Winter!"

"Ethel, you and I cannot judge of these things--you must leave them to
our elders--"

"And men always are so fanciful about ladies--"

"Indeed, if you speak in that way, I shall think it is really hurting
you."

"I did not mean it, dear Margaret," said Ethel, "but if you knew what I
feel for poor Cocksmoor, you would not wonder that I cannot bear it."

"I do not wonder, dearest; but if this trial is sent you, perhaps it is
to train you for better things."

"Perhaps it is for my fault," said Ethel. "Oh, oh, if it be that I am
too unworthy! And it is the only hope; no one will do anything to teach
these poor creatures if I give it up. What shall I do, Margaret?"

Margaret drew her down close to her, and whispered, "Trust them Ethel,
dear. The decision will be whatever is the will of God. If He thinks fit
to give you the work, it will come; if not, He will give you some other,
and provide for them."

"If I have been too neglectful of home, too vain of persevering when no
one but Richard would!" sighed Ethel.

"I cannot see that you have, dearest," said Margaret fondly, "but your
own heart must tell you that. And now, only try to be calm and patient.
Getting into these fits of despair is the very thing to make people
decide against you."

"I will! I will! I will try to be patient," sobbed Ethel; "I know to be
wayward and set on it would only hurt. I might only do more harm--I'll
try. But oh, my poor children!"

Margaret gave a little space for the struggle with herself, then advised
her resolutely to fix her attention on something else. It was a Saturday
morning, and time was more free than usual, so Margaret was able to
persuade her to continue a half-forgotten drawing, while listening to an
interesting article in a review, which opened to her that there were too
many Cocksmoors in the world.

The dinner-hour sounded too soon, and as she was crossing the hall to
put away her drawing materials, the front door gave the click peculiar
to Dr. May's left-handed way of opening it. She paused, and saw him
enter, flushed, and with a look that certified her that something had
happened.

"Well, Ethel, he is come."

"Oh, papa, Mr. Ernes--"

He held up his finger, drew her into the study, and shut the door. The
expression of mystery and amusement gave way to sadness and gravity as
he sat down in his arm-chair, and sighed as if much fatigued. She was
checked and alarmed, but she could not help asking, "Is