"Hugh came in just now, and I asked him that, and he laughed, and said Thomas à Bucket was certainly pale before they got through with him. I don't know what he means, but he says you will, so I write it down. Good-bye, dearest, darling Margaret. Give heaps and oceans and lots of love to Uncle John, and most of all to your own darling self, from
"Peggy."
"I wonder how Peggy will get on at school?" said Margaret. "Very well, I should think. Certainly no one can help liking her, dear girl; and she will learn a great deal, I am sure."
"She'll never learn English history," said Mr. Montfort; "but after all, there are other things, May Margaret, though you are loth to acknowledge it."
"And now for Rita. I'll just run through it again, Uncle John, to see—oh! oh, yes! The first part is all just that she wants to see me, and so on,—her wild way. She has had the most wonderful summer,—'the Pyrenees, Margaret! Never before have I seen great mountains, that scale the heavens, you understand. The Titans are explained to me. I have seen, and my soul has arisen to their height. I could dwell with thee, Marguerite, on snow-peaks tinged with morning rose, peaks that touch the stars, that veil themselves in clouds of evening;' perhaps I'll skip a little here, Uncle John. Interlaken,—the Jungfrau,—oh, she is having a glorious time. Oh! oh, dear me, uncle!"
"Well, my dear? She has not fallen off the Jungfrau?"
"No, not that; but she—she is—or she thinks she is—going to be married."
Mr. Montfort whistled. "To the Matterhorn, or to some promising young avalanche? Pray enlighten me, my dear."
"Oh! don't laugh, Uncle John, I am afraid it may be serious. A young Cuban, she says, a soldier, of course." Margaret ran her eyes down the page, but found nothing sober enough to read aloud. "He seems to be a very wonderful person," she said, timidly. "Handsome, and a miracle of courage,—and a military genius; if war should come, Rita thinks he will be commander-in-chief of the Cuban army. You don't think it will really come to war, Uncle John?"
"I cannot tell, Margaret," said Mr. Montfort, gravely. "Things are looking rather serious, but no one can see just what is coming yet. And this seems to be a bona fide engagement? It isn't little Fernando, is it?"