearty well-wisher in Margaret, I am sure. Now you see they are setting Sophia down to the piano, and I think I can find for you the opportunity you want, if you really wish to bring the business to a conclusion this evening. I will call Hester out to take a turn with me in the shrubbery, as she and I often do these fine evenings, and then if you choose you can meet us there. Hester was not at all sorry to be invited by Mr. Gray to the turn in the shrubbery, which was one of the best of her quiet pleasures, a solace which she enjoyed the more, the more she became attached to kind Mr. Gray. And she did much respect and love him. This evening she was glad of any summons from the room. Margaret had fully intended not to speak to her of what had passed, thinking at best for her sister's dignity, and for Mr. Hope's satisfaction, that he should not be anticipated. All this was very wise and undeniable while she was walking back to the orchard, but it so happened that Hester's hand hung by her side, as she stood looking up the apple-tree, unaware that Margaret had left the party. Margaret could not resist seizing the hand and pressing it with so much silent emotion, such a glance of joy as threw Hester into a state of wonder and expectation. Not a syllable could she extort from Margaret, either on this spot or afterwards, when summoned to tea. Whether it was on account of Mr. Hope's return to the house, she could not satisfy herself. She had sat, conscious and inwardly distressed at the tea-table, where nothing remarkable had occurred, and was glad to escape from the circle where all that was said appeared to her excited spirit to be tiresome, or trifling, or vexatious. How different was it all when she returned to the house? How she loved the whole world, and no one in it was dull, and nothing was trifling, and it was out of the power of circumstances to vex her. Life had become heaven. Its doubts, its cares, its troubles were gone, and all had given place to a soul penetrating joy. She should grow perfect now, for she had one whom she believed perfect to lead her on. Her pride, her jealousy, would trouble her no more. It was for want of sympathy, perfect sympathy always at hand, that she had been a prey to them. She should pine no more, for there was one who was her own. A calm, nameless, all-pervading bliss had wrapped itself round her spirit, and brought her as near to her maker as if she had been his favorite child. There needs no other proof that happiness is the most wholesome moral atmosphere, and that in which the immortality of man is destined ultimately to thrive than the elevation of soul, the religious aspiration which attends the first assurance, the first sober certainty of true love. There is much of this religious aspiration amidst all warmth of virtuous affections. There is a vivid love of God in the child that lays its cheek against the cheek of its mother, and clasps its arms about her neck. God is thanked, perhaps, unconsciously, for the brightness of his earth on summer evenings, when a brother and sister who have long been parted pour out their hearts' doors to each other, and feel their course of thought brightening as it runs. When the aged parent hears of the honors his children have won, or looks round upon the innocent faces as the glory of his decline, his mind reverts to him who in them prescribed the purpose of his life, and bestowed its grace. But religious, as is the mood of every good affection, none is so devotional as that of love, especially so-called. The soul is then the very temple of adoration, of faith, of holy purity, of heroism, of charity. At such a moment the human creature shoots up into the angel.  Strengthened, sustained, vivified by that most mysterious power, union with another spirit, it feels itself set well forth on the way of victory over evil, sent out conquering and to conquer. There is no other such crisis in human life. The philosopher may experience uncontrollable agitation in verifying his principle of balancing systems of worlds, feeling perhaps, as if he actually saw the creative hand in the act of sending the planets forth on their everlasting way. But this philosopher, solitary seraph as he may be regarded, amidst a myriad of men, knows at such a moment no emotions so divine as those of spirit becoming conscious that it is beloved, be it the peasant girl in the meadow or the daughter of the sage reposing in her father's confidence or the artisan besides his loom or the man of letters musing by his fireside. The warrior, about to strike the decisive blow for the liberties of a nation, however impressed with the solemnity of the hour, is not in a state of such lofty resolution as those who, by joining hearts, are laying their joint hands on the whole wide realm of futurity for their own. The statesman, who, in the moment of success, feels that an entire class of social sins and woes is annihilated by his hand, is not conscious of so holy and so intimate a thankfulness as they who are aware that