by the swarthiness of his complexion, and his quick intensity of expression.  His eyes were generally merry-looking, but at times they and his mouth so suddenly changed, and gave her such an idea of latent passion, that it almost made her afraid.  But this look was only for an instant; and had in it no doggedness, no vindictiveness; it was rather the instantaneous ferocity of expression that comes over the countenances of all natives of wild or southern countries—­a ferocity which enhances the charm of the childlike softness into which such a look may melt away.  Margaret might fear the violence of the impulsive nature thus occasionally betrayed, but there was nothing in it to make her distrust, or recoil in the least, from the new-found brother.  On the contrary, all their intercourse was peculiarly charming to her from the very first.  She knew then how much responsibility she had had to bear, from the exquisite sensation of relief which she felt in Frederick’s presence.  He understood his father and mother—­their characters and their weaknesses, and went along with a careless freedom, which was yet most delicately careful not to hurt or wound any of their feelings.  He seemed to know instinctively when a little of the natural brilliancy of his manner and conversation would not jar on the deep depression of his father, or might relieve his mother’s pain.  Whenever it would have been out of tune, and out of time, his patient devotion and watchfulness came into play, and made him an admirable nurse.  Then Margaret was almost touched into tears by the allusions which he often made to their childish days in the New Forest; he had never forgotten her—­or Helstone either—­all the time he had been roaming among distant countries and foreign people.  She might talk to him of the old spot, and never fear tiring him.  She had been afraid of him before he came, even while she had longed for his coming; seven or eight years had, she felt, produced such great changes in herself that, forgetting how much of the original Margaret was left, she had reasoned that if her tastes and feelings had so materially altered, even in her stay-at-home life, his wild career, with which she was but imperfectly acquainted, must have almost substituted another Frederick for the tall stripling in his middy’s uniform, whom she remembered looking up to with such admiring awe.  But in their absence they had grown nearer to each other in age, as well as in many other things.  And so it was that the weight, this sorrowful time, was lightened to Margaret.  Other light than that of Frederick’s presence she had none.  For a few hours, the mother rallied on seeing her son.  She sate with his hand in hers; she would not part with it even while she slept; and Margaret had to feed him like a baby, rather than that he should disturb her mother by removing a finger.  Mrs. Hale wakened while they were thus engaged; she slowly moved her head round on the pillow, and smiled at her children, as she understood what they were doing, and why it was done.