“Why, Margaret,” said he, “why are you sitting up so late?”

“If it is late for me, it is late for you,” answered Margaret, who, now that the trial had come, felt the awkwardness of the task she had undertaken.

“But I had business,” answered Mr. Hamilton; and Margaret, looking him steadily in the face, asked: 

“Is not your business of a nature which equally concerns us all?”

A momentary flush passed over his features as he replied, “What do you mean?  I do not comprehend.”

Hurriedly, and in broken sentences, Margaret told him what she meant, and then tremblingly she waited for his answer.  Frowning angrily, he spoke to his daughter the first harsh words which had ever passed his lips toward either of his children.

“Go to your room, and don’t presume to interfere with me again.  I trust I am competent to attend to my own matters!”

Almost convulsively Margaret’s arms closed round her father’s neck, as she said, “Don’t speak so to me, father.  You never did before—­never would now, but for her.  Oh, father, promise me, by the memory of my angel mother, never to see her again.  She is a base, designing woman.”

Mr. Hamilton unwound his daughter’s arms from his neck, and speaking more gently, said, “What proof have you of that assertion?  Give me proof, and I promise to do your bidding.”

But Mag had no such proof at hand, and she could only reiterate her suspicions, her belief, which, of course, failed to convince the biased man, who, rising, said:  “Your mother confided and trusted in her, so why should not you?”

The next moment Margaret was alone.  For a long time she wept, and it was not until the eastern horizon began to grow gray in the morning twilight that she laid her head upon her pillow, and forgot in sleep how unhappy she had been.  Her words, however, were not without their effect, for when the night came round on which her father was accustomed to pay his weekly visit, he stayed at home, spending the whole evening with his daughters, and appearing really gratified at Margaret’s efforts to entertain him.  But, alas! the chain of the widow was too firmly thrown around him for a daughter’s hand alone to sever the fast-bound links.

When the next Thursday evening came Mag was confined to her room by a sick headache, from which she had been suffering all day.  As night approached she frequently asked if her father were below.  At last the front door opened, and she heard his step upon the piazza.  Starting up, she hurried to the window, while at the same moment Mr. Hamilton paused, and raising his eyes saw the white face of his daughter pressed against the window-pane as she looked imploringly after him; but there was not enough of power in a single look to deter him, and, wafting her a kiss, he turned away.  Sadly Margaret watched him until he disappeared down the long hill; then, returning to her couch, she wept bitterly.