had gone upstairs,
and were safe in Margaret's room. She had seized her friend in her arms,
and her tone was imploring.

"I don't think I can tell you, Nan; you would consider me a fool, and I
want to keep your good opinion. But I can tell you a part of my
troubles. He wants me to marry Francis Bethune! Think of that!" She
paused and looked at Nan. "Well, why don't you congratulate me?"

"I'll never believe that," said Nan, decisively. "Did he say that he
wanted you to marry Frank Bethune?" The "he" in this case was Pulaski
Tomlin.

"Well, he didn't insist on it; he's too kind for that. But Francis has
been coming here very often, until our friends in blue gave him a
much-needed rest, and I suppose I must have been going around looking
somewhat gloomy; you know how I am--I can't be gay; and then he asked me
what the trouble was, and finally said that Francis would make me a good
husband. Why, I could have killed myself! Think of me, in this house,
and occupying the position I do!"

Such heat and fury Nan had never seen her friend display before. "Why,
Margaret!" she cried, "you don't know what you are saying. Why, if he or
Aunt Fanny could hear you, they would be perfectly miserable. I don't
see how you can feel that way."

"No, you don't, and I hope you never will!" exclaimed Margaret. "Nobody
knows how I feel. If I could, I would tell you--but I can't, I can't!"

"Margaret," said Nan, in a most serious tone, "has he or Aunt Fanny
ever treated you unkindly?" Nan was prepared to hear the worst.

"Unkindly!" cried Margaret, bursting into tears; "oh, I wish they would!
I wish they would treat me as I deserve to be treated. Oh, if he would
treat me cruelly, or do something to wound my feelings, I would bless
him."

Margaret had led Nan into a strange country, so to speak, and she knew
not which way to turn or what to say. Something was wrong, but what? Of
all Nan's acquaintances, Margaret was the most self-contained, the most
evenly balanced. Many and many a time Nan had envied Margaret's
serenity, and now here she was in tears, after talking as wildly as some
hysterical person.

"Come home with me, Margaret," cried Nan. "Maybe the change would do you
good."

"I thank you, Nan. You are as good as you can be; you are almost as good
as the people here; but I can't go. I can't leave this house for any
length of time until I leave it for good. I'd be wild to get back; my
misery fascinates me; I hate it and hug it