’And it’s hame, hame; hame,
Hame fain wad I be.’

It needed the pretty light papering of the rooms to reconcile them to Milton.  It needed more—­more that could not be had.  The thick yellow November fogs had come on; and the view of the plain in the valley, made by the sweeping bend of the river, was all shut out when Mrs. Hale arrived at her new home.

Margaret and Dixon had been at work for two days, unpacking and arranging, but everything inside the house still looked in disorder; and outside a thick fog crept up to the very windows, and was driven in to every open door in choking white wreaths of unwholesome mist.

‘Oh, Margaret! are we to live here?’ asked Mrs. Hale in blank dismay.  Margaret’s heart echoed the dreariness of the tone in which this question was put.  She could scarcely command herself enough to say, ‘Oh, the fogs in London are sometimes far worse!’

’But then you knew that London itself, and friends lay behind it.  Here—­well! we are desolate.  Oh Dixon, what a place this is!’

’Indeed, ma’am, I’m sure it will be your death before long, and then I know who’ll—­stay!  Miss Hale, that’s far too heavy for you to lift.’

‘Not at all, thank you, Dixon,’ replied Margaret, coldly.  ’The best thing we can do for mamma is to get her room quite ready for her to go to bed, while I go and bring her a cup of coffee.’

Mr. Hale was equally out of spirits, and equally came upon Margaret for sympathy.

’Margaret, I do believe this is an unhealthy place.  Only suppose that your mother’s health or yours should suffer.  I wish I had gone into some country place in Wales; this is really terrible,’ said he, going up to the window.  There was no comfort to be given.  They were settled in Milton, and must endure smoke and fogs for a season; indeed, all other life seemed shut out from them by as thick a fog of circumstance.  Only the day before, Mr. Hale had been reckoning up with dismay how much their removal and fortnight at Heston had cost, and he found it had absorbed nearly all his little stock of ready money.  No! here they were, and here they must remain.

At night when Margaret realised this, she felt inclined to sit down in a stupor of despair.  The heavy smoky air hung about her bedroom, which occupied the long narrow projection at the back of the house.  The window, placed at the side of the oblong, looked to the blank wall of a similar projection, not above ten feet distant.  It loomed through the fog like a great barrier to hope.  Inside the room everything was in confusion.  All their efforts had been directed to make her mother’s room comfortable.  Margaret sat down on a box, the direction card upon which struck her as having been written at Helstone—­beautiful, beloved Helstone!  She lost herself in dismal thought:  but at last she determined to take her mind away from the present; and suddenly remembered that she had a letter from Edith which she had only