Windy Gap, and it was only out of
motives of unselfishness that she had offered to change into their proper
selves.

Briefly, but with all the emphasis of which she was capable, Margaret
assured her that such an act of unselfishness would not be appreciated in
the least.

"Oh, very well," Eleanor said, much relieved, "and to tell you the truth
I think Mrs. Murray would be rather surprised if I were suddenly to
return to her and say that I was not Margaret Anstruther but that you
were. She would probably end by thinking us both impostors. Well, I must
go now; I only came back just to give you the chance of becoming yourself
again if you had already repented. Look here, you must let me know how
you get on. I shall be quite anxious to know. Will you write? Quick, tell
me Mrs. Murray is beckoning."

"I could write, of course," Margaret said cautiously "but you must
remember that Margaret Anstruther has never received a letter in her life
and that Mrs. Murray might want to see it."

"I shall come in and see you then," Eleanor said.

"Oh, will you?" Margaret said with a smile. "Kindly remember, Miss
Margaret Anstruther, that you never took a walk unaccompanied in your
life. No, leave it to me, and I will try and come out to Windy Gap one
day to see you, for I am free, free, free, and quite grown up, while you
are a mere child in the nursery!"

And so, though rather against her will, Eleanor was obliged to leave the
matter like that, and saying good-bye to Margaret for the second time she
scurried away down the platform.

Margaret watched her step into the pony-carriage, tuck the dust wrap over
her knees and over Mrs. Murray's, and then settle herself with an air of
obvious enjoyment for her drive. From the window Margaret could see the
long, white chalky road that they would traverse to reach Windy Gap,
which place doubtless lay to the left beyond the high ridge which shut
out all further view of the downs. The road wound its leisurely way
between high hedges and green fields, was lost for awhile as it passed
behind an outlying spur of the downs, and became visible again as,
apparently repenting its former meanderings below, it sternly took the
shortest and steepest way possible up the side of the hill, and finally
disappeared over the brow. And it might have fallen to her lot to be
sitting beside Mrs. Murray and in that little low pony-carriage, and to
be driving along that monotonous road to the remote village on t