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diff --git a/old/ecgns10.txt b/old/ecgns10.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c8ddb6d..0000000 --- a/old/ecgns10.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,20905 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, North and South, by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: North and South - - -Author: Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell - - - -Release Date: July, 2003 [Etext #4276] -[This file was first posted on December 26, 2001] -[Most recently updated: June 7, 2008] - -Edition: 10 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NORTH AND SOUTH*** - - -E-text prepared by Charles Aldarondo - - - -NORTH AND SOUTH - -by - -ELIZABETH GASKELL - -First published in serial form in _Household Words_ in 1854-1855 -and in volume form in 1855. - - - - - - - -VOLUME I - - -On its appearance in 'Household Words,' this tale was obliged to -conform to the conditions imposed by the requirements of a weekly -publication, and likewise to confine itself within certain -advertised limits, in order that faith might be kept with the -public. Although these conditions were made as light as they well -could be, the author found it impossible to develope the story in -the manner originally intended, and, more especially, was -compelled to hurry on events with an improbable rapidity towards -the close. In some degree to remedy this obvious defect, various -short passages have been inserted, and several new chapters -added. With this brief explanation, the tale is commended to the -kindness of the reader; - -'Beseking hym lowly, of mercy and pite, Of its rude makyng to -have compassion.' - - -CHAPTER I - - -'HASTE TO THE WEDDING' - -'Wooed and married and a'.' - - -'Edith!' said Margaret, gently, 'Edith!' - -But, as Margaret half suspected, Edith had fallen asleep. She lay -curled up on the sofa in the back drawing-room in Harley Street, -looking very lovely in her white muslin and blue ribbons. If -Titania had ever been dressed in white muslin and blue ribbons, -and had fallen asleep on a crimson damask sofa in a back -drawing-room, Edith might have been taken for her. Margaret was -struck afresh by her cousin's beauty. They had grown up together -from childhood, and all along Edith had been remarked upon by -every one, except Margaret, for her prettiness; but Margaret had -never thought about it until the last few days, when the prospect -of soon losing her companion seemed to give force to every sweet -quality and charm which Edith possessed. They had been talking -about wedding dresses, and wedding ceremonies; and Captain -Lennox, and what he had told Edith about her future life at -Corfu, where his regiment was stationed; and the difficulty of -keeping a piano in good tune (a difficulty which Edith seemed to -consider as one of the most formidable that could befall her in -her married life), and what gowns she should want in the visits -to Scotland, which would immediately succeed her marriage; but -the whispered tone had latterly become more drowsy; and Margaret, -after a pause of a few minutes, found, as she fancied, that in -spite of the buzz in the next room, Edith had rolled herself up -into a soft ball of muslin and ribbon, and silken curls, and gone -off into a peaceful little after-dinner nap. - -Margaret had been on the point of telling her cousin of some of -the plans and visions which she entertained as to her future life -in the country parsonage, where her father and mother lived; and -where her bright holidays had always been passed, though for the -last ten years her aunt Shaw's house had been considered as her -home. But in default of a listener, she had to brood over the -change in her life silently as heretofore. It was a happy -brooding, although tinged with regret at being separated for an -indefinite time from her gentle aunt and dear cousin. As she -thought of the delight of filling the important post of only -daughter in Helstone parsonage, pieces of the conversation out of -the next room came upon her ears. Her aunt Shaw was talking to -the five or six ladies who had been dining there, and whose -husbands were still in the dining-room. They were the familiar -acquaintances of the house; neighbours whom Mrs. Shaw called -friends, because she happened to dine with them more frequently -than with any other people, and because if she or Edith wanted -anything from them, or they from her, they did not scruple to -make a call at each other's houses before luncheon. These ladies -and their husbands were invited, in their capacity of friends, to -eat a farewell dinner in honour of Edith's approaching marriage. -Edith had rather objected to this arrangement, for Captain Lennox -was expected to arrive by a late train this very evening; but, -although she was a spoiled child, she was too careless and idle -to have a very strong will of her own, and gave way when she -found that her mother had absolutely ordered those extra -delicacies of the season which are always supposed to be -efficacious against immoderate grief at farewell dinners. She -contented herself by leaning back in her chair, merely playing -with the food on her plate, and looking grave and absent; while -all around her were enjoying the mots of Mr. Grey, the gentleman -who always took the bottom of the table at Mrs. Shaw's dinner -parties, and asked Edith to give them some music in the -drawing-room. Mr. Grey was particularly agreeable over this -farewell dinner, and the gentlemen staid down stairs longer than -usual. It was very well they did--to judge from the fragments of -conversation which Margaret overheard. - -'I suffered too much myself; not that I was not extremely happy -with the poor dear General, but still disparity of age is a -drawback; one that I was resolved Edith should not have to -encounter. Of course, without any maternal partiality, I foresaw -that the dear child was likely to marry early; indeed, I had -often said that I was sure she would be married before she was -nineteen. I had quite a prophetic feeling when Captain -Lennox'--and here the voice dropped into a whisper, but Margaret -could easily supply the blank. The course of true love in Edith's -case had run remarkably smooth. Mrs. Shaw had given way to the -presentiment, as she expressed it; and had rather urged on the -marriage, although it was below the expectations which many of -Edith's acquaintances had formed for her, a young and pretty -heiress. But Mrs. Shaw said that her only child should marry for -love,--and sighed emphatically, as if love had not been her -motive for marrying the General. Mrs. Shaw enjoyed the romance of -the present engagement rather more than her daughter. Not but -that Edith was very thoroughly and properly in love; still she -would certainly have preferred a good house in Belgravia, to all -the picturesqueness of the life which Captain Lennox described at -Corfu. The very parts which made Margaret glow as she listened, -Edith pretended to shiver and shudder at; partly for the pleasure -she had in being coaxed out of her dislike by her fond lover, and -partly because anything of a gipsy or make-shift life was really -distasteful to her. Yet had any one come with a fine house, and a -fine estate, and a fine title to boot, Edith would still have -clung to Captain Lennox while the temptation lasted; when it was -over, it is possible she might have had little qualms of -ill-concealed regret that Captain