And still he never moved, nor took any notice of her fond embrace. Then she went down softly, through the dark, to the door. Dixon would have put the chain on before she opened it, but Margaret had not a thought of fear in her pre-occupied mind. A man's tall figure stood between her and the luminous street. He was looking away; but at the sound of the latch he turned quickly round. 'Is this Mr. Hale's?' said he, in a clear, full, delicate voice. Margaret trembled all over; at first she did not answer. In a moment she sighed out, 'Frederick!' and stretched out both her hands to Catch his, and draw him in. 'Oh, Margaret!' said he, holding her off by her shoulders, after they had kissed each other, as if even in that darkness he could see her face, and read in its expression a quicker answer to his question than words could give,-- 'My mother! is she alive?' 'Yes, she is alive, dear, dear brother! She--as ill as she can be she is;but alive! She is alive!' 'Thank God!' said he. 'Papa is utterly prostrate with this great grief.' 'You expect me, don't you?' 'No, we have had no letter.' 'Then I have come before it. But my mother knows I am coming?' 'Oh! we all knew you would come. But wait a little! Step in here. Give me your hand. What is this? Oh! your carpet-bag. Dixon has shut the shutters;but this is papa's study, and I can take you to a chair to rest yourself for a few minutes; while I go and tell him.' She groped her way to the taper and the lucifer matches. She suddenly felt shy, when the little feeble light made them visible. All she could see was, that her brother's face was unusually dark in complexion, and she caught the stealthy look of a pair of remarkably long-cut blue eyes, that suddenly twinkled up with a droll consciousness of their mutual purpose of inspecting each other. But though the brother and sister had an instant of sympathy in their reciprocal glances, they did not exchange a word;only, Margaret felt sure that she should like her brother as a companion as much as she already loved him as a near relation. Her heart was wonderfully lighter as she went up-stairs; the sorrow was no less in reality, but it became less oppressive from having some one in precisely the same relation to it as that in which she stood. Not her father's desponding attitude had power to damp her now. He lay across the table, helpless as ever; but she had the spell by which to rouse him. She used it perhaps too violently in her own great relief. 'Papa,' said she, throwing her arms fondly round his neck; pulling his weary head up in fact with her gentle violence, till it rested in her arms, and she could look into his eyes, and let them gain strength and assurance from hers. 'Papa! guess who is here!' He looked at her; she saw the idea of the truth glimmer into their filmy sadness, and be dismissed thence as a wild imagination. He threw himself forward, and hid his face once more in his stretched-out arms, resting upon the table as heretofore. She heard him whisper; she bent tenderly down to listen. 'I don't know. Don't tell me it is Frederick--not Frederick. I cannot bear it,--I am too weak. And his mother is dying!'He began to cry and wail like a child. It was so different to all which Margaret had hoped and expected, that she turned sick with disappointment, and was silent for an instant. Then she spoke again--very differently--not so exultingly, far more tenderly and carefully. 'Papa, it is Frederick! Think of mamma, how glad she will be! And oh, for her sake, how glad we ought to be! For his sake, too,--our poor, poor boy!' Her father did not change his attitude, but he seemed to be trying to understand the fact. 'Where is he?' asked he at last, his face still hidden in his prostrate arms. 'In your study, quite alone. I lighted the taper, and ran up to tell you.
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