to her station, to join the breakfast party, she felt an indescribable load taken off her spirits. She could now walk, sit, speak, be silent, laugh, frown, be good-natured or sarcastic, whichever she pleased, without any fear of a cold look, or an insulting word; and without being obliged to watch every movement, lest in some way or other she should commit herself. A buoyant, exhilarating sense of freedom and independence glowed through every fibre; filled her eyes with lustre, and her lips with song: it was a clear, bright, sunny morning too, just what a New Year's morning should besunny as her prospects, and bright as her own beautiful face. The year was opening before her as none had ever opened before; showing her on every step of her future destiny the dew of her Father's blessing, and the shadow of her Redeemer's cross; and what after moment of life can ever equal that in which the renewed child of God first experiences what is meant by "joy and peace in believing?"

In the gladness of her feelings, Margaret's heart could even have accommodated Theodosia, notwithstanding her repulse over-night, but she did not appear. The rest of the party were assembled, with the exception of Alfred and Ferdinand, for whose absence Mr. Crawford, with some degree of embarrassment, offered an apology. A general rush of welcome greeted the entrance of the ladies of both, we may observe; Mrs. Crawford had too much tact not to treat Miss Martin with courtesy, though of course her affection was now transferred to its proper channel. The

children had obtained leave to appear, in honour of the day, to make incomprehensible speeches to everybody, of their own composing; and waiting in the background to carry them away again, Margaret soon perceived the beaming face of Nurse Wilton. She put aside the unsubstantial kindness that had come so late, and making her way through them all, took her friend in need cordially by the hand. Wilton coloured with confusion and pleasure, and curtsied down to the ground, but pressed the white fingers lovingly in her own, nevertheless, and though she tried to apologise for the freedom she had taken, could not help showing her joy in every line of her face. There was no time for conversation, however, for Margaret was summoned to the breakfast table, where Mrs. Crawford began eagerly discussing plans for her amusement. "We have a great deal to do, you know, my dear Miss Armadale, to undeceive all our good neighbours."

66

Nay, Mrs. Crawford, all that I must leave to your good management," said Margaret smiling, "I tell you frankly, till it is all explained I cannot face any one of them further, for this morning, only this one, I have a particular and private engagement."

Yes, a very particular engagement it was, indeed: and one which Margaret's bold heart shrank timorously from fulfilling; nevertheless she resolved it should be done at once, and shortly after breakfast equipped herself for her walk. The moment she appeared thus arrayed, everybody offered an escort, but this she reso

lutely declined. Mrs. Crawford hovered anxiously about her, offering to send the carriage to fetch her home-to walk with her herself—to do anything, in short, that could add to her comfort. Margaret courteously rejected all these offers, contenting herself by suggesting to her hostess, "Oblige me by taking care of my friend Miss Martin: she deserves it at your hands, after what has passed."

Courageous as Margaret Armadale was, and our readers will allow she possessed a considerable share of that valuable quality,-and little as she had feared braving the whole Crawford family in the face of their dependants, her heart failed her grievously when she approached Mr. Leyden's door. At the Grange, however much they might feel annoyed at the trick played them, she felt pretty sure her wealth would speedily repair the breach: they would only be too glad to make her forget their ill treatment: but not so at the Vicarage. There every one was weighed according to his merits, not his possessions; there she must appear exactly as she was: and no fashion, position, or consequence she could assume, would raise her one jot in that esteem, which she now felt as if she must forfeit for ever. Still, knowing it must be done, and the sooner the better, she resolutely held on her way: determined to confess the truth without evasion, and throw herself on their mercy: and her heart leaped to her throat when on tapping at the well-known parlour door the Vicar's cheerful voice answered "Come in!"

R R

A-1505

CHAPTER XI.

"You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,

Such as I am..."

SHAKESPEARE.

R. LEYDEN was alone, and evidently very busy, preparing a discourse for the evening: it being his custom to celebrate

Divine Service on New Year's Day, at

the hour when the poor men left off work. Books, accounts, and letters were piled in literary confusion round him; but he pushed all aside to greet his lovely visitor.

"A happy New Year to you, Mr. Leyden," said Margaret, "you see I am come the first to bring my good wishes."

"Thank you for them, my love, and may they come back to you an hundred-fold," said the Vicar. "Mary is out; gone to your old friend Mrs. Bernard's to see a sick man: the same, by-the-bye, that Mr. Crawford She will soon be in; take off your bonnet, that is right now sit down, and tell me if there is

ran over.

anything I can do for you: for I see by your face you have something to say."

Margaret placed before him the book he had given

her. "Will you have the kindness, sir," she said, in a tremulous voice, " to write my name in it now?"

"Oh certainly-with pleasure," said he, "stay, we will find a swan's quill for this: mere goose will not do for such an occasion. Now, my dear, let me see -Esther Martin? or Esther anything else,―elect?”

"Not Esther at all, Mr. Leyden," said the heiress, stooping over the table at which she knelt, till her glowing face was almost hid by her curls,-"my name is Margaret Armadale.”

The Vicar dropped his pen-pushed back his chair -and looked at her in silent astonishment; and Margaret, gathering courage from desperation, went steadily on;-true to her resolves, she told him all her heart: how her life had been passed; how her affections had been galled; how weary she had been of mercenary, hollow professions, and how she had been induced to adopt this method of discerning real friends from false. She told him of the various admonitions she had received from unconscious teachers;-from Wilton, Dame Bernard, Mary, and himself; how bitterly she had felt the censure he passed on such deceptions on the night of his juvenile fête; how Mary had comforted and instructed her; how her accident, by giving her more solitary hours, had been the means of strengthening and combining all these; and how, when confined to Mrs. Crawford's lumber-room, she had heard the old year go out, and the new one come