Lennox could not have united in -his person everything that was desirable. In this she was but her -mother's child; who, after deliberately marrying General Shaw -with no warmer feeling than respect for his character and -establishment, was constantly, though quietly, bemoaning her hard -lot in being united to one whom she could not love. - -'I have spared no expense in her trousseau,' were the next words -Margaret heard. - -'She has all the beautiful Indian shawls and scarfs the General -gave to me, but which I shall never wear again.' - -'She is a lucky girl,' replied another voice, which Margaret knew -to be that of Mrs. Gibson, a lady who was taking a double -interest in the conversation, from the fact of one of her -daughters having been married within the last few weeks. - -'Helen had set her heart upon an Indian shawl, but really when I -found what an extravagant price was asked, I was obliged to -refuse her. She will be quite envious when she hears of Edith -having Indian shawls. What kind are they? Delhi? with the lovely -little borders?' - -Margaret heard her aunt's voice again, but this time it was as if -she had raised herself up from her half-recumbent position, and -were looking into the more dimly lighted back drawing-room. -'Edith! Edith!' cried she; and then she sank as if wearied by the -exertion. Margaret stepped forward. - -'Edith is asleep, Aunt Shaw. Is it anything I can do?' - -All the ladies said 'Poor child!' on receiving this distressing -intelligence about Edith; and the minute lap-dog in Mrs. Shaw's -arms began to bark, as if excited by the burst of pity. - -'Hush, Tiny! you naughty little girl! you will waken your -mistress. It was only to ask Edith if she would tell Newton to -bring down her shawls: perhaps you would go, Margaret dear?' - -Margaret went up into the old nursery at the very top of the -house, where Newton was busy getting up some laces which were -required for the wedding. While Newton went (not without a -muttered grumbling) to undo the shawls, which had already been -exhibited four or five times that day, Margaret looked round upon -the nursery; the first room in that house with which she had -become familiar nine years ago, when she was brought, all untamed -from the forest, to share the home, the play, and the lessons of -her cousin Edith. She remembered the dark, dim look of the London -nursery, presided over by an austere and ceremonious nurse, who -was terribly particular about clean hands and torn frocks. She -recollected the first tea up there--separate from her father and -aunt, who were dining somewhere down below an infinite depth of -stairs; for unless she were up in the sky (the child thought), -they must be deep down in the bowels of the earth. At -home--before she came to live in Harley Street--her mother's -dressing-room had been her nursery; and, as they kept early hours -in the country parsonage, Margaret had always had her meals with -her father and mother. Oh! well did the tall stately girl of -eighteen remember the tears shed with such wild passion of grief -by the little girl of nine, as she hid her face under the -bed-clothes, in that first night; and how she was bidden not to -cry by the nurse, because it would disturb Miss Edith; and how -she had cried as bitterly, but more quietly, till her newly-seen, -grand, pretty aunt had come softly upstairs with Mr. Hale to show -him his little sleeping daughter. Then the little Margaret had -hushed her sobs, and tried to lie quiet as if asleep, for fear of -making her father unhappy by her grief, which she dared not -express before her aunt, and which she rather thought it was -wrong to feel at all after the long hoping, and planning, and -contriving they had gone through at home, before her wardrobe -could be arranged so as to suit her grander circumstances, and -before papa could leave his parish to come up to London, even for -a few days. - -Now she had got to love the old nursery, though it was but a -dismantled place; and she looked all round, with a kind of -cat-like regret, at the idea of leaving it for ever in three -days. - -'Ah Newton!' said she, 'I think we shall all be sorry to leave -this dear old room.' - -'Indeed, miss, I shan't for one. My eyes are not so good as they -were, and the light here is so bad that I can't see to mend laces -except just at the window, where there's always a shocking -draught--enough to give one one's death of cold.' - -Well, I dare say you will have both good light and plenty of -warmth at Naples. You must keep as much of your darning as you -can till then. Thank you, Newton, I can take them down--you're -busy.' - -So Margaret went down laden with shawls, and snuffing up their -spicy Eastern smell. Her aunt asked her to stand as a sort of lay -figure on which to display them, as Edith was still asleep. No -one thought about it; but Margaret's tall, finely made figure, in -the black silk dress which she was wearing as mourning for some -distant relative of her father's, set off the long beautiful -folds of the gorgeous shawls that would have half-smothered -Edith. Margaret stood right under the chandelier, quite silent -and passive, while her aunt adjusted the draperies. Occasionally, -as she was turned round, she caught a glimpse of herself in the -mirror over the chimney-piece, and smiled at her own appearance -there-the familiar features in the usual garb of a princess. She -touched the shawls gently as they hung around her, and took a -pleasure in their soft feel and their brilliant colours, and -rather liked to be dressed in such splendour--enjoying it much as -a child would do, with a quiet pleased smile on her lips. Just -then the door opened, and Mr. Henry Lennox was suddenly -announced. Some of the ladies started back, as if half-ashamed of -their feminine interest in dress. Mrs. Shaw held out her hand to -the new-comer; Margaret stood perfectly still, thinking she might -be yet wanted as a sort of block for the shawls; but looking at -Mr. Lennox with a bright, amused face, as if sure of his sympathy -in her sense of the ludicrousness at being thus surprised. - -Her aunt was so much absorbed in asking Mr. Henry Lennox--who had -not been able to come to dinner--all sorts of questions about his -brother the bridegroom, his sister the bridesmaid (coming with -the Captain from Scotland for the occasion), and various other -members of the Lennox family, that Margaret saw she was no more -wanted as shawl-bearer, and devoted herself to the amusement of -the other visitors, whom her aunt had for the moment forgotten. -Almost immediately, Edith came in from the back drawing-room, -winking and blinking her eyes at the stronger light, shaking back -her slightly-ruffled curls, and altogether looking like the -Sleeping Beauty just startled from her dreams. Even in her -slumber she had instinctively felt that a Lennox was worth -rousing herself for; and she had a multitude of questions to ask -about dear Janet, the future, unseen sister-in-law, for whom she -professed so much affection, that if Margaret had not been very -proud she might have almost felt jealous of the mushroom rival. -As Margaret sank rather more into the background on her aunt's -joining the conversation, she saw Henry Lennox directing his look -towards a vacant seat near her; and she knew perfectly well that -as soon as Edith released him from her questioning, he would take -possession of that chair. She had not been quite sure, from her -aunt's rather confused account