ten o'clock struck, and he went down--Margaret hearing the bell, the
sounds of the assembling servants, the shutting of the door, the
stillness of prayer-time, the opening again, the feet moving off in
different directions, then brothers and sisters coming in to kiss her
and bid her good-night, nurse and Flora arranging her for the night,
Flora coming to sleep in her little bed in the corner of the room,
and, lastly, her father's tender good-night, and melancholy look at
her, and all was quiet, except the low voices and movements as
Richard attended him in his own room.

Margaret could think: "Dear, dear Ethel, how noble and high she is!
But I am afraid! It is what people call a difficult, dangerous age,
and the grander she is, the greater danger of not managing her
rightly. If those high purposes should run only into romance like
mine, or grow out into eccentricities and unfemininesses, what a
grievous pity it would be! And I, so little older, so much less
clever, with just sympathy enough not to be a wise restraint--I am
the person who has the responsibility, and oh, what shall I do?
Mamma trusted to me to be a mother to them, papa looks to me, and I
so unfit, besides this helplessness. But God sent it, and put me in
my place. He made me lie here, and will raise me up if it is good,
so I trust He will help me with my sisters."

"Grant me to have a right judgment in all things, and evermore to
rejoice in Thy holy comfort."




CHAPTER VII.