in her daily occupations.  She was wise enough to rest when and how she could; and, with a little forethought, she hoped to be able to go through this weary time without any bad effect.  One morning (it was on the second of December; and even the change of name in the month, although it brought no change of circumstances or weather, was a relief—­December brought glad tidings even in its very name), one morning, dim and dreary, Maggie had looked at the clock on leaving Nancy’s room, and finding it was not yet half-past five, and knowing that her mother and Nancy were both asleep, she determined to lie down and rest for an hour before getting up to light the fires.  She did not mean to go to sleep; but she was tired out and fell into a sound slumber.  When she awoke it was with a start.  It was still dark; but she had a clear idea of being wakened by some distinct, rattling noise.  There it was once more—­against the window, like a shower of shot.  She went to the lattice, and opened it to look out.  She had that strange consciousness, not to be described, of the near neighborhood of some human creature, although she neither saw nor heard any one for the first instant.  Then Edward spoke in a hoarse whisper, right below the window, standing on the flower-beds.

“Maggie!  Maggie!  Come down and let me in.  For your life, don’t make any noise.  No one must know.”

Maggie turned sick.  Something was wrong, evidently; and she was weak and weary.  However, she stole down the old creaking stairs, and undid the heavy bolt, and let her brother in.  She felt that his dress was quite wet, and she led him, with cautious steps, into the kitchen, and shut the door, and stirred the fire, before she spoke.  He sank into a chair, as if worn out with fatigue.  She stood, expecting some explanation.  But when she saw he could not speak, she hastened to make him a cup of tea; and, stooping down, took off his wet boots, and helped him off with his coat, and brought her own plaid to wrap round him.  All this time her heart sunk lower and lower.  He allowed her to do what she liked, as if he were an automaton; his head and his arms hung loosely down, and his eyes were fixed, in a glaring way, on the fire.  When she brought him some tea, he spoke for the first time; she could not hear what he said till he repeated it, so husky was his voice.

“Have you no brandy?”

She had the key of the little wine-cellar, and fetched up some.  But as she took a tea-spoon to measure if out, he tremblingly clutched at the bottle, and shook down a quantity into the empty tea-cup, and drank it off at one gulp.  He fell back again in his chair; but in a few minutes he roused himself, and seemed stronger.

“Edward, dear Edward, what is the matter?” said Maggie, at last; for he got up, and was staggering toward the outer door, as if he were going once more into the rain, and dismal morning-twilight.

He looked at her fiercely as she laid her hand on his arm.