of his engagements, whether he -would come that night; it was almost a surprise to see him; and -now she was sure of a pleasant evening. He liked and disliked -pretty nearly the same things that she did. Margaret's face was -lightened up into an honest, open brightness. By-and-by he came. -She received him with a smile which had not a tinge of shyness or -self-consciousness in it. - -'Well, I suppose you are all in the depths of business--ladies' -business, I mean. Very different to my business, which is the -real true law business. Playing with shawls is very different -work to drawing up settlements. - -'Ah, I knew how you would be amused to find us all so occupied in -admiring finery. But really Indian shawls are very perfect things -of their kind.' - -'I have no doubt they are. Their prices are very perfect, too. -Nothing wanting.' The gentlemen came dropping in one by one, and -the buzz and noise deepened in tone. - -'This is your last dinner-party, is it not? There are no more -before Thursday?' - -'No. I think after this evening we shall feel at rest, which I am -sure I have not done for many weeks; at least, that kind of rest -when the hands have nothing more to do, and all the arrangements -are complete for an event which must occupy one's head and heart. -I shall be glad to have time to think, and I am sure Edith will.' - -'I am not so sure about her; but I can fancy that you will. -Whenever I have seen you lately, you have been carried away by a -whirlwind of some other person's making.' - -'Yes,' said Margaret, rather sadly, remembering the never-ending -commotion about trifles that had been going on for more than a -month past: 'I wonder if a marriage must always be preceded by -what you call a whirlwind, or whether in some cases there might -not rather be a calm and peaceful time just before it.' - -'Cinderella's godmother ordering the trousseau, the -wedding-breakfast, writing the notes of invitation, for -instance,' said Mr. Lennox, laughing. - -'But are all these quite necessary troubles?' asked Margaret, -looking up straight at him for an answer. A sense of -indescribable weariness of all the arrangements for a pretty -effect, in which Edith had been busied as supreme authority for -the last six weeks, oppressed her just now; and she really wanted -some one to help her to a few pleasant, quiet ideas connected -with a marriage. - -'Oh, of course,' he replied with a change to gravity in his tone. -'There are forms and ceremonies to be gone through, not so much -to satisfy oneself, as to stop the world's mouth, without which -stoppage there would be very little satisfaction in life. But how -would you have a wedding arranged?' - -'Oh, I have never thought much about it; only I should like it to -be a very fine summer morning; and I should like to walk to -church through the shade of trees; and not to have so many -bridesmaids, and to have no wedding-breakfast. I dare say I am -resolving against the very things that have given me the most -trouble just now.' - -'No, I don't think you are. The idea of stately simplicity -accords well with your character.' - -Margaret did not quite like this speech; she winced away from it -more, from remembering former occasions on which he had tried to -lead her into a discussion (in which he took the complimentary -part) about her own character and ways of going on. She cut his -speech rather short by saying: - -'It is natural for me to think of Helstone church, and the walk -to it, rather than of driving up to a London church in the middle -of a paved street.' - -'Tell me about Helstone. You have never described it to me. I -should like to have some idea of the place you will be living in, -when ninety-six Harley Street will be looking dingy and dirty, -and dull, and shut up. Is Helstone a village, or a town, in the -first place?' - -'Oh, only a hamlet; I don't think I could call it a village at -all. There is the church and a few houses near it on the -green--cottages, rather--with roses growing all over them.' - -'And flowering all the year round, especially at Christmas--make -your picture complete,' said he. - -'No,' replied Margaret, somewhat annoyed, 'I am not making a -picture. I am trying to describe Helstone as it really is. You -should not have said that.' - -'I am penitent,' he answered. 'Only it really sounded like a -village in a tale rather than in real life.' - -'And so it is,' replied Margaret, eagerly. 'All the other places -in England that I have seen seem so hard and prosaic-looking, -after the New Forest. Helstone is like a village in a poem--in -one of Tennyson's poems. But I won't try and describe it any -more. You would only laugh at me if I told you what I think of -it--what it really is.' - -'Indeed, I would not. But I see you are going to be very -resolved. Well, then, tell me that which I should like still -better to know what the parsonage is like.' - -'Oh, I can't describe my home. It is home, and I can't put its -charm into words.' - -'I submit. You are rather severe to-night, Margaret. - -'How?' said she, turning her large soft eyes round full upon him. -'I did not know I was.' - -'Why, because I made an unlucky remark, you will neither tell me -what Helstone is like, nor will you say anything about your home, -though I have told you how much I want to hear about both, the -latter especially.' - -'But indeed I cannot tell you about my own home. I don't quite -think it is a thing to be talked about, unless you knew it.' - -'Well, then'--pausing for a moment--'tell me what you do there. -Here you read, or have lessons, or otherwise improve your mind, -till the middle of the day; take a walk before lunch, go a drive -with your aunt after, and have some kind of engagement in the -evening. There, now fill up your day at Helstone. Shall you ride, -drive, or walk?' - -'Walk, decidedly. We have no horse, not even for papa. He walks -to the very extremity of his parish. The walks are so beautiful, -it would be a shame to drive--almost a shame to ride.' - -'Shall you garden much? That, I believe, is a proper employment -for young ladies in the country.' - -'I don't know. I am afraid I shan't like such hard work.' - -'Archery parties--pic-nics--race-balls--hunt-balls?' - -'Oh no!' said she, laughing. 'Papa's living is very small; and -even if we were near such things, I doubt if I should go to -them.' - -'I see, you won't tell me anything. You will only tell me that -you are not going to do this and that. Before the vacation ends, -I think I shall pay you a call, and see what you really do employ -yourself in.' - -'I hope you will. Then you will see for yourself how beautiful -Helstone is. Now I must go. Edith is sitting down to play, and I -just know enough of music to turn over the leaves for her; and -besides, Aunt Shaw won't like us to talk.' Edith played -brilliantly. In the middle of the piece the door half-opened, and -Edith saw Captain Lennox hesitating whether to come in. She threw -down her music, and rushed out of the room, leaving Margaret -standing confused and blushing to explain to the astonished -guests what vision had shown itself to cause Edith's sudden -flight. Captain Lennox had come earlier than was expected; or was -it really so late? They looked at their watches, were duly -shocked, and took their leave. - -Then Edith came back, glowing with pleasure, half-shyly, -half-proudly leading in her tall handsome Captain. His brother -shook hands with him, and Mrs. Shaw welcomed him in her gentle -kindly