matters.”  Things take ugly shapes in the dark; a tree, an object of grace add beauty in the meridian sun, is a giant spectre in the gloom of night.  Thoughts of death are bolder and more startling on the midnight pillow than in the noonday walk.  Our vices, which are the pastime of the drawing-room, become the bugbears of the silent bedchamber.  Margaret, when she would have slept, was haunted by reproaches, which waited until then to agitate and frighten her.  A sense of impropriety and sinfulness started in her bosom, and convicted her of an offence—­unpardonable in her sight—­against the blessed memory of Mildred.  She could not deny it, Michael Allcraft had created on her heart a favourable impression—­one that must be obliterated at once and for ever, if she hoped for happiness, for spiritual repose.  She had listened to his impassioned tones with real delight; had gazed upon his bright and beaming countenance, until her eyes had stolen away the image, and fixed it on her heart.  Not a year had elapsed since the generous Mildred had been committed to the earth, and could she so soon rebel—­so easily forget his princely conduct, and permit his picture to be supplanted in her breast?  Oh, impossible!  It was a grievous fault.  She acknowledged it with her warm tears, and vowed (Margaret was disposed to vow—­too readily on most occasions) that she would rise reproved; repentant, and faithful to her duty.  Yes, and the earnest creature leapt from her couch, and prayed for strength and help to resist the sore temptation; nor did she visit it again until she felt the strong assurance that her victory was gained, and her future peace secured.  It is greatly to be feared that the majority of persons who make resolutions, imagine that all their work is done the instant the virtuous determination is formed.  Now, the fact is, that the real work is not even begun; and if exertion be suspended at the point at which it is most needed, the resolute individual is in greater danger of miscarriage than if he had not resolved at all, but had permitted things to take their own course and natural direction.  I do believe that Margaret received Michael on the following day without deeming it in the slightest degree incumbent upon her to act upon the offensive.  She established herself behind her decision and her prayers, and, relying upon such fortifications, would not permit the idea of danger.  A child might have prophesied the result.  Michael was always at her side—­Margaret’s departure from the cottage was postponed day after day.  The youth, who in truth ardently and truly loved the gentle widow, had no joy away from her.  He supplied her with books, the choice of which did credit to his refinement and good taste.  Sometimes she perused them alone—­sometimes he read aloud to her.  His own hand culled her flowers, and placed the offering on her table.  He met her in her walks—­he taught her botany—­he sketched her favourite views—­he was devoted to her, heart and soul.  And she—­but