e very beginning of my acquaintance
with Hester and Margaret, I preferred Margaret--and that my family
discerned that I did--as true as that Hester has long been the beloved
of my heart--beloved as--but I cannot speak of my wife, of my home, in
the hearing of one who has endeavoured to profane both. All I need say
is that neither Hester nor Margaret ever knew where my first transient
fancy lighted, while they both know--know as they know their own
hearts--where it has fixed. It is not true that Margaret ever loved any
one but you, Enderby; and Mrs Rowland cannot truly say that she ever
did."

"What was it then that Margaret confided to my mother?" asked Enderby,
turning to his sister.

"I cannot tell what possessed me at the time to say so, but that I
thought I was doing the best for your happiness--but--but, Philip, I
really believe now, that Margaret never did love any one but you. I
know nothing to the contrary."

"But my mother?"

"She knew very little of any troubles in Mr Hope's family; and--and
what she did hear was all from me."

"Do you mean that all you told me of Margaret's confidences to my mother
was false?"

There was no answer; but Mrs Rowland's pale cheeks grew paler.

"Oh God! what can Margaret have thought of me all this time?" cried
Philip.

"I can tell you what she has thought, I believe," said Hope. "Her
brother and sister have read her innocent mind, as you yourself might
have done, if your faith in her had been what she deserved. She has
believed that you loved her, and that you love her still. She has
believed that some one--that Mrs Rowland traduced her to you: and in
her generosity, she blames you for nothing but that you would not see
and hear her--that you went away on the receipt of her letter--of that
letter which it now appears you never saw."

"Where is she?" cried Enderby, striding to the door.

"She is not at home. You cannot find her at this moment: and if you
could, you must hear me first. You remember the caution I gave you when
we last conversed--in the abbey, and again in the meadows."

"I do; and I will observe it now."

"You remember that she is unaware--"

"That you ever--that that interview with Mrs Grey ever took place? She
shall never learn it from me. It is one of those facts which have
ceased to exist--which is absolutely dead, and should be buried in
oblivion. You hear, Priscilla?"

She bowed her head.

"You believe that--."

"Say no more,