way, which had always something plaintive in it, arising -from the long habit of considering herself a victim to an -uncongenial marriage. Now that, the General being gone, she had -every good of life, with as few drawbacks as possible, she had -been rather perplexed to find an anxiety, if not a sorrow. She -had, however, of late settled upon her own health as a source of -apprehension; she had a nervous little cough whenever she thought -about it; and some complaisant doctor ordered her just what she -desired,--a winter in Italy. Mrs. Shaw had as strong wishes as -most people, but she never liked to do anything from the open and -acknowledged motive of her own good will and pleasure; she -preferred being compelled to gratify herself by some other -person's command or desire. She really did persuade herself that -she was submitting to some hard external necessity; and thus she -was able to moan and complain in her soft manner, all the time -she was in reality doing just what she liked. - -It was in this way she began to speak of her own journey to -Captain Lennox, who assented, as in duty bound, to all his future -mother-in-law said, while his eyes sought Edith, who was busying -herself in rearranging the tea-table, and ordering up all sorts -of good things, in spite of his assurances that he had dined -within the last two hours. - -Mr. Henry Lennox stood leaning against the chimney-piece, amused -with the family scene. He was close by his handsome brother; he -was the plain one in a singularly good-looking family; but his -face was intelligent, keen, and mobile; and now and then Margaret -wondered what it was that he could be thinking about, while he -kept silence, but was evidently observing, with an interest that -was slightly sarcastic, all that Edith and she were doing. The -sarcastic feeling was called out by Mrs. Shaw's conversation with -his brother; it was separate from the interest which was excited -by what he saw. He thought it a pretty sight to see the two -cousins so busy in their little arrangements about the table. -Edith chose to do most herself. She was in a humour to enjoy -showing her lover how well she could behave as a soldier's wife. -She found out that the water in the urn was cold, and ordered up -the great kitchen tea-kettle; the only consequence of which was -that when she met it at the door, and tried to carry it in, it -was too heavy for her, and she came in pouting, with a black mark -on her muslin gown, and a little round white hand indented by the -handle, which she took to show to Captain Lennox, just like a -hurt child, and, of course, the remedy was the same in both -cases. Margaret's quickly-adjusted spirit-lamp was the most -efficacious contrivance, though not so like the gypsy-encampment -which Edith, in some of her moods, chose to consider the nearest -resemblance to a barrack-life. After this evening all was bustle -till the wedding was over. - - -CHAPTER II - - -ROSES AND THORNS - -'By the soft green light in the woody glade, -On the banks of moss where thy childhood played; -By the household tree, thro' which thine eye -First looked in love to the summer sky.' -MRS. HEMANS. - - -Margaret was once more in her morning dress, travelling quietly -home with her father, who had come up to assist at the wedding. -Her mother had been detained at home by a multitude of -half-reasons, none of which anybody fully understood, except Mr. -Hale, who was perfectly aware that all his arguments in favour of -a grey satin gown, which was midway between oldness and newness, -had proved unavailing; and that, as he had not the money to equip -his wife afresh, from top to toe, she would not show herself at -her only sister's only child's wedding. If Mrs. Shaw had guessed -at the real reason why Mrs. Hale did not accompany her husband, -she would have showered down gowns upon her; but it was nearly -twenty years since Mrs. Shaw had been the poor, pretty Miss -Beresford, and she had really forgotten all grievances except -that of the unhappiness arising from disparity of age in married -life, on which she could descant by the half-hour. Dearest Maria -had married the man of her heart, only eight years older than -herself, with the sweetest temper, and that blue-black hair one -so seldom sees. Mr. Hale was one of the most delightful preachers -she had ever heard, and a perfect model of a parish priest. -Perhaps it was not quite a logical deduction from all these -premises, but it was still Mrs. Shaw's characteristic conclusion, -as she thought over her sister's lot: 'Married for love, what can -dearest Maria have to wish for in this world?' Mrs. Hale, if she -spoke truth, might have answered with a ready-made list, 'a -silver-grey glace silk, a white chip bonnet, oh! dozens of things -for the wedding, and hundreds of things for the house.' Margaret -only knew that her mother had not found it convenient to come, -and she was not sorry to think that their meeting and greeting -would take place at Helstone parsonage, rather than, during the -confusion of the last two or three days, in the house in Harley -Street, where she herself had had to play the part of Figaro, and -was wanted everywhere at one and the same time. Her mind and body -ached now with the recollection of all she had done and said -within the last forty-eight hours. The farewells so hurriedly -taken, amongst all the other good-byes, of those she had lived -with so long, oppressed her now with a sad regret for the times -that were no more; it did not signify what those times had been, -they were gone never to return. Margaret's heart felt more heavy -than she could ever have thought it possible in going to her own -dear home, the place and the life she had longed for for -years--at that time of all times for yearning and longing, just -before the sharp senses lose their outlines in sleep. She took -her mind away with a wrench from the recollection of the past to -the bright serene contemplation of the hopeful future. Her eyes -began to see, not visions of what had been, but the sight -actually before her; her dear father leaning back asleep in the -railway carriage. His blue-black hair was grey now, and lay -thinly over his brows. The bones of his face were plainly to be -seen--too plainly for beauty, if his features had been less -finely cut; as it was, they had a grace if not a comeliness of -their own. The face was in repose; but it was rather rest after -weariness, than the serene calm of the countenance of one who led -a placid, contented life. Margaret was painfully struck by the -worn, anxious expression; and she went back over the open and -avowed circumstances of her father's life, to find the cause for -the lines that spoke so plainly of habitual distress and -depression. - -'Poor Frederick!' thought she, sighing. 