their redemption is come in the presence of a new and sovereign affection, and these are many. They are in all corners of every land. The statesman is the leader of a nation. The warrior is the grace of an age. The philosopher is the birth of a thousand years. But the lover, where is he not? Wherever parents look round upon their children, there he has been. Wherever children are at play, together there he will soon be. Wherever there are roofs under which men dwell. Wherever there is an atmosphere vibrating with human voices. There is the lover, and there is his lofty worship going on, unspeakable, but revealed in the brightness of the eye, the majesty of the presence, and the high temper of the discourse. Men have been ungrateful and perverse. They have done what they could to counteract, to debase, this most heavenly influence of their life. But the laws of their maker are too strong. The benignity of their father is too patient and spervent for their opposition to withstand, and true love continues, and will continue, to send up its homage amidst the meditations of every evening tide, and the busy hum of noon, and the song of the morning stars. Hester, when she re-entered the house, was full of the commonest feeling of all in happy lovers, a wonder that such intense happiness should be permitted to her. Margaret was lingering about the stair-head in the desk, and met her sister at the door of their own apartment. May I come in, said she. May you come in, home Margaret, I want you. All is right. All is well. Is it Hester? And I was quite wrong throughout. I grieve now that I helped to make you miserable. But indeed I was miserable myself. I saw no hope. I was completely mistaken. We were both mistaken, said Hester, resting her head at Margaret's shoulder. Mistaken in judgment, blinded by anxiety. But all that is over now. Margaret, what have I done that I should be so happy? You have loved one who deserves such a love as yours, said Margaret smiling. That is what you have done. And you will have the blessings of all who know you both. You have mine, dearest. What an ungrateful wretch shall I be if I do not make everyone happy that is within my reach, cried Hester. Margaret, I will never grieve his heart as I have grieved yours. I will never grieve yours again. But how is it, asked Margaret? You have not told me yet. Is it all settled? A silent embrace told that it was. I may shake hands with you upon it, then. Oh, Hester, after all our longings for a brother, you are going to give me one. We are not alone in the world. My father, our mother, where are they? Do they know? Have they foreseen while we have been suffering so? Do they now foresee for us? There was not one word of his, said Hester, that I should not have gloried in their hearing. So gentle, Margaret, so noble, so calm. And you, said Margaret softly, did you speak? Speak openly? Yes, it was no time for pride. With him I have no pride. I could not have believed how I should tell him all. But he was so noble, spoke so gloriously, that it would have been an insult to use any disguise. He knows all that you know, Margaret, and I am not ashamed. I honor you, said Margaret, thank God all is right. But where is Mr. Hope all this time? He went away when I came in. You will see him in the morning. Can you go down this evening? If you think you can. Go down. Yes, this moment. I feel as if I could face the whole world. Let me ask you one thing. May I tell Maria in the morning? She will be so pleased. And no one but you understands my feelings so well. Everybody will rejoice with me, but I can say anything to her. May I tell her all in the morning? Dear Maria, oh yes, tell her from me with my love. I know I shall have her blessing. Now let us go down. But we must just settle how matters are to proceed, said Margaret. Are the family to know or not? Oh, let it all take its chance, said Hester. I am sure I do not care. Let it be as it happens, for tonight at least. For tonight at least, agreed Margaret. All was going on as usual below stairs. The working of collars and of rugs was proceeding as the family sat around the lamp. On the appearance of Hester and Margaret, the book with the society's cover on it was produced, and it was requested that someone would read aloud, as it was necessary that forty pages a day should be gone through to get the volume done by the time it must be sent to Mrs. Enderby. Sophia asked whether someone else would be so good as to read this evening, as she thought she could finish her collar by keeping steadily to it till bedtime. Margaret took the book and was surprised to find how easy a process it is to read aloud passably without taking in a word of the sense. Fortunately the grays were not much given to make remarks on what they read. To have gone through the books that came from the society was enough, and they could not have accomplished the forty pages in the evening if they had stopped to talk. The only words spoken during the lecture, therefore, were occasional