es of Maria's note stared her in the
face--glaring, glowing, gigantic. Sometimes she was trying to read
them, and could not, though her life depended on them. Now Mrs Rowland
had got hold of them; and now they were thrown into the flames, but
would not burn, and the letters grew red-hot. Then came the image of
Philip; and that horror was mixed up with whatever was most ludicrous.
Once she was struggling for voice to speak to him, and he mocked her
useless efforts. Oh, how she struggled! till some strong arm raised
her, and some other voice murmured gently in her throbbing ear.

"Wake, my dear! Wake up, Margaret! What is it, dear? Wake!"

"Mother! is it you? Oh, mother! have you come at last?" murmured
Margaret, sinking her head on Morris' shoulder.

It was some moments before Margaret felt a warm tear fall upon her
cheek, and heard Morris say:

"No, my dear: not yet. Your mother is in a better place than this,
where we shall all rest with her at last, Miss Margaret."

"What is all this?" said Margaret, raising herself, and looking round
her. "What did I mean about my mother? Oh, Morris, my head is all
confused, and I think I have been frightened. They were laughing at me,
and when somebody came to help me, I thought it must be my mother. Oh,
Morris, it is a long while--I wish I was with her."

Morris did not desire to hear what Margaret's dream had been. The
immediate cause of Margaret's distress she did not know; but she had for
some time suspected that which only one person in the world was aware of
besides herself. The terrible secret of this household was no secret to
her. She was experienced enough in love and its signs to know, without
being told where love was absent, and where it rested. She had not
doubted, up to the return from the wedding-trip, that all was right; but
she had never been quite happy since. She had perceived no sign that
either sister was aware of the truth; the continuance of their sisterly
friendship was a proof that neither of them was: but she wished to avoid
hearing the particulars of Margaret's dream, and all revelations which,
in the weakness and confusion of an hour like this, she might be tempted
to make. Morris withdrew from Margaret's clasp, moved softly across the
room, gently put the red embers together in the grate, and lighted the
lamp which stood on the table.

"I hope," whispered Margaret, trying to still her shivering, "that
nobody heard me but you.