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 made me too hard upon Crayston, so I may take it out in a little soft-heartedness toward the son of an old friend.”

Just at this moment Erminia came running through the white morning mist all glowing with haste.

“Maggie,” said she, “I’m come to take care of your mother.  My uncle says she and Nancy must come to us for a long, long visit.  Or if she would rather go home, I’ll go with her till she feels able to come to us, and do anything I can think of for her.  I will try to be a daughter till you come back, Maggie; only don’t be long, or Frank and I shall break our hearts.”

Maggie waited till her mother had ended her long clasping embrace of Edward, who was subdued enough this morning; and then, with something like Esau’s craving for a blessing, she came to bid her mother good-bye, and received the warm caress she had longed for for years.  In another moment the coach was away; and before half an hour had elapsed, Combehurst church-spire had been lost in a turn of the road.

Edward and Mr. Buxton did not speak to each other, and Maggie was nearly silent.  They reached Liverpool in the afternoon; and Mr. Buxton, who had been there once or twice before, took them directly to some quiet hotel.  He was far more anxious that Edward should not expose himself to any chance of recognition than Edward himself.  He went down to the Docks to secure berths in the vessel about to sail the next day, and on his return he took Maggie out to make the requisite purchases.