In the morning she sent down word by one of her young cousins that she would not come to breakfast, and she asked that some tea might be sent up to her.

“Is she in bed, my dear?” asked Lady Ball.

“No, she is not in bed,” said Jane Ball. “She is sitting up, and has got all her things about the room as though she were packing.”

“What nonsense!” said Lady Ball; “why does she not come down?”

Then Isabella, the eldest girl, was sent up to her, but Margaret refused to show herself.

“She says she would rather not; but she wants to know if papa will walk out with her at ten.”

Lady Ball again said that this was nonsense, but tea and toast were at last supplied to her, and her cousin promised to be ready at the hour named. Exactly at ten o’clock, Margaret opened the schoolroom door, and asked one of the girls to tell her father that she would be found on the walk leading to the long shrubbery.

There on the walk she remained, walking slowly backwards and forwards over a space of twenty yards, till he joined her. She gave him her hand, and then turned towards the long shrubbery, and he, following her direction, walked at her side.

“John,” she said, “you will not be surprised at my telling you that, after what has occurred, I shall leave this place to-day.”

“You must not do that,” he said.

“Ah, but I must do it. There are some things John, which no woman should bear or need bear. After what has occurred it is not right that I should incur your mother’s displeasure any longer. All my things are ready. I want you to have them taken down to the one o’clock train.”

“No, Margaret; I will not consent to that.”

“But, John, I cannot consent to anything else. Yesterday was a terrible day for me. I don’t think you can know how terrible. What I endured then no one has a right to expect that I should endure any longer. It was necessary that I should say something to you of what had occurred, and that I said last night. I have no further call to remain here, and, most positively, I shall go to-day.”

He looked into her face and saw that she was resolved, but yet he was not minded to give way. He did not like to think that all authority over her was passing out of his hands. During the night he had not made up his mind to pardon her at once. Nay, he had not yet told himself that he would pardon her at all. But he was prepared to receive her tears and excuses, and we may say that, in all probability, he would have pardoned her had she wept before him and excused herself. But though she could shed tears on this matter,—though, doubtless, there were many tears to be shed by her,—she would shed no more before him in token of submission. If he would first submit, then, indeed, she might weep on his shoulder or laugh on his breast, as his mood might dictate.