'Yes; it is so, indeed. He knows it himself; he has said so many

a time. He would do anything for me; you don't mean he would

refuse me this last wish--prayer, if you will. And, indeed,

Margaret, the longing to see Frederick stands between me and God.

I cannot pray till I have this one thing; indeed, I cannot. Don't

lose time, dear, dear Margaret. Write by this very next post.

Then he may be here--here in twenty-two days! For he is sure to

come. No cords or chains can keep him. In twenty-two days I shall

see my boy.' She fell back, and for a short time she took no

notice of the fact that Margaret sat motionless, her hand shading

her eyes.

'You are not writing!' said her mother at last 'Bring me some

pens and paper; I will try and write myself.' She sat up,

trembling all over with feverish eagerness. Margaret took her

hand down and looked at her mother sadly.

'Only wait till papa comes in. Let us ask him how best to do it.' 'You promised, Margaret, not a quarter of an hour ago;--you said

he should come.' 'And so he shall, mamma; don't cry, my own dear mother. I'll

write here, now,--you shall see me write,--and it shall go by

this very post; and if papa thinks fit, he can write again when

he comes in,--it is only a day's delay. Oh, mamma, don't cry so

pitifully,--it cuts me to the heart.' Mrs. Hale could not stop her tears; they came hysterically; and,

in truth, she made no effort to control them, but rather called

up all the pictures of the happy past, and the probable

future--painting the scene when she should lie a corpse, with the

son she had longed to see in life weeping over her, and she

unconscious of his presence--till she was melted by self-pity

into a state of sobbing and exhaustion that made Margaret's heart

ache. But at last she was calm, and greedily watched her

daughter, as she began her letter; wrote it with swift urgent

entreaty; sealed it up hurriedly, for fear her mother should ask

to see it: and then, to make security most sure, at Mrs. Hale's

own bidding, took it herself to the post-office. She was coming

home when her father overtook her.

'And where have you been, my pretty maid?' asked he.

'To the post-office,--with a letter; a letter to Frederick. Oh,

papa, perhaps I have done wrong: but mamma was seized with such a

passionate yearning to see him--she said it would make her well

again,--and then she said that she must see him before she

died,--I cannot tell you how urgent she was! Did I do wrong?' Mr.

Hale did not reply at first. Then he said: 'You should have waited till I came in, Margaret.' 'I tried to persuade her--' and then she was silent.




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