fore stepping into a
tomb. There were days last month, Margaret, when this chamber did
appear to me like a tomb. All that was happy in my past seemed to lie
buried here; it was something visible and tangible; I used to steal
in and look upon it."

"Oh, Richard!"

"If you only knew what a life I led as a boy in my cousin's house,
and what a doleful existence for years afterwards, until I found you,
perhaps you would understand my despair when I saw everything
suddenly slipping away from me. Margaret! the day your father brought
you in here, I had all I could do not to kneel down at your
feet"--Richard stopped short. "I didn't mean to tell you that," he
added, turning towards the work-table. Then he checked himself, and
came and stood in front of her again. He had gone too far not to go
further. "While you were ill I made a great discovery."

"What was that, Richard?"

"I discovered that I had been blind for two or three years."

"Blind?" repeated Margaret.

"Stone-blind. I discovered it by suddenly seeing--by seeing that I
had loved you all the while, Margaret! Are you offended?"

"No," said Margaret, slowly; she was a moment finding her voice to
say it. "I--ought I to be offended?"

"Not if you are not!" said Richard.

"Then I am not. I--I've made little discoveries myself," murmured
Margaret, going into full mourning with her eyelashes.

But it was only for an instant. She refused to take her happiness
shyly or insincerely; it was something too sacred. She was a trifle
appalled by it, if the truth must be told. If Richard had scattered
his love-making through the month of her convalescence, or if he had
made his avowal in a different mood, perhaps Margaret might have met
him with some natural coquetry. But Richard's tone and manner had
been such as to suppress any instinct of the kind. His declaration,
moreover, had amazed her. Margaret's own feelings had been more or
less plain to her that past month, and she had diligently disciplined
herself to accept Richard's friendship, since it seemed all he had to
give. Indeed, it had seemed at times as if he had not even that.

When Margaret lifted her eyes to him, a second after her
confession, they were full of a sweet seriousness, and she had no
thought of withdrawing the hands which Richard had taken, and was
holding lightly, that she might withdraw them if she willed. She felt
no impulse to do so, though as Margaret looked up she saw her father
standing a f