vert Winthrop had sent
many of them down from New York, and he felt very grateful; he asked
Penelope if she had sufficiently thanked him.

"Why, Middleton dear, he's grateful to _you_," Penelope answered.

She never confessed that it was she herself who had asked for the ivory
brushes. Once let loose on that track, her imagination had become wildly
lawless; she had not considered the rectory gloomy, as Winthrop had
suggested, but there was no doubt but that she would have suspended pink
silk curtains round Middleton's bed if the idea had once occurred to
her. She had always had a secret admiration for velvet coats--which she
associated in some way with King Charles the Martyr--and she now
cherished a plan for attiring Middleton in one (when he should be able
to be attired), and had even selected the color--a dark wood brown; it
would not do for church work, of course; but while he was still an
invalid, now--And she lost herself in dreams of satin linings.

On the day after the fire Margaret had left the river.

It was now thought that she had caused the fire herself; she had
wakened, feeling somewhat chilled, and had gone across to a store-room
in the main building to see if she could get a blanket; having no
candle, she had taken a box of matches from her travelling-bag, and had
used them to light her way, and probably some spark or burning end had
fallen among the stored woollens, and the fire had smouldered there for
some time before making its way out.

She was suffering from nervous shock, she knew that she should be of no
use as a nurse, at least for the present; Dr. Kirby and Mrs. Moore had
reached the hotel, and Winthrop was to remain with them. She could not
travel far, but she could cross over to East Angels; she decided to do
that.

When she reached the house, Aunt Katrina's voice greeted her: "Oh,
Margaret! Margaret! what a horrible fright you _have_ given me!"

Celestine, however (there were certain emergencies when Celestine did
not scruple to interrupt Aunt Katrina), appeared promptly upon the scene
from somewhere, took Margaret up in her arms as though she had been a
child, and carried her off to her bedroom.

"Oh, Miss Margaret!" she said, weeping over her one or two big tears as
she laid her down on the bed--"oh, Miss Margaret!"

"There's nothing the matter with me, Minerva, except that I am tired,"
Margaret answered.

And she did look tired; she was so exhausted that she had not laughed
ov