have done anything else in the world
for Mr Hope; and she did not positively refuse to do this; but the fear
of her neighbours had so infected her, and her terror of a sick-room was
so extreme, that it was evident her presence there would do more harm
than good. She was glad to compound for a less hazardous service, and
agreed to wash for the sick with all diligence, if she was not required
to enter the houses, but might fetch the linen from tubs of water placed
outside the doors. After setting on plenty of water to heat, she now
followed Hope and Margaret to the cottage in the lane.

It was nearly dark, and they walked rapidly, Margaret describing as they
went what she had done, and what she thought remained to be done, to
give Mrs Platt a chance of recovery.

"What now? Why do you start so?" cried Hope, as she stopped short in
the middle of a sentence.

Margaret even stood still for one moment. Hope looked the way she was
looking, and saw, in the little twilight that remained, the figure of
some one who had been walking on the opposite side of the road, but
whose walk was now quickened to a run.

"It is--it is he," said Hope, as Philip disappeared in the darkness.
Answering to what he knew must be in Margaret's thoughts, he continued--

"He knows the state the village is in--the danger that we are all in,
and he cannot stay away."

"`We!' `All?'"

"When I say `we,' I mean you particularly."

"If you think so--" murmured Margaret, and stopped for breath.

"I think so; but it does not follow that there is any change. He has
always loved you. Margaret, do not deceive yourself. Do not afflict
yourself with expectations--"

"Do not speak to me, brother. I cannot bear a word from you about him."

Hope sighed deeply, but he could not remonstrate. He knew that Margaret
had only too much reason for saying this. They walked on in entire
silence to the lane.

A fire was now kindled, and a light dimly burned in Platt's cottage. As
Margaret stood by the bedside, watching her brother's examination of his
patient, and anxious to understand rightly the directions he was giving,
the poor woman half raised her head from her pillow, and fixed her dull
eyes on Margaret's face, saying, as if thinking aloud:

"The lady has heard some good news, sure. She looks cheerful-like."

The mother herself turned round to stare, and, for the first time,
dropped a curtsey.

"I hope we shall see you look cheerful too, on