ght just passed through her mind; she was far too weary
to dwell upon it, and in less than five minutes she was in bed and fast
asleep.

And she slept the whole day without waking, and while she was thus
occupied Mrs. Murray went down to Wrexley Park and saw the real Margaret,
the girl who should have come to her, but who had elected to do
otherwise.

Fresh from an interview she had just had with her grandfather, in which,
though true to the resolution he had formed not to blame her very
severely, he had been unable to refrain from letting her know how heinous
he considered her conduct, Margaret was too nervous and upset to be at
ease in Mrs. Murray's presence, and that lady, though making every
allowance for her perturbed, conscience-stricken state of mind, could not
help contrasting her constrained, embarrassed manner unfavourably with
Eleanor's frank, bright demeanour. And Mrs. Murray felt convinced that
the real Margaret would never have been as happy with her as her
substitute had been.

In more ways than one that day, the first she had passed for many weeks
under her own name, was a very trying one for Margaret. She would gladly
have spent it in bed, as Eleanor had done, but as the doctor who had come
to see her had pronounced her little the worse for her night in the wood
shed, there had been no excuse for her to stay in bed, and she had been
obliged, about eleven o'clock, to get up to see her grandfather first,
then Mrs. Murray, and later in the morning Mrs. Danvers, and Hilary, who
had been brought out to Wrexley to apologise for her outrageous behaviour
of the day before. Mrs. Danvers had been naturally anxious to know where
Margaret had passed the night while search had been so vainly made for
her, and she could scarcely believe that mere chance had indeed led
Margaret across the downs to Wrexley woods in the darkness. And yet such,
as Geoffrey had surmised, had been the case. Trying to reach Windy Gap
Margaret had passed close by it in the fog and had wandered on and on
until, somewhere about midnight, she had found herself at the entrance to
a small hut in the wood, and, thankful beyond words to be in shelter of
some sort, she had crept into it and, making herself as comfortable as
she could on some dry faggots of sticks, had fallen sound asleep. And she
had been still sleeping when Sir Richard, who usually took a stroll
before breakfast every morning, had come suddenly upon her. But when
Margaret, who s