make you sad?"

"Why, what is the matter?"

"Father, disgrace is coming on this house: it is at the door. And I
the culprit. Oh, father, turn your head away. I--I--father, I have let
Gerard take away my marriage lines."

"Is that all? 'Twas an oversight."

"'Twas the deed of a mad woman. But woe is me! that is not the worst."

Peter interrupted her. "The youth is honest, and loves you dear. You are
young. What is a year or two to you? Gerard will assuredly come back and
keep troth."

"And meantime know you what is coming?"

"Not I, except that I shall be gone first for one."

"Worse than that. There is worse pain than death. Nay, for pity's sake
turn away your head, father."

"Foolish wench!" muttered Peter, but turned his head.

She trembled violently, and with her cheeks on fire began to falter out,
"I did look on Gerard as my husband--we being betrothed-and he was in so
sore danger, and I thought I had killed him, and I-oh, if you were but
my mother I might find courage: you would question me. But you say not a
word."

"Why, Margaret, what is all this coil about? and why are thy cheeks
crimson, speaking to no stranger', but to thy old father?"

"Why are my cheeks on fire? Because--because--father kill me; send me
to heaven! bid Martin shoot me with his arrow! And then the gossips will
come and tell you why I blush so this day. And then, when I am dead, I
hope you will love your girl again for her mother's sake."

"Give me thy hand, mistress," said Peter, a little sternly.

She put it out to him trembling. He took it gently and began with some
anxiety in his face to feel her pulse.

"Alas, nay," said she. "'Tis my soul that burns, not my body, with
fever. I cannot, will not, bide in Sevenbergen." And she wrung her hands
impatiently.

"Be calm now," said the old man soothingly, "nor torment thyself for
nought. Not bide in Sevenbergen? What need to bide a day, as it vexes
thee, and puts thee in a fever: for fevered thou art, deny it not."

"What!" cried Margaret, "would you yield to go hence, and--and ask no
reason but my longing to be gone?" and suddenly throwing herself on her
knees beside him, in a fervour of supplication she clutched his sleeve,
and then his arm, and then his shoulder, while imploring him to quit
this place, and not ask her why. "Alas! what needs it? You will soon see
it. And I could never say it. I would liever die."

"Foolish child, who seeks thy girlish secrets? Is it I, who