remarks that the reader seemed hoarse, and that someone else had better take the book, and whispered requests across the table for scissors, thread, or the adjustment of the light. Such being the method of literary exercise in the family, Hester and Margaret were able to think of anything they pleased with impurity. There! Here comes Pappas, said Sophia, and I do not believe we have read nearly forty pages. Where did you begin, Margaret? Margaret resigned the volume to her to have the place found, and was told that she should not have shifted the marker till the evening reading was done, unless she at once set it forward forty pages. It made it so difficult to find the place. Sophia was detained only five minutes from her collar, however, before she discovered that they had read only eight and twenty pages. Mrs. Gray observed that Mr. Gray was coming in rather earlier than usual tonight, and Sophia added that her cousins had been a good while in their own room.  What a clever book this is, said Mrs. Gray. Very entertaining, added Sophia. What is your opinion of it? asked Mr. Gray of Hester. She smiled and said she must read more of it before she could judge. It is such a relief, said Mrs. Gray, to have a book like this in hand after the tiresome things Mr. Rowland orders in. He consults Mrs. Rowland's notions about books far too much, and she always takes a fancy to the dullest. One would almost think it was on purpose. Sydney, like the sport of knocking on the head, charges against the Rowlands. He showed, by reference to the society's list, that the book just laid down was ordered by the Rowlands. Dear me, Sophia, said her mother, you made quite a mistake. You told us it was ordered in by Mr. Hope. I am sure I thought so all this time. Well, I daresay we shall not be able to finish it, said Sophia. We have read only eight and twenty pages this evening, Papa. How shockingly Mr. Hope looks still, does he not? I think he looks worse than when he was here last. And I trust he will look better when we see him next. I have the strongest hopes that he will now gain ground every day. I am sure he seems to have gained very little yet. Oh, yes he has. As I trust you will soon see. Sophia was about to bewail Mr. Hope sickly looks again when her mother trod on her foot under the table, and, moreover, winked and frowned in a very awful way, so that Sophia felt silenced. She could not conceive for what reason. Not being able to think of anything else to say, to cover her confusion, she discovered that it was bedtime, at least for people who had been gathering apples. Once more Mrs. Gray gazed over her spectacles at her husband when the young people were gone. My dear, she said she, what makes you think that Mr. Hope is gaining ground every day? My dear, what made you tread on all our toes when I said so? Near me I only gave Sophia a hint to prevent her saying dismal things before people. One does not know what may be passing in their minds, you know. And so you kindly show what is passing in yours. However these young ladies may soon be able, perhaps, to tell us more about Hope than we can tell them. My dear, what do you mean? I saw a glance between them, a smile, when you were silencing Sophia. I believe you may prepare yourself for some news, my dear. I have no doubt of Hester's state of mind, and I feel confident of Hope's, so here is the case, pretty well made out between us. Mrs. Gray was in raptures for a moment, but she then resumed her system of mysterious tokens. She shook her head and owned that she had reason to think her husband was mistaken. Well, just observe them the next time they are together, that is all. And my poor Hester looks wretchedly, Mr. Gray. It really makes my heart ache to see her. How differently people view things. I was just thinking that I never saw her so lovely, with such a sprightliness, such a glow in her face, as five minutes ago. Just this evening she does not look so pale, but she is sadly altered, previously changed indeed. Seeing this is the only thing which reconciles me to parting with her. Now Mr. Gray, I should like to know what sets you smiling in that manner at that poor girl. I was smiling to thank how, as young ladies have been known to change their minds, it may be possible that we may have the pleasure of seeing Hester pick up her good looks again here, in spite of all that Morris says about her native heir. I should not wonder that we may persuade her to stay yet. Mrs. Gray shook her head decisively. She would have been very glad, a little while since, to hear her husband's opinion that Mr. Hope's views were fixed upon Hester, but now, but men were always so positive, and always the most positive where they knew the least. A deep sigh from the one party, and a broad smile from the other, closed the conversation. CHAPTER XIII Sophia in the Village Deerbrook was not a place where practical affairs could be long kept secret, even where the best reasons for secrecy existed. About Hester's engagement there was no