“Such words are absurd between you and me, Maggie. Come, I will leave you now to finish your letter, and return to you by and by.”
And then she left the room, thinking within herself: “The sensitive little creature! Who would have thought my heedless words would have distressed her so? I did not care about knowing to whom the letter was written, I am sure. But, by the way, to whom could she have been writing? And, now I reflect, it was very strange that she should have been so exceedingly distressed by my questionings! It never occurred to me before, but it really was rather mysterious! I must try to find out what it all means! I ought to do so! I am her guardian, her mother-in-law. I am responsible for her to her father and to her betrothed husband.”
Meanwhile Margaret Helmstedt had started up, closed the door and turned the key, and clasping her pale face between her hands, began pacing the floor and exclaiming at intervals:
“Oh, Heaven of heavens, how nearly all had been lost! Oh, I am unfit, I am unfit for this dreadful trust! To think I should have set down to write to him, and left the door unfastened! Farewell to liberty and frankness! I am given over to bonds, to vigilance and secretiveness forever! Oh, mother! my mother! I will be true to you! Oh, our Father who art in heaven, help me to be firm and wise and true!”
She came back at last, and sat down to her writing-desk, and finished her letter. Then opening her pocketbook, she took out the check for five hundred dollars, drawn by her father, in her favor, on a Baltimore bank, inclosed it in the letter, sealed and directed it, and placed it in the sanctity of her bosom.
Then folding her arms upon her writing-desk, she dropped her head upon them, and in that attitude of dejection remained until the ringing of the supper bell aroused her.
Colonel Houston, who was waiting for her in the hall, received her with his old-school courtesy, drew her hand within his arm and led her out upon the lawn, where, under the shade of a gigantic chestnut tree, the tea table was set—its snowy drapery and glistening service making a pleasant contrast to the vivid green verdure of the lawn upon which it stood. Old Colonel and Mrs. Compton and Nellie formed a pleasing group around the table. Colonel Houston handed Margaret to her place, and took his own seat.
“My dear, I am going to send Lemuel to Heathville to-morrow, and if you like to leave your letter with me, I will give it to him to put in the post office,” said Mrs. Houston.
“I thank you, Mrs. Houston,” said Margaret.
“Ah! that is what kept you in your room all the afternoon, my dear. You were writing a letter; whom were you writing to, my child?” said old Mrs. Compton.