Margaret's tears were on his cheek, and Margaret's voice whispered in his ear, "Dear father, we must love each other better now." Margaret had not retired, and on passing through the hall, had discovered the light gleaming through the crevice of the library door.
Knowing that her father must be there, she had come in to comfort him.
Long the father and child wept together, and then Margaret, drying her tears said: "It is right--all right; mother has two, and you have two, and though the dead will never return to us, we, in God's good time, will return to them." "Yes, soon, very soon, shall I go," said Mr.Hamilton.
"I am weary, weary, Margaret; my life is one scene of bitterness.

Oh, why, why was I left to do it ?" Margaret knew well to what he referred, but she made no answer; and after he had become somewhat composed, thinking this a good opportunity for broaching the subject which had so troubled Carrie's dying moments, she drew from her bosom the soiled piece of paper, and placing it in his hands, watched him while he read.

The moan of anguish which came from his lips as he finished made her repent of her act, and, springing to his side, she exclaimed: "Forgive me, father; I ought not to have done it now.

You have enough to bear." "It is right, my child," said Mr.Hamilton; "for after the wound had slightly healed I might have wavered.

Not that I love Walter less; but, fool that I am, I fear her who has made me the cowardly wretch you see!" "Rouse yourself, then," answered Margaret.