"Not at work, sure enough," said he, with a short, grim laugh. "Not at what you call work. I were at the Committee, till I were sickened out wi' trying to make fools hear reason. I were fetched to Boucher's wife afore seven this morning. She's bed-fast, but she were raving and raging to know where her dunder-headed brute of a chap was, as if I'd to keep him—as if he were fit to be ruled by me. The d—d fool, who has put his foot in all our plans! And I've walked feet sore wi' going about for to see men who wouldn't be seen, now the law is raised again us. And I were sore-hearted, too, which is worse than sore-footed; and if I did see a friend who ossed to treat me, I never knew hoo lay a-dying here. Bess, lass, thou'd believe me, thou wouldst—wouldstn't thou?" turning to the poor dumb form with wild appeal.
"I am sure," said Margaret, “I am sure you did not know: it was quite sudden. But now, you see, it would be different; you do know; you do see her lying there; you hear what she said with her last breath. You will not go?"
No answer. In fact, where was he to look for comfort?
"Come home with me," said she at last, with a bold venture, half trembling at her own proposal as she made it. "At least you shall have some comfortable food, which I'm sure you need."
"Yo'r father's a parson?" asked he, with a sudden turn in his ideas.
"He was," said Margaret, shortly.
"I'll go and take a dish o' tea with him, since yo've asked me. I've many a thing I often wished
