And yet Margaret loved Henderson with her whole soul.  And in this stage of her progress in the world she showed that she did, though not in the way Carmen would have showed her love, if she had loved, and if she had a soul capable of love.

It may have been inferred from Henderson’s exhibition of temper that his case had gone against him.  It is true; an injunction had been granted in the lower court, and public opinion went with the decree, and was in a great measure satisfied by it.  But this fight had really only just begun; it would go on in the higher courts, with new resources and infinite devices, which the public would be unable to fathom or follow, until by-and-by it would come out that a compromise had been made, and the easy public would not understand that this compromise gave the looters of the railway substantially all they ever expected to get.  The morning after the granting of the injunction Henderson had been silent and very much absorbed at breakfast, hardly polite, Margaret thought, and so inattentive to her remarks that she asked him twice whether they should accept the Brandon invitation to Christmas.  “Christmas!  I don’t know.  I’ve got other things to think of than Christmas,” he said, scarcely looking at her, and rising abruptly and going away to his library.

When the postman brought Margaret’s mail there was a letter in it from her aunt, which she opened leisurely after the other notes had been glanced through, on the principle that a family letter can wait, or from the fancy that some have of keeping the letter likely to be most interesting till the last.  But almost the first line enchained her attention, and as she read, her heart beat faster, and her face became scarlet.  It was very short, and I am able to print it, because all Margaret’s correspondence ultimately came into possession of her aunt: 

   “Brandon, December 17th.

“Dearest Margaret,—­You do not say whether you will come for Christmas, but we infer from your silence that you will.  You know how pained we shall all be if you do not.  Yet I fear the day will not be as pleasant as we could wish.  In fact, we are in a good deal of trouble.  You know, dear, that poor Mrs. Fletcher had nearly every dollar of her little fortune invested in the A. and B. bonds, and for ten months she has not had a cent of income, and no prospect of any.  Indeed, Morgan says that she will be lucky if she ultimately saves half her principal.  We try to cheer her up, but she is so cast down and mortified to have to live, as she says, on charity.  And it does make rather close house-keeping, though I’m sure I couldn’t live alone without her.  It does not make so much difference with Mr. Fairchild and Mr. Morgan, for they have plenty of other resources.  Mr. Fairchild tells her that she is in very good company, for lots of the bonds are held in Brandon, and she is not the only widow who suffers; but this is poor consolation.  We had great hopes, the other day, of the trial, but Morgan says it may be years before any final settlement.  I don’t believe Mr. Henderson knows.  But there, dearest, I won’t find fault.  We are all well, and eager to see you.  Do come.

   “Your affectionate aunt,