Whereupon, paying no heed to his reproachful cry of “Madge,” she swept past him, and across the parlour, and up the hall staircase to her room; leaving us all in the amazement which had held us motionless and silent throughout the scene.

Philip stood with his hand upon the chair-back where she had wept; pale and silent, the picture of abandonment and sorrow.

CHAPTER VI.

Ned Comes Back, with an Interesting Tale of a Fortunate Irishman.

Before any of us knew what to say, a soft tread in the library announced the approach of Mr. Cornelius.  He entered unaware of the scene that had just terminated, and with the stormy character of which on Margaret’s part, nothing could have been in greater contrast than the quiescent atmosphere that ever accompanied the shy, low-speaking pedagogue.  His presence diffused peace and quietude; and more than formerly was this the case of late, since he had resumed an intention of entering the Presbyterian ministry.

He had qualified himself for this profession at Princeton.  But after his full preparations, a conscientious scruple had arisen from a sense of his diffidence, which he despaired of conquering, and by which he believed his attempts at pulpit eloquence were sure to be defeated.  Though he could compass the hardihood to discourse to an assemblage of distracting schoolboys several hours every week-day, he could not summon the courage to address an audience of somnolent adults two hours on Sunday.

But latterly he had awakened to a new inward call, and resolved upon a new trial of his powers.  By way of preliminary training, he had set about practising upon the sailors and wharfmen who ordinarily spent their Sundays in gaming or boozing in low taverns along the water-front.  To as many of these as would gather in some open space, at the sound of his voice raised tremulously in a hymn, he would preach as a layman, thus borrowing from the Methodists a device by which he hoped not only his present hearers, but also his own future Presbyterian congregations, should benefit.  It was from one of these informal meetings, broken up by the news from Massachusetts, that he was but now returned.

The stupefaction in which we all sat, did not prevent our noting the excitement in which Cornelius came; and Mr. Faringfield looked a mute inquiry.

“Your pardon, friends,” said the pedagogue to the company; and then to Mr. Faringfield:  “If I might speak with you alone a moment, sir—­”

Mr. Faringfield went with him into the library, leaving us all under new apprehension.

“Dear bless me!” quoth Mrs. Faringfield, looking distressed.  “More calamity, I vow.”

In a moment we heard Mr. Faringfield’s voice raised in a vehement “No, sir!” Then the library door was reopened, and he returned to us, followed by Cornelius, who was saying in his mildest voice:  “But I protest, sir—­I entreat—­he is a changed man, I assure you.”