It was evident that Frederick must go.  Go, too, when he had so completely vaulted into his place in the family, and promised to be such a stay and staff to his father and sister.  Go, when his cares for the living mother, and sorrow for the dead, seemed to make him one of those peculiar people who are bound to us by a fellow-love for them that are taken away.  Just as Margaret was thinking all this, sitting over the drawing-room fire—­her father restless and uneasy under the pressure of this newly-aroused fear, of which he had not as yet spoken—­Frederick came in, his brightness dimmed, but the extreme violence of his grief passed away.  He came up to Margaret, and kissed her forehead.

‘How wan you look, Margaret!’ said he in a low voice.  ’You have been thinking of everybody, and no one has thought of you.  Lie on this sofa—­there is nothing for you to do.’

‘That is the worst,’ said Margaret, in a sad whisper.  But she went and lay down, and her brother covered her feet with a shawl, and then sate on the ground by her side; and the two began to talk in a subdued tone.

Margaret told him all that Dixon had related of her interview with young Leonards.  Frederick’s lips closed with a long whew of dismay.

’I should just like to have it out with that young fellow.  A worse sailor was never on board ship—­nor a much worse man either.  I declare, Margaret—­you know the circumstances of the whole affair?’

‘Yes, mamma told me.’

’Well, when all the sailors who were good for anything were indignant with our captain, this fellow, to curry favour—­pah!  And to think of his being here!  Oh, if he’d a notion I was within twenty miles of him, he’d ferret me out to pay off old grudges.  I’d rather anybody had the hundred pounds they think I am worth than that rascal.  What a pity poor old Dixon could not be persuaded to give me up, and make a provision for her old age!’

‘Oh, Frederick, hush!  Don’t talk so.’

Mr. Hale came towards them, eager and trembling.  He had overheard what they were saying.  He took Frederick’s hand in both of his: 

’My boy, you must go.  It is very bad—­but I see you must.  You have done all you could—­you have been a comfort to her.’

‘Oh, papa, must he go?’ said Margaret, pleading against her own conviction of necessity.

’I declare, I’ve a good mind to face it out, and stand my trial.  If I could only pick up my evidence!  I cannot endure the thought of being in the power of such a blackguard as Leonards.  I could almost have enjoyed—­in other circumstances—­this stolen visit:  it has had all the charm which the French-woman attributed to forbidden pleasures.’

‘One of the earliest things I can remember,’ said Margaret, ’was your being in some great disgrace, Fred, for stealing apples.  We had plenty of our own—­trees loaded with them; but some one had told you that stolen fruit tasted sweetest, which you took au pied de la lettre, and off you went a-robbing.  You have not changed your feelings much since then.’