On reaching home they found a telegram from Mr. Fowler, acquainting them with his safe arrival in London. As Mrs. Fowler read it, the displeasure left her face for a softer, gentler expression.
"How thoughtful he always is!" she exclaimed.
She was in exceedingly good spirits all the evening, and retired to rest apparently perfectly well; but about midnight, Margaret was awakened by a sound in the room, and starting up in bed, found her mother standing by her side in her night-gown, with a lighted candle in her hand.
"What is it, mother? Are you ill?" The little girl inquired in alarm.
"No, but I am nervous, and cannot sleep! I wish your father had not gone! Did I frighten you? I hope not. I felt I must have company."
Margaret was greatly astonished, for the thought had continually crossed her mind during the day that Mrs. Fowler was relieved at her husband's absence. She jumped out of bed immediately, and led her mother back to her own room.
"I will stay with you to-night, dear mother," she said gently. "You won't feel nervous then."
So mother and daughter lay down side by side, but not to sleep as yet, for the latter was restless and sighed continually.
"You are sure you are not ill?" Margaret asked with loving anxiety.
"No, I am not ill, but I am very unhappy," was the response in a tone of great sadness. "Oh, child, I wish you had a better mother!"