reason whatsoever for concealment, and it was accordingly made known to every one in Deerbrook in the course of the next day. Margaret shut herself up with Maria before breakfast, and enjoyed an hour of hearty sympathy from her in the first place. As they were both aware that this communication was a little out of order, Mr. and Mrs. Gray having a clear title to the earliest information, Maria had to be discreet for nearly three hours, as she heard the news from another quarter. Immediately after breakfast, Mr. Hope called on Mr. Gray at the office, and informed him. Mr. Gray stepped home, and found Margaret enlightening his wife. Sophia was next called in while Morris was closeted with her young ladies. Sophia burst breathless into the summer house to tell Ms. Young, which she did in whispers, so loud as to be overheard by the children. Matilda immediately found she had left her slate-pencil behind her, and ran into the house to give her Mama the news, just at the moment that Mr. Gray was relating it to his partner in the office. On returning, Sophia found her mother putting on her bonnet, having remembered that it was quite time she should be stepping across the way to hear how poor Mrs. Enderby was after the thunderstorm of three days ago. This reminded Sophia that she ought to be inquiring about the worsteds which Mrs. Howell must have got down from London by this time to finish Mrs. Gray's rug. Mrs. Gray could not trust her eyes to match shades of worsteds, and Sophia now set out with great alacrity to oblige her mother by doing it for her. On the way she met Dr. Levitt, about to enter the house of a sick parishioner. Dr. Levitt hoped all at home were well. All very well indeed Sophia was obliged to him. Her only fear was that the excitement of present circumstances might be too much for Mama. Mama was so very much attached to Cousin Hester, and it would be such a delightful thing to have her settled beside them. Perhaps Dr. Levitt had not heard that Hester and Mr. Hope were going to be married. No indeed he had not. He wondered his friend Hope had not told him of his good fortune, of which he heartily wished him joy. How long had this happy affair been settled? Not long, he fancied. Not very long, and perhaps Mr. Hope did not consider that it was quite made public yet, but Sophia thought that Dr. Levitt ought to know. Dr. Levitt thanked her, and said he would try and find Hope in the course of the morning, to congratulate him, and he and Mrs. Levitt would give themselves the pleasure of calling on the ladies very shortly. Ritzen, how is your wife, said Sophia, crossing over to speak to a laborer who was on his way up the street? A deal better, miss. She's coming about right nicely. Ah, that is Mr. Hope's doing. He attends her, of course. Oh, yes, miss. He's done her a sight of good. Ah, so he always does. But Ritzen, if he should not be able to attend to her quite so closely, as usual just now, you will excuse it when you hear how it is. Lord miss, the wonder is that he has come at all so ill as he has been himself. I don't mean that. You will soon see him very well now. He is going to be married, Ritzen. What is he? Well, to my cousin, miss Ibbetson. He will be more at our house, you know, than anywhere else. And with a wink which was a very good miniature of her mother's, Sophia passed on, leaving Ritzen to bless Mr. Hope and the pretty young lady. She cast a glance into the butcher's shop as she arrived opposite to it, and her heart leapt up when she saw Mrs. James, the lawyer's wife, watching the waying of a loin of eel. You will excuse my interrupting you, Mrs. James, said she from the threshold of the shop, but we are anxious to know whether Mr. James thanks Mrs. Enderby really altered of late. We saw him go in last week, and we heard it was to make up an alteration of her will. I often wonder how things get abroad, said Mrs. James. My husband makes such a particular point of never speaking of such affairs, and I am sure no one ever hears them from me. I believe Mrs. Enderby told Mama about the will herself. Well, that is, as she pleases, of course, said Mrs. James smiling. What is the wait with the kidney, Mr. Jones? We should like so to know, resumed Sophia, whether Mr. James considers Mrs. Enderby much altered of late. I should think you would be better able to judge than he, Miss Gray. I believe you see her ten times to his once. That is the very reason we see her so often, that a gradual change would be less likely to strike us. Mr. Hope will give you satisfaction. He must be a better judge than any of us. Oh, yes, but we cannot expect him to have eyes for any person but one at present, you know. Oh, so he is going to marry Deborah Giles after all? Deborah Giles? Yes, was he not said to be engaged to her some time ago? Deborah Giles, the boatman's daughter? I declare I never heard such a place as this for gossip. Why, Deborah Giles can barely read and write, and she is beneath Mr. Hope in every way. I do not believe he ever spoke to