'Don't scold, Margaret. It was all because of you. If she had not

shown you every change with such evident exultation in their

superior sense, in perceiving what an improvement this and that

would be, I could have behaved well. But if you must go on

preaching, keep it till after dinner, when it will send me to

sleep, and help my digestion.' They were both of them tired, and Margaret herself so much so,

that she was unwilling to go out as she had proposed to do, and

have another ramble among the woods and fields so close to the

home of her childhood. And, somehow, this visit to Helstone had

not been all--had not been exactly what she had expected. There

was change everywhere; slight, yet pervading all. Households were

changed by absence, or death, or marriage, or the natural

mutations brought by days and months and years, which carry us on

imperceptibly from childhood to youth, and thence through manhood

to age, whence we drop like fruit, fully ripe, into the quiet

mother earth. Places were changed--a tree gone here, a bough

there, bringing in a long ray of light where no light was

before--a road was trimmed and narrowed, and the green straggling

pathway by its side enclosed and cultivated. A great improvement

it was called; but Margaret sighed over the old picturesqueness,

the old gloom, and the grassy wayside of former days. She sate by

the window on the little settle, sadly gazing out upon the

gathering shades of night, which harmonised well with her pensive

thought. Mr. Bell slept soundly, after his unusual exercise

through the day. At last he was roused by the entrance of the

tea-tray, brought in by a flushed-looking country-girl, who had

evidently been finding some variety from her usual occupation of

waiter, in assisting this day in the hayfield.

'Hallo! Who's there! Where are we? Who's that,--Margaret? Oh, now

I remember all. I could not imagine what woman was sitting there

in such a doleful attitude, with her hands clasped straight out

upon her knees, and her face looking so steadfastly before her.

What were you looking at?' asked Mr. Bell, coming to the window,

and standing behind Margaret.

'Nothing,' said she, rising up quickly, and speaking as

cheerfully as she could at a moment's notice.

'Nothing indeed! A bleak back-ground of trees, some white linen

hung out on the sweet-briar hedge, and a great waft of damp air.

Shut the window, and come in and make tea.' Margaret was silent for some time. She played with her teaspoon,

and did not attend particularly to what Mr. Bell said. He

contradicted her, and she took the same sort of smiling notice of

his opinion as if he had agreed with her. Then she sighed, and

putting down her spoon, she began, apropos of nothing at all, and

in the high-pitched voice which usually shows that the speaker

has been thinking for some time on the subject that they wish to

introduce--'Mr. Bell, you remember what we were saying about

Frederick last night, don't you?' 'Last night. Where was I? Oh, I remember! Why it seems a week

ago. Yes, to be sure, I recollect we talked about him, poor

fellow.' 'Yes--and do you not remember that Mr. Lennox spoke about his

having been in England about the time of dear mamma's death?'

asked Margaret, her voice now lower than usual.




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