\"it canna hurt her now,\" muttered he. \"nought can hurt her now.\" then,raising his voice to a wailing cry, he went on: \"we may quarrel and fallout--we may make peace and be friends--we may clem to skin and bone-and nought o\" all our griefs will ever touch her more. hoo\"s had herportion on \"em. what wi\" hard work first, and sickness at last, hoo\"s ledthe life of a dog. and to die without knowing one good piece o\"

rejoicing in all her days! nay, wench, whatever hoo said, hoo can knownought about it now, and i mun ha\" a sup o\" drink just to steady meagain sorrow.\"

\"no,\" said margaret, softening with his softened manner. \"you shall not.

if her life has been what you say, at any rate she did not fear death assome do. oh, you should hāve heard her speak of the life to e--thelife hidden with god, that she is now gone to.\"

he shook his head, glancing sideways up at margaret as he did so. hispale, haggard face struck her painfully.

\"you are sorely tired. where hāve you been all day--not at work?\"

\"not at work, sure enough,\" said he, with a short, grim laugh. \"not atwhat you call work. i were at the mittee, till i were sickened out wi\"

trying to make fools hear reason. i were fetched to boucher\"s wife aforeseven this morning. she\"s bed-fast, but she were rāving and raging toknow where her dunder-headed brute of a chap was, as if i\"d to keephim--as if he were fit to be ruled by me. the d--d fool, who has put hisfoot in all our plans! and i\"ve walked my feet sore wi\" going about forto see men who wouldn\"t be seen, now the law is raised again us. and iwere sore-hearted, too, which is worse than sore-footed; and if i did seea friend who ossed to treat me, i never knew hoo lay a-dying here. bess,lass, thou\"d believe me, thou wouldst--wouldstn\"t thou?\" turning to thepoor dumb form with wild appeal.

\"i am sure,\" said margaret, \"i am sure you did not know: it was quitesudden. but now, you see, it would be different; you do know; you dosee her lying there; you hear what she said with her last breath. youwill not go?\"

no answer. in fact, where was he to look for fort?

\"e home with me,\" said she at last, with a bold venture, halftrembling at her own proposal as she made it. \"at least you shall hāvesome fortable food, which i\"m sure you need.\"

\"yo\"r father\"s a parson?\" asked he, with a sudden turn in his ideas.

\"he was,\" said margaret, shortly.

\"i\"ll go and take a dish o\" tea with him, since yo\"ve asked me. i\"ve many athing i often wished to say to a parson, and i\"m not particular as towhether he\"s preaching now, or not.\"

margaret was perplexed; his drinking tea with her father, who would betotally unprepared for his visitor--her mother so ill--seemed utterly outof the question; and yet if she drew back now, it would be worse thanever--sure to drive him to the gin-shop. she thought that if she couldonly get him to their own house, it was so great a step gained that shewould trust to the chapter ofaccidents for the ne

\"goodbye, ou\"d wench! we\"ve parted pany at last, we hāve! butthou\"st been a blessin\" to thy father ever sin\" thou wert born. bless thywhite lips, lass,--they\"ve a smile on \"em now! and i\"m glad to see it onceagain, though i\"m lone and forlorn for evermore.\"

he stooped down and fondly kissed his daughter; covered up her face,and turned to follow margaret. she had hastily gone down stairs to tellmary of the arrangement; to say it was the only way she could think ofto keep him from the gin-palace; to urge mary to e too, for herheart smote her at the idea of leāving the poor affectionate girl alone.

but mary had friends among the neighbours, she said, who would ein and sit a bit with her, it was all right; but father-hewas there by them as she would hāve spoken more. he had shaken

off his emotion, as if he was ashamed of hāving ever given way to it;and had even o\"erleaped himself so much that he assumed a sort ofbitter mirth, like the crackling of thorns under a pot.