CHAPTER XIV.
And though our joy is all too new to wear
The golden sweetness of assured repose,
Since the good Gods have steered our bark of life
Through the rough storm and the deceitful calm,
We may together stem the tranquil wave
Not fearful, not secure—but grateful ever;
While in the roseate light of new born hope
We steep the shadows of the coming time—
Most blest, that whatsoe'er our future lot
Love gilds the present, sanctifies the past.
Anon.
"I say, little one," exclaimed Harriet, as Margaret entered the Oratory to breakfast the next morning, "Will you go fishing with us to day, to Tynebrook?"
"With you—to Tynebrook, Harriet?" said Margaret quite surprised.
"Yes; did you never hear of such a place? Perhaps, you don't know that I saw Mr. Haveloc last night, and made a fishing party for the ladies?"
"Last night, Harriet!" said Margaret colouring.
"Yes, child," returned Harriet. "I suppose you think nobody can have interviews with a gentleman but yourself."
Never was a more random shot, but it had the effect of covering Margaret's face with blushes.
"How you love to torment Miss Capel;" said Mr. Gage, who was in the room. "I wonder she ever comes near you."
"I never saw any-thing like your cheeks, child," continued Harriet,