'Oh! if Frederick had but -been a clergyman, instead of going into the navy, and being lost -to us all! I wish I knew all about it. I never understood it from -Aunt Shaw; I only knew he could not come back to England because -of that terrible affair. Poor dear papa! how sad he looks! I am -so glad I am going home, to be at hand to comfort him and mamma. - -She was ready with a bright smile, in which there was not a trace -of fatigue, to greet her father when he awakened. He smiled back -again, but faintly, as if it were an unusual exertion. His face -returned into its lines of habitual anxiety. He had a trick of -half-opening his mouth as if to speak, which constantly unsettled -the form of the lips, and gave the face an undecided expression. -But he had the same large, soft eyes as his daughter,--eyes which -moved slowly and almost grandly round in their orbits, and were -well veiled by their transparent white eyelids. Margaret was more -like him than like her mother. Sometimes people wondered that -parents so handsome should have a daughter who was so far from -regularly beautiful; not beautiful at all, was occasionally said. -Her mouth was wide; no rosebud that could only open just' enough -to let out a 'yes' and 'no,' and 'an't please you, sir.' But the -wide mouth was one soft curve of rich red lips; and the skin, if -not white and fair, was of an ivory smoothness and delicacy. If -the look on her face was, in general, too dignified and reserved -for one so young, now, talking to her father, it was bright as -the morning,--full of dimples, and glances that spoke of childish -gladness, and boundless hope in the future. - -It was the latter part of July when Margaret returned home. The -forest trees were all one dark, full, dusky green; the fern below -them caught all the slanting sunbeams; the weather was sultry and -broodingly still. Margaret used to tramp along by her father's -side, crushing down the fern with a cruel glee, as she felt it -yield under her light foot, and send up the fragrance peculiar to -it,--out on the broad commons into the warm scented light, seeing -multitudes of wild, free, living creatures, revelling in the -sunshine, and the herbs and flowers it called forth. This -life--at least these walks--realised all Margaret's -anticipations. She took a pride in her forest. Its people were -her people. She made hearty friends with them; learned and -delighted in using their peculiar words; took up her freedom -amongst them; nursed their babies; talked or read with slow -distinctness to their old people; carried dainty messes to their -sick; resolved before long to teach at the school, where her -father went every day as to an appointed task, but she was -continually tempted off to go and see some individual -friend--man, woman, or child--in some cottage in the green shade -of the forest. Her out-of-doors life was perfect. Her in-doors -life had its drawbacks. With the healthy shame of a child, she -blamed herself for her keenness of sight, in perceiving that all -was not as it should be there. Her mother--her mother always so -kind and tender towards her--seemed now and then so much -discontented with their situation; thought that the bishop -strangely neglected his episcopal duties, in not giving Mr. Hale -a better living; and almost reproached her husband because he -could not bring himself to say that he wished to leave the -parish, and undertake the charge of a larger. He would sigh aloud -as he answered, that if he could do what he ought in little -Helstone, he should be thankful; but every day he was more -overpowered; the world became more bewildering. At each repeated -urgency of his wife, that he would put himself in the way of -seeking some preferment, Margaret saw that her father shrank more -and more; and she strove at such times to reconcile her mother to -Helstone. Mrs. Hale said that the near neighbourhood of so many -trees affected her health; and Margaret would try to tempt her -forth on to the beautiful, broad, upland, sun-streaked, -cloud-shadowed common; for she was sure that her mother had -accustomed herself too much to an in-doors life, seldom extending -her walks beyond the church, the school, and the neighbouring -cottages. This did good for a time; but when the autumn drew on, -and the weather became more changeable, her mother's idea of the -unhealthiness of the place increased; and she repined even more -frequently that her husband, who was more learned than Mr. Hume, -a better parish priest than Mr. Houldsworth, should not have met -with the preferment that these two former neighbours of theirs -had done. - -This marring of the peace of home, by long hours of discontent, -was what Margaret was unprepared for. She knew, and had rather -revelled in the idea, that she should have to give up many -luxuries, which had only been troubles and trammels to her -freedom in Harley Street. Her keen enjoyment of every sensuous -pleasure, was balanced finely, if not overbalanced, by her -conscious pride in being able to do without them all, if need -were. But the cloud never comes in that quarter of the horizon -from which we watch for it. There had been slight complaints and -passing regrets on her mother's part, over some trifle connected -with Helstone, and her father's position there, when Margaret had -been spending her holidays at home before; but in the general -happiness of the recollection of those times, she had forgotten -the small details which were not so pleasant. In the latter half -of September, the autumnal rains and storms came on, and Margaret -was obliged to remain more in the house than she had hitherto -done. Helstone was at some distance from any neighbours of their -own standard of cultivation. - -'It is undoubtedly one of the most out-of-the-way places in -England,' said Mrs. Hale, in one of her plaintive moods. 'I can't -help regretting constantly that papa has really no one to -associate with here; he is so thrown away; seeing no one but -farmers and labourers from week's end to week's end. If we only -lived at the other side of the parish, it would be something; -there we should be almost within walking distance of the -Stansfields; certainly the Gormans would be within a walk.' - -'Gormans,' said Margaret. 'Are those the Gormans who made their -fortunes in trade at Southampton? Oh! I'm glad we don't visit -them. I don't like shoppy people. I think we are far better off, -knowing only cottagers and labourers, and people without -pretence.' - -'You must not be so fastidious, Margaret, dear!' said her mother, -secretly thinking of a young and handsome Mr. Gorman whom she had -once met at Mr. Hume's. - -'No! I call mine a very comprehensive taste; I like all people -whose occupations have to do with land; I like soldiers and -sailors, and the three learned professions, as they call them. -I'm sure you don't want me to admire butchers and bakers, and -candlestick-makers, do you, mamma?' - -'But the Gormans were neither butchers nor bakers, but very -respectable coach-builders.' - -'Very well. Coach-building is a trade all the same, and I think a -much more useless one than that of butchers or bakers. Oh! how -tired I used to be of the drives every day in Aunt Shaw's -carriage, and how I longed to walk!' - -And walk Margaret did, in spite of the weather. She was so happy -out of doors, at her father's side, that she almost danced; and -with the soft violence of the west wind behind her, as she -crossed some heath, she seemed to be borne onwards, as lightly -and easily as the fallen leaf that was wafted along by the -autumnal breeze. But the evenings were rather difficult to fill -up agreeably. Immediately after tea her father withdrew into his -small library, and she and her mother were left alone. Mrs. Hale -had never cared much for books, and had discouraged her husband, -very early in their married life, in his desire of reading aloud -to her, while she worked. At one time they had tried backgammon -as a resource; but as Mr. Hale grew to take an increasing -interest in his school and his parishioners, he found that the -interruptions which arose out of these duties were regarded as -hardships by his wife, not