the soiled piece of paper, and
placing it in his hands, watched him while he read. The moan of
anguish which came from his lips as he finished made her repent of her
act, and, springing to his side, she exclaimed:

"Forgive me, father; I ought not to have done it now. You have enough
to bear."

"It is right, my child," said Mr. Hamilton; "for after the wound had
slightly healed I might have wavered. Not that I love Walter less;
but, fool that I am, I fear her who has made me the cowardly wretch
you see!"

"Rouse yourself, then," answered Margaret. "Shake off her chain, and
be free."

"I cannot, I cannot," said he. "But this I will do. I will make
another will. I always intended to do so, and Walter shall not be
wronged." Then rising, he hurriedly paced the room saying, "Walter
shall not be wronged, no, no--Walter shall not be wronged."

After a time he resumed his former seat, and taking his daughter's
hand in his, he told her of all he had suffered, of the power which
his wife held over him, and which he was too weak to shake off. This
last he did not say, but Margaret knew it and it prevented her from
giving him other consolation than that of assuring him of her own
unchanged, undying love.

The morning twilight was streaming through the closed shutters ere the
conference ended; and then Mr. Hamilton, kissing his daughter,
dismissed her from the room, but as she was leaving him he called her
back, saying:

"Don't tell Walter; he would despise me; but he shan't be wronged--no,
he shan't be wronged."

Six weeks from that night Margaret stood, with her brother, watching
her father as the light from his eyes went out, and the tones of his
voice ceased forever. Grief for the loss of his children, and remorse
for the blight which he had brought upon his household, had undermined
his constitution, never strong; and when a prevailing fever settled
upon him it found an easy prey. In ten days' time Margaret and Walter
alone were left of the happy band who, two years before, had gathered
around the fireside of the old homestead.

Loudly Mrs. Hamilton deplored her loss, shutting herself up in her
room, and refusing to see any one, saying that she could not be
comforted, and it was of no use trying! Lenora, however, managed to
find an opportunity of whispering to her that it would hardly be
advisable to commit suicide, since she had got the homestead left, and
everything else for which she had married Mr. Hamilton.