She Stood By The Tea-table In A

Margaret Had Always Dreaded Lest Her Courage Should Fail Her In Any Emergency, And She Should Be Proved To Be, What She Dreaded Lest She Was--a Coward. But Now, In This Real Great Time Of Reasonable Fear And Nearness Of Terror, She Forgot Herself, And Felt Only An Intense Sympathy--intense To Painfulness--in The Interests Of The Moment.

I Dare Not Hope. I Never Was Fainthearted Before; But I Cannot Believe Such A Creature Cares For Me.

How Shall I Ever Tell Aunt Shaw?' She Whispered, After Some Time Of Delicious Silence. 'let Me Speak To Her.' 'oh, No! I Owe It To Her, - But What Will She Say?' 'i Can Guess. Her First Exclamation Will Be, "that Man!" ' 'hush!' Said Margaret, 'or I Shall Try And Show You Your Mother's Indignant Tones As She Says, "that Woman!"

I Wanted To See The Place Where Margaret Grew To What She Is, Even At The Worst Time Of All, When I Had No Hope Of Ever Calling Her Mine.

She Would Fain Have Caught At The Skirts Of That Departing Time, And Prayed It To Return, And Give Her Back What She Had Too Little Valued While It Was Yet In Her Possession. What A Vain Show Life Seemed! How Unsubstantial, And Flickering, And Flitting! It Was As If From Some Aerial Belfry, High Up Above The Stir And Jar Of The Earth, There Was A Bell Continually Tolling, ‘all Are Shadows!—all Are Passing!—all Is Past!