xpected to flee for protection."
Margaret would not listen. She was resolved upon being unhappy, and
during the long hours of that night she tossed wakefully upon her
pillow, and when the morning came she was too weak to rise; so she
kept her room, listening to the music of the Sabbath bells, which to
her seemed sadly saying, "Home, home." "Alas! I have no home," she
said, turning away to weep, for in the tolling of those bells there
came to her no voice whispering of the darkness, the desolation, and
the sorrow that were in the home for which she so much mourned.

Thus the day wore on, and ere another week was gone Rose insisted upon
a speedy removal to the seashore, notwithstanding it was so early in
the season, for by this means she hoped that Maggie's health would be
improved. Accordingly, Henry went once more to Worcester, ostensibly
for money, but really to see if George Douglas now would speak to him
of Margaret. But George was in New York, they said; and, somewhat
disappointed, Henry went back to Leominster, where everything was
in readiness for their journey. Monday was fixed upon for their
departure, and at an early hour Margaret looked back on what had
been to her a second home, smiling faintly as Rose whispered to her
cheerily, "I have a strong presentiment that somewhere in our travels
we shall meet with Arthur Carrollton."

CHAPTER XXII.

THE HOUSE OF MOURNING.

Come now over the hills to the westward. Come to the Hillsdale woods,
to the stone house by the mill, where all the day long there is heard
but one name, the servants breathing it softly and low, as if she who
had borne it were dead, the sister, dim-eyed now, and paler faced,
whispering it oft to herself, while the lady, so haughty and proud,
repeats it again and again, shuddering as naught but the echoing walls
reply to the heartbroken cry of, "Margaret, Margaret, where are you
now?"

Yes, there was mourning in that household--mourning for the lost one,
the darling, the pet of them all.

Brightly had the sun arisen on that June morning which brought to them
their sorrow, while the birds in the tall forest trees caroled as
gayly as if no storm-cloud were hovering near. At an early hour Mr.
Carrollton had arisen, thinking, as he looked forth from his window,
"She will tell me all to-day," and smiling as he thought how easy and
pleasant would be the task of winning her back to her olden gayety.
Madam Conway, too, was unusually excited