Wynter of the thoughts she had in her heart about life, and its strange difficulties and puzzles; and so it happened that after the night on which Eleanor went to the Jones's party in defiance of her mother's express commands, Margaret went to see the Vicar's mother.

In the course of conversation she told some of her difficulties and troubles with regard to her cousin.

"Dear Mrs. Wynter," said she, "what can I do? I do not like to say anything to aunt, and betray my poor cousin; and I do not wish to hide from aunt what she ought to know, if Eleanor is doing anything in a deceitful manner."

"Well, dear child," said the old lady, “I think I should watch carefully; and the very next thing you detect that makes you suspect there is anything going on wrong, you first tell your cousin: you must do so, and then inform your aunt-mention the simple facts, and leave her to act for herself."

"Then Eleanor will hate me, Mrs. Wynter, and be on her guard with me also, as well as with aunt," said Margaret.

"That you will have to bear, Margaret; no good ever comes of deceit."

"But," objected Margaret, "I shall then lose all influence over her; and I do believe that she does not go quite as far as she otherwise would, because of what I say."

"You must leave that, my dear. You must not

do evil that good may come. I am very sorry about Eleanor Stuart; she is only making trouble for herself by her wild and wayward temper. When you come to be as old as I am, dear child, you will see things very differently. Young people think both too much and too little of marriage: too much, in that it should be the one object in life, and too little in the terrible consequences of an ill-assorted union, both for time and often for eternity. It is only when we have almost finished life that we rightly know how to live-just when it is too late," said the old lady with a sigh, clasping her fingers over Margaret's hand; but, thanks be to God, there is another life beyond this."

"That is one of my riddles, Mrs. Wynter," said Margaret. "What is life for? What have I got to live for? It cannot be to do things for God, as some books say-He cannot want me. He can raise up stones to do His work, if He wishes it. And, besides, He is all powerful; He can do His own work without any aid. I think it is quite presumptuous to imagine a weak young girl, in an obscure country town, such as I am, can do anything for God."

As Margaret spake, the colour came into her face and the tears into her blue eyes; but she rose to go away, turning her face from the old lady as if she was ashamed at having spoken so vehemently.

"Stay, my dear," said Mrs. Wynter, "you must

not go without an answer to that question. Sit down again. I am old, and you must not mind that I cannot be hurried, as you young ones can be. To answer your question, I must ask you one or two. May I?"

"If you please, Mrs. Wynter."

"Well, then, if you take great care and pains to make anything for yourself-for your pleasure; what do you like it to do when you have finished

it ?"

"Perform its work well, I suppose," said Margaret.

"Yes; well-perfectly," said Mrs. Wynter; "but what work, my dear?"

"I don't know; my pleasure, whatever it may be." "Yes, your pleasure, Margaret, not any one's else. Not its own; not another's—yours—your pleasure. Now can you answer your own question— What are you living for?"

"Am I made for God's pleasure?" said Margaret, wonderingly.

"For His pleasure we are and were created," said the old lady solemnly.

"But what is God's pleasure?" asked Margaret, thoughtfully.

“Ah, my dear, that is what you and I have got to find out. God has given us intelligence, so that this beautiful highly-finished machine which He has made shall not go blindly to work, but shall under

stand its duties; and not only that, but He has promised to give His Holy Spirit to them that ask Him, to teach them His will."

"Tell me what you think I can do, Mrs. Wynter?"

"My dear child," said the old lady, "I cannot tell what God's particular way with you will be; but this I do know, that what He requires is your heart, and then He will show you your path; but only that step by step, we can't look on even an hour. Pray, and search in your guide-book about each thing that comes before you, large or small, to find out His will, and you will not be left in ignorance; for it is God that worketh in you, both to will and to do of His good pleasure.' You see there seems no doubt about it-we were created to will and to do of 'His good pleasure'-so to believe in Christ that His will is our will, about everything."

"Thank you," said Margaret, gathering up the skirts of her dress, and stooping to kiss the old lady, "I do understand a little more about it than I did."

"If you truly want to learn God's will, you will be taught, dear child. Good-bye; come and see me again soon," added Mrs. Wynter, as Margaret closed the door.

CHAPTER III.

THE CONSEQUENCES OF DISOBEDIENCE.

"May I mean nothing so then get you gone,
Being so very wilful you must go.'

Elaine.

Nor many days after Margaret visited the parsonage she was walking in the High-street of Llangavon, when she met the gardener's boy from the castle carrying a letter to the post-office. She stopped and questioned him, as it was an unusual thing for Tommy to be trusted to post letters. He said Miss Stuart had sent him, and gave him a penny, too, to buy pops for his-self. Margaret took the letter from the boy's black fingers, and, to her surprise and dismay, it was addressed to Capt. MacGilly. They were standing within a few yards of the postoffice, and Margaret did not feel that she had any right whatever to prevent Tommy from doing what he had been told, but she longed to stop that letter from being sent.

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