Ethel carried the brooch to her own room, and tried to keep herself from speculating what had been Mr. Ogllvie's views in procuring it, and whether he remembered showing her, at Woodstock, which sort of fern was his badge, and how she had abstained from preserving the piece shut up in her guide-book.

Meta's patient sorrow was the best remedy for proneness to such musings.

How happy poor little Meta had been! The three sisters sat together that long day, and Ethel read to the others, and by and by went to walk in the garden with them, till, as Flora was going in, Meta asked, "Do you think it would be wrong for me to cross the park to see that little burned girl, as Mr. Wilmot is away to-day, and she has no one to go to her?"

Flora could see no reason against it, and Meta and Ethel left the garden, and traversed the green park, in its quiet home beauty, not talking much, except that Meta said, "Well! I think there is quite as much sweetness as sadness in this evening."

"Because of this calm autumn sunset beauty?" said Ethel. "Look at the golden light coming in under the branches of the trees."

"Yes," said Meta, "one cannot help thinking how much more beautiful it must be--"

The two girls said no more, and came to the cottage, where so much gratitude was expressed at seeing Miss Rivers, that it was almost too much for her. She left Ethel to talk, and only said a few soft little words to her sick scholar, who seemed to want her voice and smile to convince her that the small mournful face, under all that black crape, belonged to her own dear bright teacher.

"It is odd," said Meta, as they went back; "it is seeing other people that makes one know it is all sad and altered--it seems so bewildering, though they are so kind."

"I know what you mean," said Ethel.

"One ought not to wish it to go on, because there are other people and other duties," said Meta, "but quietness is so peaceful. Do you know, Ethel, I shall always think of those two first days, before anybody came, with you and Dr. May, as something very--very--precious," she said at last, with the tears rising.

"I am sure I shall," said Ethel.

"I don't know how it is, but there is something even in this affliction that makes it like--a strange sort of happiness," said Meta musingly.

"I know what it is!" said Ethel.

"That He is so very good?" said Meta reverently.

"Yes," said Ethel, almost rebuked for the first thought, namely, that it was because Meta was so very good.

"It does make one feel more confidence," said Meta.

"'It is good for me to have been in trouble,'" repeated Ethel.

"Yes," said Meta. "I hope it is not wrong or unkind in me to feel it, for I think dear papa would wish it; but I do not feel as if--miss him always as I shall--the spring of life were gone from me. I don't think it can, for I know no more pain or trouble can reach him, and there is--don't you think, Ethel, that I may think so?--especial care for the orphan, like a compensation. And there is hope, and work here. And I am very thankful! How much worse it would have been, if George had not been married! Dear Flora! Will you tell her, Ethel, how really I do wish her to take the command of me? Tell her it will be the greatest kindness in the world to make me useful to her."

"I will," said Ethel.

"And please tell her that I am afraid I may forget, and take upon me, as if I were still lady of the house. Tell her I do not mean it, and I hope that she will check it."

"I think there is no fear of her forgetting that," said Ethel, regretting the words before they were out of her mouth.

"I hope I shall not," said Meta. "If I do, I shall drive myself away to stay with Aunt Leonora, and I don't want to do that at all. So please to make Flora understand that she is head, and I am ready to be hand and foot;" and Meta's bright smile shone out, with the pleasure of a fresh and loving service.

Ethel understood the force of her father's words, that it was a brave, vigorous spirit.

Dr. May came back with George, and stayed to dinner, after which he talked over business with Flora, whose sagacity continually amazed him, and who undertook to make her husband understand, and do what was needed.

Meta meanwhile cross-questioned her brother on the pretty village by the Thames, of which she had a fond, childish remembrance, and heard from him of the numerous kind messages from all her relations. There were various invitations, but George repeated them unwillingly.

"You won't go, Meta," he said. "It would be a horrid nuisance to part with you."

"As long as you think so, dear George. When I am in your way, or Flora's--"

"That will never be! I say, Flora, will she ever be in our way?"

"No, indeed! Meta and I understand that," said Flora, looking up. "Well, I suppose Bruce can't be trusted to value the books and prints."

Dr. May thought it a great relief that Meta had a home with Flora, for, as he said to Ethel as they went home together, "Certainly, except Lord Cosham, I never saw such an unpresentable crew as their relations. You should have heard the boys afterwards! There was Master Tom turning up his Eton nose at them, and pronouncing that there never were such a set of snobs, and Norman taking him to task as I never heard him do before--telling him that he would never have urged his going to Eton, if he had thought it would make him despise respectable folks, probably better than himself, and that this was the last time in the world for such observations--whereat poor Tommy was quite annihilated; for a word from Norman goes further with him than a lecture from any one else."

"Well, I think Norman was right as to the unfitness of the time."

"So he was. But we had a good deal of them, waiting in the inn parlour.

People make incongruities when they will have such things done in state.

It could not be helped here, to be sure; but I always feel, at a grand undertaker's display like this, that, except the service itself, there is little to give peace or soothing. I hate what makes a talk! Better be little folk."

"One would rather think of our own dear cloister, and those who cared so much," said Ethel.

"Ah! you were happy to be there!" said Dr. May. "But it all comes to the same." Pausing, he looked from the window, then signed to Ethel to do the same--Orion glittered in the darkness.

"One may sleep sound without the lullaby," said Dr. May, "and the waves--"

"Oh! don't, papa. You don't give up hope!"

"I believe we ought, Ethel. Don't tell her, but I went to the Admirality to-day."

"And what did you hear there?"

"Great cause for fear--but they do not give up. My poor Margaret! But those stars tell us they are in the same Hand."

CHAPTER XIII.

Shall I sit alone in my chamber, And set the chairs by the wall, While you sit with lords and princes, Yet have not a thought at all?

Shall I sit alone in my chamber, And duly the table lay, Whilst you stand up in the diet, And have not a word to say?--Old Danish Ballad.

"Oh, Norman, are you come already?" exclaimed Margaret, as her brother opened the door, bringing in with him the crisp breath of December.

"Yes, I came away directly after collections. How are you, Margaret?"

"Pretty brave, thank you;" but the brother and sister both read on each other's features that the additional three months of suspense had told.

There were traces of toil and study on Norman's brow; the sunken look about his eyes, and the dejected outline of his cheek, Margaret knew betokened discouragement; and though her mild serenity was not changed, she was almost transparently thin and pale. They had long ago left off asking whether there were tidings, and seldom was the subject adverted to, though the whole family seemed to be living beneath a dark shadow.

"How is Flora?" he next asked.