to be accepted as the natural -conditions of his profession, but to be regretted and struggled -against by her as they severally arose. So he withdrew, while the -children were yet young, into his library, to spend his evenings -(if he were at home), in reading the speculative and metaphysical -books which were his delight. - -When Margaret had been here before, she had brought down with her -a great box of books, recommended by masters or governess, and -had found the summer's day all too short to get through the -reading she had to do before her return to town. Now there were -only the well-bound little-read English Classics, which were -weeded out of her father's library to fill up the small -book-shelves in the drawing-room. Thomson's Seasons, Hayley's -Cowper, Middleton's Cicero, were by far the lightest, newest, and -most amusing. The book-shelves did not afford much resource. -Margaret told her mother every particular of her London life, to -all of which Mrs. Hale listened with interest, sometimes amused -and questioning, at others a little inclined to compare her -sister's circumstances of ease and comfort with the narrower -means at Helstone vicarage. On such evenings Margaret was apt to -stop talking rather abruptly, and listen to the drip-drip of the -rain upon the leads of the little bow-window. Once or twice -Margaret found herself mechanically counting the repetition of -the monotonous sound, while she wondered if she might venture to -put a question on a subject very near to her heart, and ask where -Frederick was now; what he was doing; how long it was since they -had heard from him. But a consciousness that her mother's -delicate health, and positive dislike to Helstone, all dated from -the time of the mutiny in which Frederick had been engaged,--the -full account of which Margaret had never heard, and which now -seemed doomed to be buried in sad oblivion,--made her pause and -turn away from the subject each time she approached it. When she -was with her mother, her father seemed the best person to apply -to for information; and when with him, she thought that she could -speak more easily to her mother. Probably there was nothing much -to be heard that was new. In one of the letters she had received -before leaving Harley Street, her father had told her that they -had heard from Frederick; he was still at Rio, and very well in -health, and sent his best love to her; which was dry bones, but -not the living intelligence she longed for. Frederick was always -spoken of, in the rare times when his name was mentioned, as -'Poor Frederick.' His room was kept exactly as he had left it; -and was regularly dusted, and put into order by Dixon, Mrs. -Hale's maid, who touched no other part of the household work, but -always remembered the day when she had been engaged by Lady -Beresford as ladies' maid to Sir John's wards, the pretty Miss -Beresfords, the belles of Rutlandshire. Dixon had always -considered Mr. Hale as the blight which had fallen upon her young -lady's prospects in life. If Miss Beresford had not been in such -a hurry to marry a poor country clergyman, there was no knowing -what she might not have become. But Dixon was too loyal to desert -her in her affliction and downfall (alias her married life). She -remained with her, and was devoted to her interests; always -considering herself as the good and protecting fairy, whose duty -it was to baffle the malignant giant, Mr. Hale. Master Frederick -had been her favorite and pride; and it was with a little -softening of her dignified look and manner, that she went in -weekly to arrange the chamber as carefully as if he might be -coming home that very evening. Margaret could not help believing -that there had been some late intelligence of Frederick, unknown -to her mother, which was making her father anxious and uneasy. -Mrs. Hale did not seem to perceive any alteration in her -husband's looks or ways. His spirits were always tender and -gentle, readily affected by any small piece of intelligence -concerning the welfare of others. He would be depressed for many -days after witnessing a death-bed, or hearing of any crime. But -now Margaret noticed an absence of mind, as if his thoughts were -pre-occupied by some subject, the oppression of which could not -be relieved by any daily action, such as comforting the -survivors, or teaching at the school in hope of lessening the -evils in the generation to come. Mr. Hale did not go out among -his parishioners as much as usual; he was more shut up in his -study; was anxious for the village postman, whose summons to the -house-hold was a rap on the back-kitchen window-shutter--a signal -which at one time had often to be repeated before any one was -sufficiently alive to the hour of the day to understand what it -was, and attend to him. Now Mr. Hale loitered about the garden if -the morning was fine, and if not, stood dreamily by the study -window until the postman had called, or gone down the lane, -giving a half-respectful, half-confidential shake of the head to -the parson, who watched him away beyond the sweet-briar hedge, -and past the great arbutus, before he turned into the room to -begin his day's work, with all the signs of a heavy heart and an -occupied mind. - -But Margaret was at an age when any apprehension, not absolutely -based on a knowledge of facts, is easily banished for a time by a -bright sunny day, or some happy outward circumstance. And when -the brilliant fourteen fine days of October came on, her cares -were all blown away as lightly as thistledown, and she thought of -nothing but the glories of the forest. The fern-harvest was over, -and now that the rain was gone, many a deep glade was accessible, -into which Margaret had only peeped in July and August weather. -She had learnt drawing with Edith; and she had sufficiently -regretted, during the gloom of the bad weather, her idle -revelling in the beauty of the woodlands while it had yet been -fine, to make her determined to sketch what she could before -winter fairly set in. Accordingly, she was busy preparing her -board one morning, when Sarah, the housemaid, threw wide open the -drawing-room door and announced, 'Mr. Henry Lennox.' - - -CHAPTER III - - -'THE MORE HASTE THE WORSE SPEED' - -'Learn to win a lady's faith -Nobly, as the thing is high; -Bravely, as for life and death-- -With a loyal gravity. - -Lead her from the festive boards, -Point her to the starry skies, -Guard her, by your truthful words, -Pure from courtship's flatteries.' -MRS. BROWNING. - -'Mr. Henry Lennox.' Margaret had been thinking of him only a -moment before, and remembering his inquiry into her probable -occupations at home. It was 'parler du soleil et l'on en voit les -rayons;' and the brightness of the sun came over Margaret's face -as she put down her board, and went forward to shake hands with -him. 'Tell mamma, Sarah,' said she. 