"No—no, not exactly to a day. Nothing is fixed," said her father, with anxious hesitation, as he noticed the filmy sorrow that came over her eyes, and the sudden change in her complexion. But she recovered herself immediately.
"Yes, papa, it had better be fixed soon and decidedly, as you say. Only mamma to know nothing about it! It is that that is the great perplexity."
"Poor Maria!" replied Mr. Hale tenderly. "Poor, poor Maria! Oh, if I were not married—if I were but myself m the world, how easy it would be! As it is—Margaret, I dare not tell her!"
"No," said Margaret, sadly, "I will do it. Give me till to-morrow evening to choose my time. Oh, papa," cried she with sudden passionate entreaty, "say—tell me it is a night-mare—a horrid dream—not the real waking truth! You cannot mean that you are really going to leave the Church—to give up Helstone—to be for ever separate from me, from mamma—led away by some delusion—some temptation! You do not really mean it!"
Mr. Hale sat in rigid stillness while she spoke.
Then he looked her in the face, and said in a slow, hoarse, measured way—"I do mean it, Margaret. You must not deceive yourself into doubting the reality of my words—my fixed intention and resolve." He looked at her in the same steady, stony manner, for some moments after he had done speaking. She, too, gazed back with pleading eyes before she would believe that it was irrevocable. Then she arose and went, without another word or look, towards the door. As her fingers were on the handle he called her back. He was standing by the
