hey were exercised in forbearance, in divine
forgiveness and love. If there be solace in such an occasional result,
let it be made the most of by those who need it; for it is the only
possible alleviation to their remorse. Let them accept it as the free
gift of a mercy which they have insulted, and a long-suffering which
they have defied.

Not thus, however, did Margaret regard the case of her sister. She had
but of late ceased to suppose herself in the wrong when Hester was
unhappy: and though she was now relieved from the responsibility of her
sister's peace, she was slow to blame--reluctant to class the case lower
than as one of infirmity. Her last waking thoughts (and they were very
late) were of pity and of prayer.

As the door closed behind Margaret, Hope had flung down his pen. In one
moment she had returned for a book; and she found him by the fireside,
leaning his head upon his arms against the wall. There was something in
his attitude which startled her out of her wish for her book, and she
quietly withdrew without it. He turned, and spoke, but she was gone.

"So this is home!" thought he, as he surveyed the room, filled as it was
with tokens of occupation, and appliances of domestic life. "It is home
to be more lonely than ever before--and yet never to be alone with my
secret! At my own table, by my own hearth, I cannot look up into the
faces around me, nor say what I am thinking. In every act and every
word I am in danger of disturbing the innocent--even of sullying the
pure, and of breaking the bruised reed. Would to God I had never seen
them! How have I abhorred bondage all my life! and I am in bondage
every hour that I spend at home. I have always insisted that there was
no bondage but in guilt. Is it so? If it be so, then I am either
guilty, or in reality free. I have settled this before. I am guilty;
or rather, I have been guilty; and this is my retribution. Not guilty
towards Margaret. Thank God, I have done her no wrong! Thank God, I
have never been in her eyes--what I must not think of! Nor could I ever
have been, if... She loves Enderby, I am certain, though she does not
know it herself. It is a blessing that she loves him, if I could but
always feel it so. I am not guilty towards her, nor towards Hester,
except in the weakness of declining to inflict that suffering upon her
which, fearful as it must have been, might perhaps have proved less
than, with all my care, she must