"Shall we go on?" Margaret asked, when the young lady had retreated.
"If you are not tired," Hinchley answered. "I should like to go down very much. The dell is the prettiest spot I ever saw, and the water delicious."
"Oh yes, it is a lovely spot," Margaret said. "Some day I intend to make a sketch of it. Let us select the best view."
They went down the descent and stood by the spring, which rushed out from among the rocks with a pleasant, bell-like murmur, and cast its tiny shower of spray-bubbles over the violets that fringed it.
"How still it is," Margaret observed.
"Yes; it is refreshing to escape from all that chatter. How constantly people do talk."
"Yet if one is silent, it is to be considered stupid."
"But stupidity would be a relief sometimes."
Margaret did not answer; she was busy with her own thoughts. When Hinchley spoke again it was of other things. He had been shocked at finding so much changed at the homestead, for the old gentleman now saw no visitors and seldom left his room, and Ralph felt that he ought to make Margaret understand how little hope there was that she could much longer have her uncle's house as a place of protection.
Margaret wept bitterly; but when he attempted to speak of Laurence, or allude to her marriage, she only turned passionately away, with bitter, haughty words that made Ralph fear both for her and his friend.