and look
foolish again. But Margaret lingered, distressed and mortified.

"Oh, John," she said, "there _has_ been an accident! You will
understand,--Miss Rita got into that terrible bog, and might have been
drowned there before my eyes, if Miss Peggy had not come by, and drawn
her out so cleverly." And she told him the whole story, dwelling warmly
upon Peggy's courage and presence of mind, and blaming herself for not
having perceived the danger in time.

"It is I who am to blame, Miss Margaret!" said John Strong. "Very, very
much to blame. Every one about here knows that peat-bog, and avoids it;
I had warned Miss Peggy, but did not think of your going so far in that
direction. I am very much to blame."

He seemed so much disturbed that Margaret tried to speak more lightly,
though she was still pale and trembling; but the gardener kindly begged
her to go in and rest, and she was glad enough to go.

John Strong stood looking after her a moment.

"I ought to be shot!" he said to himself. "And that is the lassie for
me! Good stuff in both the others, as I supposed, but this is the one
for me." And shaking his head, he went slowly on his way.

Margaret went straight to Peggy's room, but found it empty, and passing
by Rita's found the door shut, and heard voices within. She paused a
moment, wondering. Should she go in? No; she remembered Mrs. Cheriton's
words, "It may be that you are not to do it, after all," and she went
into her own room and shut the door.

It might have been half an hour after that she heard a whispering in the
hall outside, and then a knock at her door. She ran to open it, and
stood amazed. There was Peggy, blushing and smiling, looking as pleased
as a little child, arrayed in the rose-coloured tea-gown whose existence
she had endangered on the night of her arrival; and there beside her,
holding her hand, was Rita, in pale blue and swansdown,--Rita, also
smiling, but with the mockery for once gone from eyes and mouth, and
with traces of tears on her beautiful face. She now led Peggy forward,
and presented her formally to Margaret, with a sweeping courtesy.

"Miss Montfort," she began, "this is my sister. I desire for her the
honour and privilege of your distinguished acquaintance. She kisses your
hands and feet, as do I myself."

Then suddenly she threw herself upon Margaret's neck, still holding
Peggy's hand, so that all three were wrapped in one embrace.

"Marguerite," she cried, "behold thi