an."

Margaret stood speechless, in utter amazement. At this moment there was
a sound, as of a book falling to the ground, and a smothered
exclamation. Both started and looked round, as Hugh Montfort rose from
the corner where he had been seated and came slowly forward. He was very
pale, and seemed to bear more heavily on his stick than usual.

"You knew I was here, Margaret?" he said, with a look that tried to be
unconcerned. "I trust I have not overheard anything that I should not. I
was writing, and thought you saw me when you came in."

"No secrets, my boy, no secrets!" said Mr. Montfort, heartily. "You
heard this great piece of news about our little friend, did you? She
does not know it herself yet; Margaret must tell her. Margaret, you have
deserved this pleasure, my dear, and I rejoice in making it over to
you."

The good man was glowing with pleasure and good will; but for once he
met no response from Hugh, who, pale and gloomy, stared before him as if
he had seen a ghost.

"My dear fellow," cried Mr. Montfort, changing his tone at once, "you
are not well. How pale you are! or--you have had no bad news, Hugh?
Nobody ill at home, eh? Your father--"

"No, no, sir, all well! Father is in perfect trim; I have just been
reading a letter from him, Uncle John; you must hear it, sometime when
you are not busy. Don't look at me like that, Margaret! I--my head aches
a little, if I must confess. Did you never see any one with a headache
before?"

Was it possible that Hugh was out of temper? Neither Mr. Montfort nor
Margaret could believe it at first; both gazed at him, expecting the
usual kindly smile to begin in his eyes and break gradually over his
face; but no smile came. Mr. Montfort, who had lived many years and seen
many things, was the first to recover himself; he passed Hugh with a
friendly pat on the shoulder, and, nodding to Margaret, went out of the
room. Margaret remained still, looking earnestly in her cousin's face,
unconscious of offence.

"Dear Hugh," she said, affectionately, "I am so sorry! Let me get you
something--one of those tablets that relieved you last time."

"No, no!" said Hugh. "It is nothing, Margaret, nothing at all. So Miss
Wolfe is a rich woman, is she, and spoilt for life? And you are glad,
you and Uncle John! Well, I am sorry, for my part; sorry from the bottom
of my heart. It is an iniquity."

"Hugh!"

"It is! She will grow into an idle fine lady, like this very Mrs.
Peyton