me—­for I shall never marry; and I anticipate cares and sorrows just as if I were an old woman, and with the same fearful spirit.  I am weary of this continual call upon me for strength.  I could bear up for papa; because that is a natural, pious duty.  And I think I could bear up against—­at any rate, I could have the energy to resent, Mrs. Thornton’s unjust, impertinent suspicions.  But it is hard to feel how completely he must misunderstand me.  What has happened to make me so morbid to-day?  I do not know.  I only know I cannot help it.  I must give way sometimes.  No, I will not, though,’ said she, springing to her feet.  ’I will not—­I will not think of myself and my own position.  I won’t examine into my own feelings.  It would be of no use now.  Some time, if I live to be an old woman, I may sit over the fire, and, looking into the embers, see the life that might have been.’

All this time, she was hastily putting on her things to go out, only stopping from time to time to wipe her eyes, with an impatience of gesture at the tears that would come, in spite of all her bravery.

’I dare say, there’s many a woman makes as sad a mistake as I have done, and only finds it out too late.  And how proudly and impertinently I spoke to him that day!  But I did not know then.  It has come upon me little by little, and I don’t know where it began.  Now I won’t give way.  I shall find it difficult to behave in the same way to him, with this miserable consciousness upon me; but I will be very calm and very quiet, and say very little.  But, to be sure, I may not see him; he keeps out of our way evidently.  That would be worse than all.  And yet no wonder that he avoids me, believing what he must about me.’

She went out, going rapidly towards the country, and trying to drown reflection by swiftness of motion.

As she stood on the door-step, at her return, her father came up: 

‘Good girl!’ said he.  ’You’ve been to Mrs. Boucher’s.  I was just meaning to go there, if I had time, before dinner.’

‘No, papa; I have not,’ said Margaret, reddening.  ’I never thought about her.  But I will go directly after dinner; I will go while you are taking your nap.

Accordingly Margaret went.  Mrs. Boucher was very ill; really ill—­not merely ailing.  The kind and sensible neighbour, who had come in the other day, seemed to have taken charge of everything.  Some of the children were gone to the neighbours.  Mary Higgins had come for the three youngest at dinner-time; and since then Nicholas had gone for the doctor.  He had not come as yet; Mrs. Boucher was dying; and there was nothing to do but to wait.  Margaret thought that she should like to know his opinion, and that she could not do better than go and see the Higginses in the meantime.  She might then possibly hear whether Nicholas had been able to make his application to Mr. Thornton.

She found Nicholas busily engaged in making a penny spin on the dresser, for the amusement of three little children, who were clinging to him in a fearless manner.  He, as well as they, was smiling at a good long spin; and Margaret thought, that the happy look of interest in his occupation was a good sign.  When the penny stopped spinning, ‘lile Johnnie’ began to cry.