e had had any spirit, she might have worked
him up to marry her before now; and then I should have been spared even
this fright, for they would never have set the police after Mrs. Frank
Buxton's brother."

"Why, dearest, Edward, the police are not after you, are they?" said Mrs.
Browne, for the first time alive to the urgency of the case.

"I believe they are though," said Edward. "But after what Mr. Buxton
promised this morning, it does not signify."

"He did not promise anything," said Maggie.

Edward turned sharply to her, and looked at her. Then he went and took hold
of her wrists with no gentle grasp, and spoke to her through his set teeth.

"What do you mean, Maggie?--what do you mean?" (giving her a little shake.)
"Do you mean that you'll stick to your lover through thick and thin, and
leave your brother to be transported? Speak, can't you?"

She looked up at him, and tried to speak, but no words came out of her dry
throat. At last she made a strong effort.

"You must give me time to think. I will do what is right, by God's help."

"As if it was not right--and such can't--to save your brother," said he,
throwing her hands away in a passionate manner.

"I must be alone," said Maggie, rising, and trying to stand steadily in the
reeling room. She heard her mother and Edward speaking, but their words
gave her no meaning, and she went out. She was leaving the house by the
kitchen-door, when she remembered Nancy, left alone and helpless all
through this long morning; and, ill as she could endure detention from the
solitude she longed to seek, she patiently fulfilled her small duties, and
sought out some breakfast for the poor old woman.

When she carried it up stairs, Nancy said:

"There's something up. You've trouble in your sweet face, my darling. Never
mind telling me--only don't sob so. I'll pray for you, bairn: and God will
help you."

"Thank you, Nancy. Do!" and she left the room.

CHAPTER IX.

When she opened the kitchen-door there was the same small, mizzling rain
that had obscured the light for weeks, and now it seemed to obscure hope.

She clambered slowly (for indeed she was very feeble) up the Fell-Lane,
and threw herself under the leafless thorn, every small branch and twig
of which was loaded with rain-drops. She did not see the well-beloved
and familiar landscape for her tears, and did not miss the hills in the
distance that were hidden behind the rain-clouds, and sweeping showers.