it would
look if she should continue, as before, to reside with me."

"Perhaps she won't take so much pains about the 'look' of anything,
this time; perhaps she will let people know the real facts; she has
always concealed them before."

"They would only be her own condemnation, in any case; everybody would
perfectly understand that it was some lack in _her_," answered Aunt
Katrina, with decision. "But I think you had better speak to her, and
immediately; it _is_ so much more desirable, on her own account, that
she should remain with me. I don't fancy she cares much for _you_, or
she would never have tried to engage you to that odious Garda Thorne;
still, you are a relative--- after a fashion, and she ought to listen to
you; you might tell her," she added, her voice falling into a pathetic
key, "that probably I shall not be left to her _long_."

"My dear aunt, you will outlive us all," said Winthrop, rising. "I will
see her, and do what I can," he added, as he left the room.

At first he could not find Margaret, she was not in any of the usual
places; he began to fear that she was in her own room, and that he
should not find her at all. At last he met Celestine. "Do you know where
Mrs. Harold is?" he said.

"Well, Mr. Evert, she's in the garden," Celestine answered, with some
reluctance. "I've fixed her up nicely in an easy-chair on a rug, and
I've told everybody to keep away, so that she can just rest--that's what
she needs. I've let her have _one_ book--an easy-looking story that
didn't seem exciting. And I'm going out after her in about an hour, to
bring her in."

"I won't be any more exciting than the easy-looking story, Minerva; I
promise you that."

Celestine watched him go, she was not pleased, but she could not help
herself. She shook her head forebodingly, with her lips pursed up; then
she went about her business--as she would herself have said.

Margaret was sitting under the rose-tree, in the easy-chair Celestine
had mentioned, a rug spread under her feet. She had a parasol beside
her, but the tree gave a sufficient shade; over her head Celestine had
folded a Spanish veil.

"I thought perhaps we should see you to-day," she said.

"Yes, it hasn't been possible to come before. But of course you have had
my letters--I mean about Mr. Moore? I have written twice a day. Is that
the book Minerva said was an easy-looking one, not exciting--'Adam
Bede?' What do you suppose she calls exciting?"

"The 'Wid