'Mamma and I want to ask you -so many questions about Edith; I am so much obliged to you for -coming.' - -'Did not I say that I should?' asked he, in a lower tone than -that in which she had spoken. - -'But I heard of you so far away in the Highlands that I never -thought Hampshire could come in. - -'Oh!' said he, more lightly, 'our young couple were playing such -foolish pranks, running all sorts of risks, climbing this -mountain, sailing on that lake, that I really thought they needed -a Mentor to take care of them. And indeed they did; they were -quite beyond my uncle's management, and kept the old gentleman in -a panic for sixteen hours out of the twenty-four. Indeed, when I -once saw how unfit they were to be trusted alone, I thought it my -duty not to leave them till I had seen them safely embarked at -Plymouth.' - -'Have you been at Plymouth? Oh! Edith never named that. To be -sure, she has written in such a hurry lately. Did they really -sail on Tuesday?' - -'Really sailed, and relieved me from many responsibilities. Edith -gave me all sorts of messages for you. I believe I have a little -diminutive note somewhere; yes, here it is.' - -'Oh! thank you,' exclaimed Margaret; and then, half wishing to -read it alone and unwatched, she made the excuse of going to tell -her mother again (Sarah surely had made some mistake) that Mr. -Lennox was there. - -When she had left the room, he began in his scrutinising way to -look about him. The little drawing-room was looking its best in -the streaming light of the morning sun. The middle window in the -bow was opened, and clustering roses and the scarlet honeysuckle -came peeping round the corner; the small lawn was gorgeous with -verbenas and geraniums of all bright colours. But the very -brightness outside made the colours within seem poor and faded. -The carpet was far from new; the chintz had been often washed; -the whole apartment was smaller and shabbier than he had -expected, as back-ground and frame-work for Margaret, herself so -queenly. He took up one of the books lying on the table; it was -the Paradiso of Dante, in the proper old Italian binding of white -vellum and gold; by it lay a dictionary, and some words copied -out in Margaret's hand-writing. They were a dull list of words, -but somehow he liked looking at them. He put them down with a -sigh. - -'The living is evidently as small as she said. It seems strange, -for the Beresfords belong to a good family.' - -Margaret meanwhile had found her mother. It was one of Mrs. -Hale's fitful days, when everything was a difficulty and a -hardship; and Mr. Lennox's appearance took this shape, although -secretly she felt complimented by his thinking it worth while to -call. - -'It is most unfortunate! We are dining early to-day, and having -nothing but cold meat, in order that the servants may get on with -their ironing; and yet, of course, we must ask him to -dinner--Edith's brother-in-law and all. And your papa is in such -low spirits this morning about something--I don't know what. I -went into the study just now, and he had his face on the table, -covering it with his hands. I told him I was sure Helstone air -did not agree with him any more than with me, and he suddenly -lifted up his head, and begged me not to speak a word more -against Helstone, he could not bear it; if there was one place he -loved on earth it was Helstone. But I am sure, for all that, it -is the damp and relaxing air.' - -Margaret felt as if a thin cold cloud had come between her and -the sun. She had listened patiently, in hopes that it might be -some relief to her mother to unburden herself; but now it was -time to draw her back to Mr. Lennox. - -'Papa likes Mr. Lennox; they got on together famously at the -wedding breakfast. I dare say his coming will do papa good. And -never mind the dinner, dear mamma. Cold meat will do capitally -for a lunch, which is the light in which Mr. Lennox will most -likely look upon a two o'clock dinner.' - -'But what are we to do with him till then? It is only half-past -ten now.' - -'I'll ask him to go out sketching with me. I know he draws, and -that will take him out of your way, mamma. Only do come in now; -he will think it so strange if you don't.' - -Mrs. Hale took off her black silk apron, and smoothed her face. -She looked a very pretty lady-like woman, as she greeted Mr. -Lennox with the cordiality due to one who was almost a relation. -He evidently expected to be asked to spend the day, and accepted -the invitation with a glad readiness that made Mrs. Hale wish she -could add something to the cold beef. He was pleased with -everything; delighted with Margaret's idea of going out sketching -together; would not have Mr. Hale disturbed for the world, with -the prospect of so soon meeting him at dinner. Margaret brought -out her drawing materials for him to choose from; and after the -paper and brushes had been duly selected, the two set out in the -merriest spirits in the world. - -'Now, please, just stop here for a minute or two, said Margaret. -'These are the cottages that haunted me so during the rainy -fortnight, reproaching me for not having sketched them.' - -'Before they tumbled down and were no more seen. Truly, if they -are to be sketched--and they are very picturesque--we had better -not put it off till next year. But where shall we sit?' - -'Oh! You might have come straight from chambers in the Temple,' -instead of having been two months in the Highlands! Look at this -beautiful trunk of a tree, which the wood-cutters have left just -in the right place for the light. I will put my plaid over it, -and it will be a regular forest throne.' - -'With your feet in that puddle for a regal footstool! Stay, I -will move, and then you can come nearer this way. Who lives in -these cottages?' - -'They were built by squatters fifty or sixty years ago. One is -uninhabited; the foresters are going to take it down, as soon as -the old man who lives in the other is dead, poor old fellow! -Look--there he is--I must go and speak to him. He is so deaf you -will hear all our secrets.' - -The old man stood bareheaded in the sun, leaning on his stick at -the front of his cottage. His stiff features relaxed into a slow -smile as Margaret went up and spoke to him. Mr. Lennox hastily -introduced the two figures into his sketch, and finished up the -landscape with a subordinate reference to them--as Margaret -perceived, when the time came for getting up, putting away water, -and scraps of paper, and exhibiting to each other their sketches. -She laughed and blushed Mr. Lennox watched her countenance. - -'Now, I call that treacherous,' said she. 'I little thought you -were making old Isaac and me into subjects, when you told me to -ask him the history of these cottages.' - -'It was irresistible. You can't know how strong a temptation it -was. I hardly dare tell you how much I shall like this sketch.' - -He was not quite sure whether she heard this latter sentence -before she went to the brook to wash her palette. She came back -rather flushed, but looking perfectly innocent and unconscious. -He was glad of it, for the speech had slipped from him -unawares--a rare thing in the case of a man who premeditated his -actions so much as Henry Lennox. - -The aspect of home was all right and bright when they reached it. -The clouds on her mother's brow had cleared off under the -propitious influence of a brace of carp, most opportunely -presented by a neighbour. Mr. Hale had returned from his -morning's round, and was awaiting his visitor just outside the -wicket gate that led into the garden. He looked a complete -gentleman in his rather threadbare coat and well-worn hat. - -Margaret was proud of her father; she had always a fresh and -tender pride in seeing how favourably he impressed every -stranger; still her quick eye sought over his face and found -there traces of some unusual disturbance, which was only put -aside, not cleared away. - -Mr. Hale asked to look at their sketches. - -'I think you have made the tints on the thatch too dark, have you -not?' as he returned Margaret's to her, and held out his hand for -Mr. Lennox's, which was withheld from him one moment, no more. - -'No, papa! I don't think I have. The house-leek and stone-crop -have grown so much darker in the rain. Is it not like, papa?' -said she, peeping over his shoulder, as he looked at the figures -in Mr. Lennox's drawing. - -'Yes, very like. Your figure and way of holding yourself is -capital. And it is just poor old Isaac's stiff way of stooping -his long rheumatic back. What is this hanging from the branch of -the tree? Not a bird's nest, surely.' - -'Oh no! that is my bonnet. I never can draw with my bonnet on; it -makes my head so hot. I wonder if I could manage figures. There -are so many people about here whom I should like to sketch.' - -'I should say that a likeness you very much wish to take you -would always succeed in,' said Mr. Lennox. 