ry dependant every
accessory of cheerfulness is necessary to make her willingly leave her
rest--the early sunshine through her window, and the morning songs of
birds--it mattered little to Margaret under what circumstances she went
about her business--whether in darkness or in light, in keen frost or
genial warmth. She had the strength of will, in whose glow all the
disgust, all the meanness, all the hardship of the most sordid
occupations is consumed, leaving unimpaired the dignity and delight of
toil. Morris saw and fully admitted all this; and yet she stayed on
till the end of January.

By that time her friends were not satisfied to have her remain any
longer. It was necessary that she should earn money; and she had an
opportunity now of earning what she needed at Birmingham. The time was
come when Morris must go.

The family had their sorrow all to themselves that dismal evening; for
not a soul in Deerbrook, except Maria, knew that Morris was going at
all. Maria had known all along; and it had been settled that Maria
should occupy Morris's room, after it was vacated, as often as she felt
nervous and lonely in her lodging. But she was not aware of the precise
day when the separation of these old and dear friends was to take place.
So they mourned Morris as privately as she had long grieved over their
adversity.

Mr Hope meant to drive Morris to Buckley himself, and to see her into
the coach for Birmingham; and he had borrowed Mr Grey's gig for the
purpose. He had been urged by Mr Grey not to think of returning that
night, had desired his wife and sister not to expect him, and had
engaged a neighbour to sleep in the house. The sisters might well look
forward to a sad evening; and their hearts were heavy when the gig came
to the door, when they were fortifying Morris with a parting glass of
wine, and wrapping her up with warm things which were to come back with
her master, and expressing their heart-sorrow by the tenderness with
which they melted the very soul of poor Morris. She could not speak;
she could resist nothing. She took all they offered her to comfort
herself with, from having neither heart nor voice to refuse. Morris
never gave way to tears; but she was as solemn as if she were going to
execution. The baby alone was insensible to her gravity; he laughed in
her face when she took him into her arms for the last time;--a
seasonable laugh it was, for it relieved his mother of some slight
superst