minute. "I
do believe it is having nothing to do. You will be better when you get
back to school on Monday."

"That is worst of all!"

"You don't like going among the boys again? But that must be done some
time or other. Or shall I get Richard to speak to Dr. Hoxton to let you
have another week's leave?"

"No, no, don't be foolish. It can't be helped."

"I am very sorry, but I think you will be better for it."

She almost began to fancy herself unfeeling, when she found him so much
more depressed than she was herself, and unable to feel it a relief to
know that the time of rest and want of occupation was over. She thought
it light-minded, though she could not help it, to look forward to
the daily studies where she might lose her sad thoughts and be as if
everything were as usual. But suppose she should be to blame, where
would now be the gentle discipline? Poor Ethel's feelings were not such
as to deserve the imputation of levity, when this thought came over
her; but her buoyant mind, always seeking for consolation, recurred to
Margaret's improvement, and she fixed her hopes on her.

Margaret was more alive to surrounding objects, and, when roused, she
knew them all, answered clearly when addressed, had even, more than
once, spoken of her own accord, and shown solicitude at the sight of her
father's bandaged, helpless arm, but he soon soothed this away. He was
more than ever watchful over her, and could scarcely be persuaded to
leave her for one moment, in his anxiety to be at hand to answer, when
first she should speak of her mother, a moment apprehended by all the
rest, almost as much for his sake as for hers.

So clear had her perceptions been, and so much more awake did she
appear, on this evening, that he expected the inquiry to come every
moment, and lingered in her room; till she asked the hour, and begged
him to go to bed.

As he bent over her, she looked up in his face, and said softly, "Dear
papa."

There was that in her tone which showed she perceived the truth, and he
knelt by her side kissing her, but not daring to relax his restraint of
feeling.

"Dear papa," she said again, "I hope I shall soon be better, and be some
comfort to you."

"My best--my own--my comfort," he murmured, all he could say without
giving way.

"Baby--is she well?"

"Yes, thank Heaven, she has not suffered at all."

"I heard her this morning, I must see her to-morrow. But don't stay,
dear, dear papa, it is late, a