her in his life. Oh, well, I do not pretend to know. I heard something about it. Eleven and three pence. Can you change a sovereign, Mr. Jones? And, pray, send home the chops immediately. It is my cousin, Miss Ibbotson, that Mr. Hope is engaged to, said Sophia, unable to refrain from disclosures which she yet saw were not cared for, the beautiful Miss Ibbotson, you know. Indeed, I am sure somebody said it was Deborah Giles. Then, you think, Mr. Jones, we may depend upon you for game when the season begins? Mr. Jones seemed more interested in the news than his customer. He wished Mr. Hope all good luck with his pretty lady. Sophia thought herself fortunate when she saw Mr. Enderby turn out of the toy shop with his youngest nephew, a round-faced boy, still in petticoats, perched upon his shoulder. Mr. Enderby bowed, but did not seem to heed her call. He jumped through the turnstile and proceeded to canter along the church lane amidst the glee of the child so rapidly that Sophia was obliged to give up the hope of being the first to tell him the news. It was very provoking. She would have liked to see how he would look. She was sure of a delighted listener in Mrs. Howell, to whom no communication ever came amiss, but there was a condition to Mrs. Howell's listening, that she should be allowed to tell her own news first. When she found that Sophia wanted to match some worsteds, she and her shopwoman exchanged sympathetic glances. Mrs. Howell sighing, with her head on the right side, had Miss Miskin groaning with her head on the left side. Are you ill, Mrs. Howell, asked Sophia? It shook me a little, I confess, ma'am, hearing that you wanted worsteds. We have no relief, ma'am, from ladies wanting worsteds. No relief, day or night, added Miss Miskin. Day or night, surely you do not sell worsteds in the night-time, said Sophia. Not sell them, ma'am, only match them. And matching them is the trial, I assure you. If you could only hear my agent, ma'am, things he has to tell about people in my situation, how they are going mad, all over the country, with incessantly matching of worsteds, now that the kind of work is all the fashion, and nothing more likely, ma'am, for there is no getting one's natural rest. I am forever matching worsteds in my dreams. And when I wake, I seem to have had no rest. And as you see, directly after breakfast, ladies come for worsteds. And Miss Anderson's messenger left a whole bundle of skeins to be matched for her young ladies, as early as eight this morning, declared Miss Miskin, and so we go on. It will not be for long, I dare say, Mrs. Howell. It is a fashionable kind of work that we may soon grow tired of. Dear me, ma'am, think how long former generations went on with it. Think of our grandmother's work, ma'am, and how we are treading in their steps. We have the beautifulest patterns now, I assure you. Miss Miskin will confirm that we sold one last week the very day we had it, the interior of Abbotsford, with Sir Walter and the furniture and the dogs, just like life, I assure you. That was beautiful, said Miss Miskin, but not to compare, oh dear no, not to compare, Miss Gray, with one that we were just allowed the sight of. Not a mere pattern, but a finished specimen. And I never saw anything so pathetic. I declare I was quite affected, and so was Miss Miskin. It was by the rivers of Babylon, most sweetly done. There were harps in the cross-stitch, ma'am, and the willows in all tent-stitch. I never saw anything so touching. I don't think Mama will trouble you for many more worsteds for some time to come, Mrs. Howell. When there is going to be a wedding in the family, there is not much time for fancy work, you know. Dear me, a wedding, smiled Mrs. Howell. A wedding? Only think, simpered Miss Miskin. Yes, Mr. Hope and my cousin Hester are going to be married. I am sure they will have your best wishes, Mrs. Howell. That they will, ma'am, as I shall make a point of telling Mr. Hope. But, Miss Gray, I should think it probable that your Mama may think of working a drawing-room screen, or perhaps a set of rugs for the young folks, and I assure you she will see no such patterns anywhere as my agent sends down to me, as I have no doubt you will tell her. And pray, ma'am, where are Mr. Hope and his lady to live? I hope they have pleased their fancy with the house. That point is not settled yet. It is a thing which requires some consideration, you know. Oh, dear ma'am, to be sure it does. But I did not mean to be impertinent in asking, I am sure. Only you mentioned making wedding clothes, Miss Gray. I did not mean that we have exactly said about all that yet. I was only looking forward to it. And very right, too, ma'am. My poor dear Howell used to say so to me every time he found so much difficulty in inducing me to listen to future projects about the happy day, you know, ma'am. He was always looking forward upon principle, dear soul, as you say, ma'am. That in the very brown, ma'am, no doubt of it. Only two skeins, ma'am? Here ended Sophia's pleasures in this kind.  