the present." She paused; they were standing still for a moment, close on the field side of the stile leading into the road; the setting sun fell on their faces. Frederick held her hand in his, and looked with wistful anxiety into her face, reading there more care and trouble than she would betray by words. She went on:
"We shall write often to one another, and I will promise—for I see it will set your mind at ease—to tell you every worry I have. Papa is"—she started a little, a hardly visible start—but Frederick felt the sudden motion of the hand he held, and turned his full face to the road, along which a horseman was slowly riding, just passing the very stile where they stood. Margaret bowed; her bow was stiffly returned.
"Who is that?" said Frederick, almost before he was out of hearing.
Margaret was a little drooping, a little flushed, as she replied: "Mr. Thornton; you saw him before, you know."
"Only his back. He is an unprepossessing-looking fellow. What a scowl he has!"
"Something has happened to vex him," said Margaret, apologetically. "You would not have thought him unprepossessing if you had seen him with mamma."
"I fancy it must be time to go and take my ticket. If I had known how dark it would be, we wouldn't have sent back the cab, Margaret."
"Oh, don't fidget about that. I can take a cab here, if I like; or go back by the rail-road, when I should have shops and people and lamps all the way
