pt
away from business, day after day, to look after her; here's all this
crying and misery and mad goings-on in my house, because you choose to
behave like a scamp--and do you think I'll put up with it quietly? I'll
make you do your duty to _my_ girl, if she goes to the parish to appeal
against you! _Your_ story indeed! Who'll believe that a young female,
like Margaret, could have taken to a fellow like Mannion? and kept it
all a secret from you? Who believes that, I should like to know?"

_"I believe it!"_

The third voice which pronounced those words was Mrs. Sherwin's.

But was the figure that now came out from behind the screen, the same
frail, shrinking figure which had so often moved my pity in the past
time? the same wan figure of sickness and sorrow, ever watching in the
background of the fatal love-scenes at North Villa; ever looking like
the same spectre-shadow, when the evenings darkened in as I sat by
Margaret's side?

Had the grave given up its dead? I stood awe-struck, neither speaking
nor moving while she walked towards me. She was clothed in the white
garments of the sick-room--they looked on _her_ like the raiment of the
tomb. Her figure, which I only remembered as drooping with premature
infirmity, was now straightened convulsively to its proper height; her
arms hung close at her side, like the arms of a corpse; the natural
paleness of her face had turned to an earthy hue; its natural
expression, so meek, so patient, so melancholy in uncomplaining sadness,
was gone; and, in its stead, was left a pining stillness that never
changed; a weary repose of lifeless waking--the awful seal of Death
stamped ghastly on the living face; the awful look of Death staring out
from the chill, shining eyes.

Her husband kept his place, and spoke to her as she stopped opposite to
me. His tones were altered, but his manner showed as little feeling as
ever.

"There now!" he began, "you said you were sure he'd come here, and that
you'd never take to your bed, as the Doctor wanted you, till you'd seen
him and spoken to him. Well, he _has_ come; there he is. He came in
while you were asleep, I rather think; and I let him stop, so that if
you woke up and wanted to see him, you might. You can't say--nobody can
say--I haven't given in to your whims and fancies after that. There!
you've had your way, and you've said you believe him; and now, if I ring
for the nurse, you'll go upstairs at last, and make no more worry about