And yet, as Margaret thought the words she corrected herself. “It is God’s work, I am sure of that,” she said; “but I cannot think He wishes me to do it.”
Margaret did with her letter as, many years before, King Hezekiah did with his. And then she tried to wait patiently.
In the afternoon it occurred to her that it would be a good plan to compel Mrs. Hunter to see her and talk to her openly. Naturally Margaret shrank from the ordeal, but she thought it quite possible that good might come of it. She would try to tell Mrs. Hunter that she need have no fear that she would marry her son if that would be to separate him from his mother, but she would point out to her that she had come to the parting of the ways, and needed to decide on some action, and then she would appeal to the mother’s love and see if the proud woman would not yield a little.
Poor Margaret! After nerving herself to the effort she entered the garden of John’s house, and saw Mrs. Hunter at the window. But the servant informed her that Mrs. Hunter bade her say that she was not at home.
So Margaret swallowed her disappointment and returned home. Happily for her peace of mind, John came early enough to take tea with her.
“Margaret, my darling,” he said, “I am hungry for your love. I must see you oftener than once a week, or I shall become a very disagreeable fellow. What is the matter?” His eyes were searching her face, and love made them keen. He saw that she was labouring under some excitement.
She thought she would not tell him quite at first about her visit to his mother, if at all, for it would only give him pain.
“I want my tea,” she said; “let us have it cosily together. Even Graf is out, and I do not expect any one to call. I want to ask you something?”
“What is it, my Madge?”
“The name of this wild flower. It is new to me.”