All her father's household, and all whom she had told, were as busy as herself, so that by the time she walked down the street again, nobody remained to be informed. She could only go home, put off her bonnet, and sit with her mother, watching who would call, and planning the external arrangements which constitute the whole interest of a wedding to narrow minds and apathetic hearts. No one in Dearbrook enjoyed the news more than Mr. Enderby. When he evaded Sophia in the street, he little knew what pleasure she had it in her power to afford him. It was only deferred for a few minutes, however, for on his returning his little nephew to Mama's side, he found his mother and sister talking the matter over. Mrs. Gray's visit to Mrs. Enderby had been unusually short, as she could not, on so busy a day, spare much time to one person. The moment she was gone, the old lady rang for her collage and shawl, and prepared to cross the way, telling the news meanwhile to her maid Phoebe. It was a disappointment to find Mrs. Rowland already informed, but then came Philip, ignorant and unconscious as could be desired. The extreme graciousness of his sister guided him in his guests when he was desired to say who was going to be married, but there was a trembling heart beneath his light speech. It was more difficult to disguise his joy when he heard the truth. He carried it off by romping with the child, who owned several rides from corner to corner of the room to the fact that Mr. Hope was going to be married to Hester. I am delighted to see Philip take it in this way, observed Mrs. Rowland. I was just thinking the same thing, cried Mrs. Enderby, but I believe I should not have said so if you had not. I was afraid it might be a sad disappointment to poor Philip, and this prevented my saying quite so much as I should have done to Mrs. Gray. Now I find it is all right. I shall just call in and express myself more warmly on my way home. I beg Philip's pardon, I'm sure, said Mrs. Rowland, for supposing for a moment that he would think of marrying into the gray connection. I did him great injustice I own. By no means, said Philip. Because I did not happen to wish to marry Miss Ibbotson, it does not follow that I should have been wrong if I had. It was feeling this, and with a sense of justice to her and myself, which made me refuse to answer your questions some weeks ago or to make any promises. Well, well, let us keep clear of Mrs. Gray's connections, and then you may talk of them as you please, said the sister in the complacence of the hour. Philip remembered his pledge to himself to uphold Mrs. Gray as long as he lived, if she should prove right about Mr. Hope and Hester. He began immediately to discharge his obligations to her, avowing that he did not see why her connection was not as good as his own. That Mrs. Gray had many excellent points, that she was a woman of a good deal of sagacity, that she had shown herself capable of strong family attachments, that she had been gracious and kind to himself of late in a degree which he had felt he had not deserved, and that he considered that all his family were obliged to her for her neighborly attentions to his mother. Mrs. Enderby seized the occasion of her son's support to say some kind things of the Grays. It gave her a frequent pain to hear them spoken of after Mrs. Rowland's usual fashion, but when she was alone with her daughter she dared not object. Under cover of Mr. Rowland's presence occasionally, and to-day of Philip's, she ventured to say that she thought the Grays a very fine family and kind neighbors to her. And much looked up to in Dearbrook, added Philip. And a great blessing to their poor neighbors, said his mother. Mr. Levitt respects them for their conscientious dissent, observed Philip. And Mr. Hope, who knows them best, says they are a very united family among themselves, declared Mrs. Enderby. Mrs. Rowland looked from one to the other as each spoke, and asked whether they were both out of their senses. By no means, said Philip, I never was more an earnest in my life. I have always thought just what I now say, protested Mrs. Enderby. Yes, my dear ma'am, said the daughter, scornfully, we are all aware of your ways of thinking on some points of your, of my mother's love of justice and neighborly temper, said Philip, giving his little nephew a glorious summer thought from his shoulder. I believe, if we could find my mother's match, the two would be an excellent pair to put into Ediston Lighthouse. They would chat away for a twelve month together without ever quarreling. Philip, do let that poor boy alone, said Mama. You are shaking him to pieces. We have both had enough for the present, eh, Ned?  Mrs. Enderby rose with great alacrity. Come to me, my pet, cried Mama.  There, there, my pet. Mama's pet was not the most agreeable companion to her when they were left alone. He was crying lustily after Uncle Philip, for all Mama could say about Uncle Philip always tiring him to death.