“For all time, if you wish,” replied my mother.  “And we shall have your things moved over tomorrow.”

“By the Lord, sis,” cried Ned, with a sudden friendliness quite astonishing after the part he had taken, and to be accounted for only by the idea that had struck him, “here’s a blessing in disguise!  There’s a ship sails next Wednesday—­so I found out this evening—­and damn me if you sha’n’t go to London with me!  That’s the kind of a forgiving brother I am!”

She had utterly ignored his first words, but when he reached the point, she looked at him thoughtfully, with a check upon her resentment.  She made no reply, however; but he had not missed her expression.  Tom and I exchanged side glances, remembering Ned’s former wish that he might imitate his Irish friend by taking his sister to London to catch a fortune with.  As for Margaret, as matters stood, it would be something to go to London, relying on her beauty.  I fancied I saw that thought in her look.

Mr. Faringfield, who had heard with cold heedlessness my mother’s offer and Ned’s, now rang the bell.  Noah appeared, with a sad, affrighted face—­he had been listening at the door—­and cast a furtive glance at Margaret, in token of commiseration.

“Bring Mrs. Winwood’s cloak,” said Mr. Faringfield to the old negro.  “Then open the door for her and Mr. Edward.”

While Noah was absent on this errand, and Margaret waited passively, Tom went to her, kissed her cheek, and then came away without a word.

“You’ll accept Mrs. Russell’s invitation, dear,” said Mrs. Faringfield, in tears, “and we can see you every day.”

“Certainly, for the present,” replied Margaret, who did not weep, but spoke in a singularly gentle voice.

“And I, too, for to-night, with my best thanks,” added Ned, who had not been invited, but whom my mother preferred not to refuse.

Noah brought in the cloak, and placed it around Madge with an unusual attentiveness, prolonging the slight service to its utmost possible length, and keeping an eye for any sign of relenting on the part of his master.

My mother and I stood waiting for Margaret, while Mrs. Faringfield and Fanny weepingly embraced her.  That done, and with a good-night for Tom and Mr. Cornelius, but not a word or a look for her father, who stood as silent and motionless as marble, she laid her hand softly upon my arm, and we went forth, leaving my mother to the unwelcome escort of Ned.  The door closed upon us four—­’twas the last time it ever closed upon one of us—­and in a few seconds we were at our steps.  And who should come along at that moment, on his way to his quarters, but Captain Falconer?  He stopped, in pleased surprise, and, peering at our faces in the darkness, asked in his gay, good-natured way what fun was afoot.

“Not much fun,” said Margaret.  “I have just left my father’s house, at his command.”

He stood in a kind of daze.  As it was very cold, we bade him good night, and went in.  Reopening the door, and looking out, I saw him proceeding homeward, his head averted in a meditative attitude.  I knew not till the next day what occurred when he arrived in the Faringfield hall.