“And when will you be willing to come home?” said Mrs. Houston.
“After my father comes and goes. I would rather stay here near her to meet him.”
“And, when he goes, will you come?”
“Yes.”
After dinner Mrs. Houston left Plover’s Point.
Margaret remained, and, each morning after breakfast, took her little workbasket and walked through the woods down beside the grave, and sat sewing there all day.
One day while she sat thus a gentle footstep approached, a soft hand was laid upon her shoulder and a loving voice murmured her name.
Margaret looked up to see the mild old minister, Mr. Wellworth, standing near her.
“My child,” he said, “why do you sit here day after day to give way to grief?”
“Oh, Mr. Wellworth, I do not sit here to give way to grief. I only sit here to be near her,” pleaded Margaret.