really think so?"

"I believe he does," whispered Margaret.

"How can he, can he bear it!" said Ethel, clasping her hands. "Oh! it is
enough to kill one--I can't think why it did not!"

"He bears it," said Margaret, "because he is so very good, that help and
comfort do come to him. Dear papa! He bears up because it is right, and
for our sakes, and he has a sort of rest in that perfect love they had
for each other. He knows how she would wish him to cheer up and look to
the end, and support and comfort are given to him, I know they are; but
oh, Ethel! it does make one tremble and shrink, to think what he has
been going through this autumn, especially when I hear him moving
about late at night, and now and then comes a heavy groan--whenever any
especial care has been on his mind."

Ethel was in great distress. "To have grieved him again!" said she, "and
just as he seemed better and brighter! Everything I do turns out wrong,
and always will; I can't do anything well by any chance."

"Yes you can, when you mind what you are about."

"But I never can--I'm like him, every one says so, and he says the
heedlessness is ingrain, and can't be got rid of."

"Ethel, I don't really think he could have told you so."

"I'm sure he said ingrain."

"Well, I suppose it is part of his nature, and that you have inherited
it, but--" Margaret paused, and Ethel exclaimed:

"He said his was long-nurtured; yes, Margaret, you guessed right, and he
said he could not change it, and no more can I."

"Surely, Ethel, you have not had so many years. You are fifteen instead
of forty-six, and it is more a woman's work than a man's to be careful.
You need not begin to despair. You were growing much better; Richard
said so, and so did Miss Winter."

"What's the use of it, if in one moment it is as bad as ever? And
to-day, of all days in the year, just when papa had been so very, very
kind, and given me more than I asked."

"Do you know, Ethel, I was thinking whether dear mamma would not say
that was the reason. You were so happy, that perhaps you were thrown off
your guard."

"I should not wonder if that was it," said Ethel thoughtfully. "You know
it was a sort of probation that Richard put me on. I was to learn to be
steady before he spoke to papa, and now it seemed to be all settled and
right, and perhaps I forgot I was to be careful still."

"I think it was something of the kind. I was a little afraid before, and
I wish I had tried to