“Come, come, come,” said Harry; “we all want you.”

“Who wants me?”

“Mrs. Elton and Euphra and me.  Come, get in.”

And he pulled Hugh towards the carriage.

“I cannot go with you now.  I have pupils here.”

Harry’s face fell.

“When will you come?”

“In half-an-hour.”

“Hurrah!  I shall be back exactly in half-an-hour then.  Do be ready, please, Mr. Sutherland.”

“I will.”

Harry jumped into the carriage, telling the coachman to drive where he pleased, and be back at the same place in half-an-hour.  Hugh returned into the house.

As may be supposed, Margaret was the means of this happy meeting.  Although she saw plainly enough that Euphra would like to see Hugh, she did not for some time make up her mind to send for him.  The circumstances which made her resolve to do so were these.

For some days Euphra seemed to be gradually regaining her health and composure of mind.  One evening, after a longer talk than usual, Margaret had left her in bed, and had gone to her own room.  She was just preparing to get into bed herself, when a knock at her door startled her, and going to it, she saw Euphra standing there, pale as death, with nothing on but her nightgown, notwithstanding the bitter cold of an early and severe frost.  She thought at first she must be walking in her sleep, but the scared intelligence of her open eyes, soon satisfied her that it was not so.

“What is the matter, dear Miss Cameron?” she said, as calmly as she could.

“He is coming.  He wants me.  If he calls me, I must go.”

“No, you shall not go,” rejoined Margaret, firmly.

“I must, I must,” answered Euphra, wringing her hands.

“Do come in,” said Margaret, “you must not stand there in the cold.”

“Let me get into your bed.”

“Better let me go with you to yours.  That will be more comfortable for you.”

“Oh! yes; please do.”

Margaret threw a shawl round Euphra, and went back with her to her room.

“He wants me.  He wants me.  He will call me soon,” said Euphra, in an agonised whisper, as soon as the door was shut.  “What shall I do!”

“Come to bed first, and we will talk about it there.”

As soon as they were in bed, Margaret put her arm round Euphra, who was trembling with cold and fear, and said: 

“Has this man any right to call you?”

“No, no,” answered Euphra, vehemently.

“Then don’t go.”

“But I am afraid of him.”

“Defy him in God’s name.”

“But besides the fear, there is something that I can’t describe, that always keeps telling me —­ no, not telling me, pushing me —­ no, drawing me, as if I could not rest a moment till I go.  I cannot describe it.  I hate to go, and yet I feel that if I were cold in my grave, I must rise and go if he called me.  I wish I could tell you what it is like.  It is as if some demon were shaking my soul till I yielded and went.  Oh! don’t despise me.  I can’t help it.”