\"Let me in! Let me in! It is only me, Charlotte!\" Her heart did not still itsfluttering till she was safe in the drawing-room, with the windowsfastened and bolted, and the familiar walls hemming her round, andshutting her in. She had sate down upon a packing case; cheerless, Chillwas the dreary and dismantled room--no fire nor other light, butCharlotte\"s long unsnuffed candle. Charlotte looked at Margaret withsurprise; and Margaret, feeling it rather than seeing it, rose up.
\"I was afraid you were shutting me out altogether, Charlotte,\" said she,half-smiling. \"And then you would never have heard me in the kitchen,and the doors into the lane and churchyard are locked long ago.\"
\"Oh, miss, I should have been sure to have missed you soon. The menwould have wanted you to tell them how to go on. And I have put tea inmaster\"s study, as being the most comfortable room, so to speak.\"
\"Thank you, Charlotte. You are a kind girl. I shall be sorry to leave you.
You must try and write to me, if I can ever give you any little help orgood advice. I shall always be glad to get a letter from Helstone, youknow. I shall be sure and send you my address when. I know it.\"
The study was all ready for tea. There was a good blazing fire, andunlighted candles on the table. Margaret sat down on the rug, partly towarm herself, for the dampness of the evening hung about her dress,and overfatigue had made her chilly. She kept herself balanced byclasping her hands together round her knees; her head dropped a littletowards her chest; the attitude was one of despondency, whatever herframe of mind might be. But when she heard her father\"s step on thegravel outside, she started up, and hastily shaking her heavy black hairback, and wiping a few tears away that had come on her cheeks sheknew not how, she went out to open the door for him. He showed farmore depression than she did. She could hardly get him to talk,although she tried to speak on subjects that would interest him, at thecost of an effort every time which she thought would be her last.
\"Have you been a very long walk to-day?\" asked she, on seeing hisrefusal to touch food of any kind.
\"As far as Fordham Beeches. I went to see Widow Maltby; she is sadlygrieved at not having wished you good-bye. She says little Susan haskept watch down the lane for days past.--Nay, Margaret, what is thematter, dear?\" The thought of the little child watching for her, andcontinually disappointed--from no forgetfulness on her part, but fromsheer inability to leave home--was the last drop in poor Margaret\"s cup,and she was sobbing away as if her heart would break. Mr. Hale wasdistressingly perplexed. He rose, and walked nervously up and down
the room. Margaret tried to check herself, but would not speak until shecould do so with firmness. She heard him talking, as if to himself.
\"I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to see the sufferings of others. I think Icould go through my own with patience. Oh, is there no going back?\"
\"No, father,\" said Margaret, looking straight at him, and speaking lowand steadily. \"It is bad to believe you in error. It would he infinitelyworse to have known you a hypocrite.\" She dropped her voice at the lastfew words, as if entertaining the idea of hypocrisy for a moment inconnection with her father savoured of irreverence.
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