than they had expected, and the morning that was to bring them together again removed from it by a wider space. Yet Margaret could repose her heart in trust that the morning of reunion would surely come.

"It is best so," she said to Elsie, when she brought her a few hours afterwards to kiss the cold forehead of the corpse stretched out on the bed; "he has been permitted to bear all the long punishment, and now body and soul are both free !"

CHAPTER XXXVII.

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.

THE death of Herbert le Fevre removed the principal reasons that had weighed with Margaret in determining to leave England. After her brother was gone, she had no longer any motive strong enough to induce her to brave a long journey with so helpless a charge as her father in his present state of health, or to encounter the inconvenience of settling in a new country with no other companions than her father, Elsie, and Crawford. She continued for some time, after her brother's death, to make plans for leaving London, and taking a house in some quiet country place like Oldbury; but Elsie, equally with herself, shrank from the effort necessary for carrying out such a scheme. They allowed the weeks to slip on

without doing anything, and gradually stronger inducements than mere distaste for change grew up to keep them stationary.

Old Mrs. Neale attached herself more and more to Elsie, and became so dependent on her society for her comfort, that Margaret was unwilling to separate her grand-daughter from her as long as she lived. Mr. Blake seemed to prefer the bustle and movement of the town; and Margaret found work in association with other workers of kindred spirit to herself among the very poor of London, which enabled her to fulfil her purpose of devoting the rest of her life to the relief of suffering more effectually than she could have done anywhere else.

As months passed on, Elsie observed that a gradual change came over Margaret. She was not less grave than she used to be, but she was a great deal gentler. Her eyes lost the stony, far-off look they used to have; a smile would come into them now when they fell on a flower, or a happy-faced child, or on such a glimpse of sunset glory as can be seen between openings of houses in the

dullest London streets and squares.

She

could look at beautiful things now without being stung with pain at the thought of one dear to her, to whom the sight of all beauty was forbidden. Though she was hardly aware of it herself, she was much happier than she had been for many years. She could rest and enjoy a fresh wind blowing in her face, or the scent of a flower, or Elsie's pleasant voice reading aloud to her, without the indefinable feeling of remorse for being comfortable, which used to come when every pleasure brought before her a contrast full of pain.

Outwardly her existence had much the same character it had had in Oldbury, but inwardly there was an immense change. She had ceased to lead a double life; an almost intolerable weight had been lifted from her heart. Her former scruples about mixing with her fellows were considerably modified. There was no longer any secret to be kept. To spare her father, she retained, and allowed Elsie to retain, the name of Blake, but she was quite resolved that the painful circumstances of

their family history should never again be concealed from any one with whom she was brought into contact. She confided the chief particulars of their story to the clergyman of the parish where they lived, asking him to repeat as much of it as he thought necessary to her fellow-labourers in the works of charity in which she was engaged, and after that she had no further difficulties or scruples. Her new associates all had too much work on their hands, and were too much accustomed to be brought into contact with tragical histories, to be disposed to show undue curiosity respecting hers, as the good, gossipy Oldbury people had done.

Mr. Blake did not now engross Margaret's whole time in attendance on himself, as he had done while they lived in Oldbury. Since his wife's death, and more especially during the last few months, he had seemed to prefer Elsie's company to Margaret's. He had quite laid aside the labour to perfect his

literary work which he had

fruitlessly for so many years.

persevered in

His anxiety