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

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

ran over.

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

in, while in the act of prayer, and had felt such peace and gladness in her heart as made her receive it as a messenger from heaven.

66

Now, Mr. Leyden, I have told you all: I dare not hope for your esteem, or your confidence, now that you find I have deceived you; but I come to ask for pardon, and to be allowed to redeem my sincerity, which, if you only would believe it, was never warmer or purer than when it was disguised. My name and position were false, but my words and my heart were true." And having ended her confession, she again stooped her forehead, and buried it in her hands, as one who, conscious of wrong, waits patiently for the judge's doom.

The Vicar was deeply moved, and sorely perplexed. If she had come, as she might have done, to explain away her deception as a joke, and trusted to her wit or her dignity to disarm his censure, he would certainly, without ceremony, have administered a severe and wholesome rebuke; and perhaps, if she had still appeared unconvinced, have denied her his friendship for a time; but coming as she did, so frank and unreserved, acknowledging all her errors, and humbly submitting to his correction, he could not for the life of him find a word to correct her with. Added to this, in the simple account she had given of the different steps that led her to the truth, he saw such plain manifestations of providential dealing that he felt as if it would be marring God's work to say, "this ought not

to be." He made several attempts to speak: each was to have been something of a reproof: but each was a failure. "Come here, my love," said he at

last. She raised her head and looked at him: he held out his hands, and drawing her to him, kissed her forehead. "You have surprised me greatly, my dear child, I confess; but though I cannot deny you did wrong in the first place, I cannot find it in my heart to tell you so. And so you are not our favourite Esther, about whom we have laid so many schemes, but Miss Armadale-the great Miss Armadale-an Armadale of Rockstone;-the very identical person we have talked about so much: well, well, I shall no longer be surprised at anything:-now sit down, my love, and don't tremble so: don't look afraid of me, even if I do give you a lecture, as perhaps I may, it will not be severe."

Margaret sat down by him as he desired, but he still retained her hand; and for all that he kept telling her not to be nervous, looked as nervous as possible himself. His eyes rested on her face with an irresistible fascination :-interesting as she had been to his kind heart as a lovely and friendless orphan, still more so did she appear now, when in her he thought he saw the dispenser of blessing for his poor parish he had so long wished and prayed for. Experienced as he was in the deceitfulness of the outward appearance, and the proverbial difference between words and deeds, he could not listen to Margaret's