Mischances

'Ten minutes past six; very nearly dark. So what will you do,
Margaret?' 'Oh, I can manage. I am getting very brave and very hard. It is a
well-lighted road all the way home, if it should be dark. But I
was out last week much later.'

Margaret was thankful when the parting was over--the parting from
the dead mother and the living father. She hurried Frederick into
the cab, in order to shorten a scene which she saw was so
bitterly painful to her father, who would accompany his son as he
took his last look at his mother. Partly in consequence of this,
and partly owing to one of the very common mistakes in the
'Railway Guide' as to the times when trains arrive at the smaller
stations, they found, on reaching Outwood, that they had nearly
twenty minutes to spare. The booking-office was not open, so they
could not even take the ticket. They accordingly went down the
flight of steps that led to the level of the ground below the
railway. There was a broad cinder-path diagonally crossing a
field which lay along-side of the carriage-road, and they went
there to walk backwards and forwards for the few minutes they had
to spare.

Margaret's hand lay in Frederick's arm. He took hold of it
affectionately.

'Margaret! I am going to consult Mr. Lennox as to the chance of
exculpating myself, so that I may return to England whenever I
choose, more for your sake than for the sake of any one else. I
can't bear to think of your lonely position if anything should
happen to my father. He looks sadly changed--terribly shaken. I
wish you could get him to think of the Cadiz plan, for
many reasons. What could you do if he were taken away? You have
no friend near. We are curiously bare of relations.'