"You must be brave, Madge," said Mrs. Arnold, on seeing Marguerite restored to something of her former self. "I'm afraid you would be more of a drawback to papa at present than a help."
But Marguerite was of a different opinion. "Oh! if I were only near him, to comfort him," thought she, "I could indeed do something. My sadness to-day was but a presentiment of this. Oh, dear! will I ever see papa alive again!"
"Papa will be all right, Madge. It is to yourself you must now look, for more depends upon you now than you at present realize."
"You speak in enigmas, Eve. Tell me what you mean," cried
Marguerite, in a bewildered sort of way.
"I will wait until you are a little stronger, Madge. Go home now and tell mamma what has happened; I know she will act like a sensible woman. You know, Madge, she is always composed. I verily believe," added Mrs. Arnold, "that mamma would feel at ease if all the friends she had committed suicide, or died from some fearful epidemic."
"Don't talk about mamma in that way, Eve; I cannot bear to listen."
Mrs. Arnold thought just then that the girl would listen to something, perhaps to her, far more disagreeable, but she held her peace.
Poor Marguerite. All prospect of happiness had now fled from her vision. She saw instead sorrow, disappointment, and, perhaps, death. "If papa survives the shock I will face the world, and, amid poverty, and the slights of my former companions, I will toil—yes, I will work at anything that I can do in honesty." And with this high resolve Marguerite set forth to break the sad news to her worldly-minded mother.