"How so?"

"Do the clearly right thing for the present, I mean," he said, "without
anxiety for the rest. How do we--any of us--know what may be the case in
another year?"

"Do not flatter me with hopes," said Margaret, sadly smiling; "I have
had too many of them."

"No," said Richard; "I do not think you will ever get well. But so much
may happen--"

"I had rather have my mind made up once for all, and resign myself,"
said Margaret.

"His will is sometimes that we should be uncertain," said Richard.

"And that is the most trying," said Margaret.

"Just so--" and he paused tenderly.

"I feel how much has been right," said Margaret. "This wedding has
brought my real character before me. I feel what I should have been. You
have no notion how excited and elated I can get about a little bit of
dress out of the common way for myself or others," said she, smiling;
"and then all the external show and things belonging to station--I
naturally care much more for them than even Flora does. Ethel would bear
all those things as if they did not exist--I could not."

"They would be a temptation?"

"They would once have been. Yes, they would now," said Margaret. "And
government, and management, and influence--you would not guess what
dreams I used to waste on them, and now here am I set aside from it all,
good for nothing but for all you dear ones to be kind to."

"They would not say so," said Richard kindly.

"Not say it, but I feel it. Papa and Ethel are all the world to each
other--Richard, I may say it to you. There has been only one thing more
hard to bear than that--don't suppose there was a moment's neglect or
disregard; but when first I understood that Ethel could be more to him
than I, then I could not always feel rightly. It was the punishment for
always wanting to be first."

"My father would be grieved that you had the notion. You should not keep
it."

"He does not know it is so," said Margaret; "I am his first care, I
fear, his second grief; but it is not in the nature of things that Ethel
should not be more his comfort and companion. Oh! I am glad it was not
she who married! What shall we do when she goes?"

This came from Margaret's heart, so as to show that if there had once
been a jealous pang of mortification, it had been healed by overflowing,
unselfish affection and humility.

They went off to praise Ethel, and thence to praise Norman, and the
elder brother and sister, who might have had some jea