thing arranged
precisely as it was in her poor dear Howell's last illness. As Miss
Miskin had refused to enter the chamber, Hester had been obliged to
search a chest of drawers for Mr Howell's last dressing-gown, which
Miss Miskin had promised should be mended and aired, and ready for wear
by the morning.

"Margaret!" cried Hester, as her sister was lighting her candle. The
exclamation made Edward turn round, and brought back Morris into the
parlour after saying `Good-night.' "Margaret! your ring?"

There was as much joy as shame in Margaret's crimson blush. She let her
sister examine the turquoise, and said:

"Yes, this is the boon of to-day."

"Edward's hundred pounds has come," said Hester: "but that is nothing to
this."

Margaret's eyes thanked her. She just explained that poor Platt had
been the thief, and had restored it to her before he died, and that she
could get no explanation, no tidings of Hester's watch; and she was
gone.

"Dr Levitt's early stir about this ring prevented its being disposed
of, I have no doubt," said Edward. "If so, it is yet possible that we
may recover your watch. I will speak to Dr Levitt in the morning."

"Dear Margaret!" said Hester. "She is now drinking in the hue of that
turquoise, and blessing it for being unchanged. She regards this
recovery of it as a good omen, I see; and far be it from us to mock at
such a superstition!"

As usual, when she was upon this subject, Hester looked up into her
husband's face: and as usual, when she spoke on this subject, he made no
reply.

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

LATE RELIGION.

A few days after Morris's return, she told Margaret that the tidings in
the village of Miss Rowland's illness were not good. Mrs Rowland was
quite as sure as ever that, if anybody could cure Matilda, it was Mr
Walcot; but Mr Walcot himself looked anxious; and a bed had been put up
for him in the room next to the sick child. Margaret wondered why Mr
Rowland did not send to Blickley for further advice: but Morris thought
that Mrs Rowland would not give up her perfect faith in Mr Walcot, if
all her children should die before her face.

When Morris had left the room, Margaret was absorbed in speculations, as
she played with her sister's infant--speculations on the little life of
children, and on their death. Her memory followed Matilda through every
circumstance in which she had seen her. The poor little girl's very
attitude, voice, and words--words