pressed myself.
What is the result? I have been at everybody's beck and call, I have
been expected to bear everything in silence; to listen, always to
listen, and never to reply." She spoke with bitterness, keeping on with
her writing meanwhile.

"It is perfectly true--what you say, and I think you have done too much
of it. Are you getting tired of the _role_?"

"I am tired at least of East Angels; I cannot go back there."

"You think Aunt Katrina will talk about Lanse in her usual style--about
this second going away of his? I myself will tell her the whole
story--it is time she knew it! She will talk about him no more."

"It isn't that." She threw down her pen and rose. "I need a complete
change, I must have it. But I shall arrange it myself. The only thing
_you_ can do for me is to leave me free; I should like it if you would
go back to East Angels--if you would go to-day; you only trouble me by
staying here, and you trouble me greatly."

"Margaret, it's outrageous the way you treat me. What have I done that I
should be thrust off in this way? And it's a very sudden change, too;
you were not so that night in the swamp."

"It's kind to bring that up. I was tired--nervous; I wasn't myself--"

"You're yourself now, never fear," he interpolated, angrily.

--"Will you do what I ask?"

"You really wish me to go?" His voice softened. "You don't want me to
see you off? It's very little to do--see you off."

"I should be grateful if you would go now."

"You are throwing us overboard together, I see--all Lanse's relatives;
you think we are all alike," he commented, in a savage tone. "And you,
well rid of us, free, and determined to do as you please, are going
north alone--you do not even say where?"

"There will be no secret about that; I will write. You talk about
freedom," she said, breaking off suddenly, "what do _you_ know of
slavery? That is what I have been for years--a slave. Oh, to be
somewhere!"--and she threw up her arms with an eloquent gesture of
longing,--"_anywhere_ where I can breathe and think as I please--as I
really am! Do you want me to die without ever having been myself--my
real self--even for one day? I have come to the end of my strength; I
can endure no longer."

Winthrop had been thrilled through by this almost violent cry and
gesture. Coming from Margaret, they gave him a great surprise. "Yes, I
know," he began; "it has been a hard life." Then he stopped, for he felt
that he had not kno