The next day was that fixed upon by Mrs. Churchill for her visit. Adèle could no longer delay letting Margaret know that a summons from her mother had come; but the morning is generally more favorable to hopefulness than the evening. Adèle had begun to think matters were not so desperate as they looked. Possibly she might obtain further respite. She took in the unwelcome letter with Margaret's breakfast-tray, which had been delicately arranged by her own hands.
"Adèle, you must go," was Margaret's comment on the letter. And she tried not to show how sorely she would miss her comforter.
Adèle was slightly wounded: "Do you really mean it, Margaret?"
"I do indeed, dear. Your mother is quite right; you have sacrificed yourself too long."
"And you can think I have been sacrificing myself!" said the young girl. "But no, you only mean to tease me."
There was something of the disquieting jealousy of that feeling which is always supposed to be more engrossing than mere friendship in her further words: "Perhaps you would not even miss me, Margaret?"
But the tears Margaret could not restrain, the sudden weariness in her pale face, spoke more eloquently than words. Adèle threw herself down on her knees by her friend's side: "Forgive me, darling, but if you only knew—"
"—All the tenderness of this warm young heart," and Margaret smiled faintly, resting her hand, as if in silent blessing, on the bowed head.
"But look, dear," she continued after a pause, "your mother is coming, and I am anxious to see her, so she must not find me in bed. Will you help me to dress this morning?"