CHAPTER IV.

_MORNING THOUGHTS--A RESOLVE TAKEN._

Soul of our souls and safeguard of the world, Sustain--Thou only canst--the sick of heart! Restore their languid spirits, and recall Their lost affections unto Thee and Thine.

Margaret awoke early the next morning. It was a sad waking. For the first moment she could have wished to shut her eyes again, never to open them more in this world. Life looked so blank. And what wonder?

However brave the spirit, it must be affected by its surroundings, and to open one's eyes in a stifling room, with the consciousness that the raised blind will show nothing but a dingy yard, and beyond and on every side of it deserts of dingy yards, the yards shut in by black-looking houses, in all of which the like stifling rooms may reasonably be expected to be found, is, to say the least of it, disheartening.

Margaret's troubles in the little cottage by the seaside, of which she fondly thought as home, had not been less; but there was something in the wide breadths of sea, in its fresh curling waves and in the grand expanse of sky to soothe the dull aching of heart and brain, to give scope to the great doctrine of possibilities, and freedom to dreams that sometimes appeared wild and unreal.

Here it was different. In the narrowness of wall and enclosure life itself was narrowed down till it seemed nothing but a dreary blank of good; in the dull monotony of wood and brick what had been melancholy became bitterness, what had been prayers for help and guidance became one passionate outcry against Providence--one bitter complaint against what the tortured heart too often calls cruel fate.

Young curates are fond of preaching about resignation, notifying to their aged friends the desirability of persevering to the end. I think if ever they come to feel this, that Fate and all her myrmidons are against them, that life is cruel beyond measure, that even faith itself can find no standing-point, they will speak less on this strange, sad theme; but when the victory has been won, when fate and necessity have taken a true place for them in the economy of nature, what they say will be worth far more.

The first discouragement gone by, Margaret felt that she must act, and then came the consciousness that something very disagreeable was before her. She had promised Mrs. Brown to set herself right with her as far as character was concerned, and for this it would be necessary to give references.

A new trouble, and, strange to say, unthought of before. Margaret was little used to the ways of the world: she had hitherto cherished a vague notion that to present herself would be sufficient for the attainment of her object. That she was a lady she imagined (and in this she was not mistaken) could be seen at a glance.

That a lady's character should be looked into like a servant's had not entered into her mind as a necessary part of that to which those who seek for employment must subject themselves. And yet her common sense told her, as she thought it all over in the gray of early morning, that this was perfectly right, and only what she ought to have expected.

The necessity might certainly have been more delicately revealed than by Mrs. Augustus Brown; but Margaret, in her morning review of ways and means, thoroughly recognized the justice of the demand. To answer it was none the less a great difficulty to one of her nature. The long separation from all her friends, who before and after her marriage had been very numerous; the solitary nature of her life during the last four years; above all, that cloud, barely acknowledged even to herself, which rested on her fair fame (she could not tell if _it_ had affected her in the opinion of her former world, if many-tongued Rumor had magnified it),--all these things made her task a very difficult one, and as she thought she felt inclined to give up the struggle, to return to her lonely lot and do her best for her child herself.

She had almost come to this conclusion, even the note refusing Mrs. Brown's magnanimous offer was written in her mind, when suddenly an idea flitted across her brain which caused her to hesitate. The thought was of one who in all probability would stand her friend, whose word was worth something, and who knew enough of the circumstances of her history to render it unnecessary for her to enter into painful details.

The friend was a lawyer, the man who managed her affairs. He was well known to her, not so much personally as in a business capacity, and she felt great confidence in his friendliness and judgment. Then she knew that he held a high position, especially in the religious world. Before she rose she had decided at least to consult Mr. Robinson.

If he thought his reference would be sufficient guarantee of respectability to ensure her an entrance into the carefully guarded fold of Mrs. Augustus Brown, she would try to obtain the position; if not, she would make no further effort.