home--before she came to live in Harley Street--her mother's
dressing-room had been her nursery; and, as they kept early hours
in the country parsonage, Margaret had always had her meals with
her father and mother. Oh! well did the tall stately girl of
eighteen remember the tears shed with such wild passion of grief
by the little girl of nine, as she hid her face under the
bed-clothes, in that first night; and how she was bidden not to
cry by the nurse, because it would disturb Miss Edith; and how
she had cried as bitterly, but more quietly, till her newly-seen,
grand, pretty aunt had come softly upstairs with Mr. Hale to show
him his little sleeping daughter. Then the little Margaret had
hushed her sobs, and tried to lie quiet as if asleep, for fear of
making her father unhappy by her grief, which she dared not
express before her aunt, and which she rather thought it was
wrong to feel at all after the long hoping, and planning, and
contriving they had gone through at home, before her wardrobe
could be arranged so as to suit her. grander circumstances, and
before papa could leave his parish to come up to London, even for
a few days.

Now she had got to love the old nursery, though it was but a
dismantled place; and she looked all round, with a kind of
cat-like regret, at the idea of leaving it for ever in three
days.

'Ah Newton!' said she, 'I think we shall all be sorry to leave
this dear old room.'

'Indeed, miss, I shan't for one. My eyes are not so good as they
were, and the light here is so bad that I can't see to mend laces