Margaret had sought Euphra’s room, with the intention of restoring to her the letter which she had written to David Elginbrod.  Janet had let it lie for some time before she sent it to Margaret; and Euphra had given up all expectation of an answer.

Hopes of ministration filled Margaret’s heart; but she expected, from what she knew of her, that anger would be Miss Cameron’s first feeling.  Therefore, when she heard no answer to her application for admission, and had concluded, in consequence, that Euphra was not in the room, she resolved to leave the letter where it would meet her eye, and thus prepare the way for a future conversation.  When she saw Euphra and Harry, she would have retired immediately; but Euphra, annoyed by her entrance, was now quite able to speak.

“What do you want?” she said angrily.

“This is your letter, Miss Cameron, is it not?” said Margaret, advancing with it in her hand.

Euphra took it, glanced at the direction, pushed Harry away from her, started up in a passion, and let loose the whole gathered irritability of contempt, weariness, disappointment, and suffering, upon Margaret.  Her dark eyes flashed with rage, and her sallow cheek glowed like a peach.

“What right have you, pray, to handle my letters?  How did you get this?  It has never been posted!  And open, too.  I declare!  I suppose you have read it?”

Margaret was afraid of exciting more wrath before she had an opportunity of explaining; but Euphra gave her no time to think of a reply.

“You have read it, you shameless woman!  Why don’t you lie, like the rest of your tribe, and keep me from dying with indignation?  Impudent prying!  My maid never posted it, and you have found it and read it!  Pray, did you hope to find a secret worth a bribe?”

She advanced on Margaret till within a foot of her.

“Why don’t you answer, you hussy?  I will go this instant to your mistress.  You or I leave the house.”

Margaret had stood all this time quietly, waiting for an opportunity to speak.  Her face was very pale, but perfectly still, and her eyes did not quail.  She had not in the least lost her self-possession.  She would not say at once that she had read the letter, because that would instantly rouse the tornado again.

“You do not know my name, Miss Cameron; of course you could not.”

“Your name!  What is that to me?”

“That,” said Margaret, pointing to the letter, “is my father’s name.”

Euphra looked at her own direction again, and then looked at Margaret.  She was so bewildered, that if she had any thoughts, she did not know them.  Margaret went on: 

“My father is dead.  My mother sent the letter to me.”

“Then you have had the impertinence to read it!”

“It was my duty to read it.”

“Duty!  What business had you with it?”

Euphra felt ashamed of the letter as soon as she found that she had applied to a man whose daughter was a servant.  Margaret answered: