ined them, and there was no chance
for the indignant answer that trembled on her lips. She had even
to shake hands, to appear as if nothing had happened, and to part
apparently good friends.

"Half-past six sharp, Marguerite. I will never forgive you if you
don't come," Aldith said, as they parted at her gate.

"I--you--Oh, Aldith, I don't see how I can come," Meg faltered,
the crimson in her cheeks again. "I've never done anything like it
before. I'm sure it's not right."

But the curl, in Aldith's lip made her ashamed of herself.

"You're just twelve, Marguerite;" the young lady said calmly:
"you're not a bit more than twelve. You'd better get a roll again,
and a picture-book with morals. I'll ask Andrew to buy you one
and a bit of cord, too, to tie you in your high chair in the
nursery."

Such sarcasm was too much for Meg. She promised hastily and
unconditionally to be on the spot at the time mentioned, and fled
away up the path to obey the summons of the wildly clanging
tea-bell.

But for the two intervening days her secret hung upon her like a
burden of guilt, and she longed inexpressibly for a confidante
who would advise her what to do at this distressing issue. Not
Judy: that young person was too downright, too sensible, too much
of a child and a boy--she would never dare to tell her anything of
the sort. She could fancy the scorn in her sister's large clear
eyes, the ringing laughter such a tale would evoke, the scathing,
clever ridicule that would fall on her shrinking shoulders. Not
Esther: her very position as stepmother precluded such an idea,
and, besides that, the General's gums were gradually disclosing
wee white double pearls, and his health thereby was affected,
and causing her too much anxiety to allow her, to notice Meg's
oppression of mind.

By the night decided upon, the child had worked herself up into a
strong state of excitement. Half-past six was the time settled
upon, and, as she knew, it was broad daylight even then. She
felt she really dare not, could not go. Suppose her father or
Esther, some of her scornful young sisters or brothers, should
be about and see the meeting, or any of the neighbours--why, she
could never survive the shame of it! Yet go she must, or Aldith
would despise her. Besides, she had made up her mind fully to tell
Andrew plainly she could not allow him to talk to her as he had
been doing. After that last terrible whisper, she felt it
necessary