er
had served; that he had lately encountered her father, and pitied his
poverty--in poor Shields, an irremediable condition. The father, so he
declared, had spoken to him often and anxiously about Margaret, and with
dislike and distrust about Maitland. According to Mr. Cranley, Shield's
chief desire in life had been to see Margaret entirely free from
Maitland's guardianship. But he had been conscious that to take the girl
away from school would be harmful to her prospects. Finally, with his
latest breath, so Mr. Cranley declared, he had commended Margaret to his
old officer, and had implored him to abstract her from the charge of the
Fellow of St Gatien's.

Margaret, as we know, did not entertain a very lively kindness for
Maitland, nor had she ever heard her father speak of that unlucky young
man with the respect which his kindness, his academic rank, and his
position in society deserved. It must be remembered that, concerning the
manner of her father's death, she had shrunk from asking questions. She
knew it had been sudden; she inferred that it had not been reputable.
Often had she dreaded for him one of the accidents against which
Providence does not invariably protect the drunkard. Now the accident
had arrived, she was fain to be ignorant of the manner of it. Her new
guardian, again, was obviously a gentleman; he treated her with perfect
politeness and respect, and, from the evening of the day when she left
school, she had been in the charge of that apparently correct chaperon,
the handsome housekeeper with the disapproving countenance. Mr. Cranley
had even given up to her his own rooms in Victoria Square, and had
lodged elsewhere; his exact address Margaret did not know. The only
really delicate point--Cranley's assumption of the name of "Mr.
Lithgow"--he frankly confessed to her as soon as they were well out of
the Dovecot. He represented that, for the fulfilment of her father's
last wish, the ruse of the telegram and the assumed name had been
necessary, though highly repugnant to the feelings of an officer and a
gentleman. Poor Margaret had seen nothing of gentlemen, except as
philanthropists, and (as we know) philanthropists permit themselves a
license and discretion not customary in common society.

Finally, even had the girl's suspicions been awakened, her illness
prevented her from too closely reviewing the situation. She was with her
father's friend, an older man by far, and therefore a more acceptable
g