There was absolute truth in the girl's voice; and Miss Conway looked puzzled.
"I can't make it out—how she obtained it, I mean," she said at last. "Ross, I think you had better leave your mistress to me for the present. I rely upon you not to speak of this downstairs. And Margaret—" the governess's voice softened to the tenderest pity—"will you take care of Gerald for the rest of the day? Tell him his mother is very poorly, and that he may have a half-holiday. You could take him down to the beach this afternoon. God help you to bear this trouble, poor child!"
Margaret made no response. Ringing in her ears were words her father had spoken to her when they had been discussing Salome's trouble. "We cannot tell how much our patience and love may be tried, nor what trials and troubles the future may hold for us. We can only pray that God will strengthen us in our time of need."
Had her father anticipated this hour for her? She could not tell, but she thought it more than likely.
Meanwhile, Miss Conway was leading her to the door, begging her to put a brave face on matters, and to go down to dinner without her.
"I feel my duty is here, my dear," she said impressively. "If any one questions you about your mother, you can truly say she is ill. Oh, Margaret, pray for her; she is greatly to be pitied!" And so saying, the governess opened the door and pushed her little pupil gently outside.
For a few minutes Margaret stood perfectly still. Then the sound of Gerald's voice in the hall below reminded her that she must, as Miss Conway had said, put a brave face on matters. So she went downstairs and delighted her brother by promising to take him down to the beach. She was conscious that the burden of a great sorrow was upon her, and she felt bowed down with an intolerable weight of shame. But she devoted herself assiduously to Gerald for the remainder of the day; and it was not until nearly nine o'clock, when her charge was in bed and asleep, that she dared give way to her grief. Then, in the privacy of her own room, she flung herself upon the bed and wept as though her heart would break.
[CHAPTER X.]
Mr. Fowler's Return.
"MARGARET! Oh, my dear little girl! Do not grieve so terribly. You will make yourself ill, if you go on like this."