s if falling into a new and trivial
idea.

Thus the evening whiled away. The mother and son sat, hand in hand, before
the little glinting blazing parlor fire, with the unlighted candles on the
table behind. Maggie, busy in preparations, passed softly in and out. And
when all was done that could be done before going to Liverpool, where she
hoped to have two days to prepare their outfit more completely, she stole
back to her mother's side. But her thoughts would wander off to Frank,
"working his way south through all the hunting-counties," as he had written
her word. If she had not urged his absence, he would have been here for her
to see his noble face once more; but then, perhaps, she might never have
had the strength to go.

Late, late in the night they separated. Maggie could not rest, and stole
into her mother's room. Mrs. Browne had cried herself to sleep, like a
child. Maggie stood and looked at her face, and then knelt down by the bed
and prayed. When she arose, she saw that her mother was awake, and had been
looking at her.

"Maggie dear! you're a good girl, and I think God will hear your prayer
whatever it was for. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to me to
think you're going with him. It would have broken my heart else. If I've
sometimes not been as kind as I might have been, I ask your forgiveness,
now, my dear; and I bless you and thank you for going out with him; for I'm
sure he's not well and strong, and will need somebody to take care of him.
And you shan't lose with Mr. Frank, for as sure as I see him I'll tell him
what a good daughter and sister you've been; and I shall say, for all he is
so rich, I think he may look long before he finds a wife for him like our
Maggie. I do wish Ned had got that new greatcoat, he says he left behind
him at Woodchester." Her mind reverted to her darling son; but Maggie took
her short slumber by her mother's side, with her mother's arms around her;
and awoke and felt that her sleep had been blessed. At the coach-office
the next morning they met Mr. Buxton all ready as if for a journey, but
glancing about him as if in fear of some coming enemy.

"I'm going with you to Liverpool," said he. "Don't make any ado about it,
please. I shall like to see you off; and I may be of some use to you, and
Erminia begged it of me; and, besides, it will keep me out of Mr. Henry's
way for a little time, and I'm afraid he will find it all out, and think me
very weak; but you see he mad