hale, margaret and dixon were laying their heads together, andconsulting how they should keep frederick\"s ing a profound secretto all out of the house. a letter from him might now be expected anyday; and he would assuredly follow quickly on its heels. martha mustbe sent away on her holiday; dixon must keep stern guard on the frontdoor, only admitting the few visitors that ever came to the house intomr. hale\"s room down-stairs--mrs. hale\"s extreme illness giving her agood excuse for this. if mary higgins was required as a help to dixonin the kitchen she was to hear and see as little of frederick as possible;and he was, if necessary to be spoken of to her under the name of mr.

dickinson. but. her sluggish and incurious nature was the greatestsafeguard of all.

they resolved that martha should leāve them that very afternoon forthis visit to her mother. margaret wished that she had been sent away onthe previous day, as she fancied it might be thought strange to give aservant a holiday when her mistress\"s state required so much attendance.

poor margaret! all that afternoon she had to act the part of a romandaughter, and give strength out of her own scanty stock to her father.

mr. hale would hope, would not despair, between the attacks of hiswife\"s malady; he buoyed himself up in every respite from her pain, andbelieved that it was the beginning of ultimate recovery. and so, whenthe paroxysms came on, each more severe than the last, they were freshagonies, and greater disappointments to him. this afternoon, he sat in

the drawing-room, unable to bear the solitude of his study, or to employhimself in any way. he buried his head in his arms, which lay folded onthe table. margaret\"s heart ached to see him; yet, as he did not speak,she did not like to volunteer any attempt at fort. martha was gone.

dixon sat with mrs. hale while she slept. the house was very still andquiet, and darkness came on, without any movement to procure candles.

margaret sat at the window, looking out at the lamps and the street, butseeing nothing,--only alive to her father\"s heāvy sighs. she did not liketo go down for lights, lest the tacit restraint of her presence beingwithdrawn, he might give way to more violent emotion, without herbeing at hand to fort him. yet she was just thinking that she oughtto go and see after the well-doing of the kitchen fire, which there wasnobody but herself to attend to when she heard the muffled door-ringwith so violent a pull, that the wires jingled all through the house,though the positive sound was not great. she started up, passed herfather, who had never moved at the veiled, dull sound,--returned, andkissed him tenderly. and still he never moved, nor took any notice ofher fond embrace. then she went down softly, through the dark, to thedoor. dixon would hāve put the chain on before she opened it, butmargaret had not a thought of fear in her pre-occupied mind. a man\"stall figure stood between her and the luminous street. he was lookingaway; but at the sound of the latch he turned quickly round.

\"is this mr. hale\"s?\" said he, in a clear, full, delicate voice.

margaret trembled all over; at first she did not answer. in a moment shesighed out,\"frederick!\" and stretched out both her hands to catch his, and draw himin.

\"oh, margaret!\" said he, holding her off by her shoulders, after they hadkissed each other, as if even in that darkness he could see her face, andread in its expression a quicker answer to his question than words couldgive,-\"

my mother! is she alive?\"

\"yes, she is alive, dear, dear brother! she--as ill as she can be she is; butalive! she is alive!\"

\"thank god!\" said he.

\"papa is utterly prostrate with this great grief.\"