'I have great faith in -the power of will. I think myself I have succeeded pretty well in -yours.' Mr. Hale had preceded them into the house, while Margaret -was lingering to pluck some roses, with which to adorn her -morning gown for dinner. - -'A regular London girl would understand the implied meaning of -that speech,' thought Mr. Lennox. 'She would be up to looking -through every speech that a young man made her for the -arriere-pensee of a compliment. But I don't believe Margaret,--Stay!' -exclaimed he, 'Let me help you;' and he gathered for her some velvety -cramoisy roses that were above her reach, and then dividing the -spoil he placed two in his button-hole, and sent her in, pleased -and happy, to arrange her flowers. - -The conversation at dinner flowed on quietly and agreeably. There -were plenty of questions to be asked on both sides--the latest -intelligence which each could give of Mrs. Shaw's movements in -Italy to be exchanged; and in the interest of what was said, the -unpretending simplicity of the parsonage-ways--above all, in the -neighbourhood of Margaret, Mr. Lennox forgot the little feeling -of disappointment with which he had at first perceived that she -had spoken but the simple truth when she had described her -father's living as very small. - -'Margaret, my child, you might have gathered us some pears for -our dessert,' said Mr. Hale, as the hospitable luxury of a -freshly-decanted bottle of wine was placed on the table. - -Mrs. Hale was hurried. It seemed as if desserts were impromptu -and unusual things at the parsonage; whereas, if Mr. Hale would -only have looked behind him, he would have seen biscuits and -marmalade, and what not, all arranged in formal order on the -sideboard. But the idea of pears had taken possession of Mr. -Hale's mind, and was not to be got rid of. - -'There are a few brown beurres against the south wall which are -worth all foreign fruits and preserves. Run, Margaret, and gather -us some.' - -'I propose that we adjourn into the garden, and eat them there' -said Mr. Lennox. - -'Nothing is so delicious as to set one's teeth into the crisp, -juicy fruit, warm and scented by the sun. The worst is, the wasps -are impudent enough to dispute it with one, even at the very -crisis and summit of enjoyment. - -He rose, as if to follow Margaret, who had disappeared through -the window he only awaited Mrs. Hale's permission. She would -rather have wound up the dinner in the proper way, and with all -the ceremonies which had gone on so smoothly hitherto, especially -as she and Dixon had got out the finger-glasses from the -store-room on purpose to be as correct as became General Shaw's -widow's sister, but as Mr. Hale got up directly, and prepared to -accompany his guest, she could only submit. - -'I shall arm myself with a knife,' said Mr. Hale: 'the days of -eating fruit so primitively as you describe are over with me. I -must pare it and quarter it before I can enjoy it.' - -Margaret made a plate for the pears out of a beetroot leaf, which -threw up their brown gold colour admirably. Mr. Lennox looked -more at her than at the pears; but her father, inclined to cull -fastidiously the very zest and perfection of the hour he had -stolen from his anxiety, chose daintily the ripest fruit, and sat -down on the garden bench to enjoy it at his leisure. Margaret and -Mr. Lennox strolled along the little terrace-walk under the south -wall, where the bees still hummed and worked busily in their -hives. - -'What a perfect life you seem to live here! I have always felt -rather contemptuously towards the poets before, with their -wishes, "Mine be a cot beside a hill," and that sort of thing: -but now I am afraid that the truth is, I have been nothing better -than a cockney. Just now I feel as if twenty years' hard study of -law would be amply rewarded by one year of such an exquisite -serene life as this--such skies!' looking up--'such crimson and -amber foliage, so perfectly motionless as that!' pointing to some -of the great forest trees which shut in the garden as if it were -a nest. - -'You must please to remember that our skies are not always as -deep a blue as they are now. We have rain, and our leaves do -fall, and get sodden: though I think Helstone is about as perfect -a place as any in the world. Recollect how you rather scorned my -description of it one evening in Harley Street: "a village in a -tale."' - -'Scorned, Margaret That is rather a hard word.' - -'Perhaps it is. Only I know I should have liked to have talked to -you of what I was very full at the time, and you--what must I -call it, then?--spoke disrespectfully of Helstone as a mere -village in a tale.' - -'I will never do so again,' said he, warmly. They turned the -corner of the walk. - -'I could almost wish, Margaret----' he stopped and hesitated. It -was so unusual for the fluent lawyer to hesitate that Margaret -looked up at him, in a little state of questioning wonder; but in -an instant--from what about him she could not tell--she wished -herself back with her mother--her father--anywhere away from him, -for she was sure he was going to say something to which she -should not know what to reply. In another moment the strong pride -that was in her came to conquer her sudden agitation, which she -hoped he had not perceived. Of course she could answer, and -answer the right thing; and it was poor and despicable of her to -shrink from hearing any speech, as if she had not power to put an -end to it with her high maidenly dignity. - -'Margaret,' said he, taking her by surprise, and getting sudden -possession of her hand, so that she was forced to stand still and -listen, despising herself for the fluttering at her heart all the -time; 'Margaret, I wish you did not like Helstone so much--did -not seem so perfectly calm and happy here. I have been hoping for -these three months past to find you regretting London--and London -friends, a little--enough to make you listen more kindly' (for -she was quietly, but firmly, striving to extricate her hand from -his grasp) 'to one who has not much to offer, it is true--nothing -but prospects in the future--but who does love you, Margaret, -almost in spite of himself. Margaret, have I startled you too -much? Speak!' For he saw her lips quivering almost as if she were -going to cry. She made a strong effort to be calm; she would not -speak till she had succeeded in mastering her voice, and then she -said: - -'I was startled. I did not know that you cared for me in that -way. I have always thought of you as a friend; and, please, I -would rather go on thinking of you so. I don't like to be spoken -to as you have been doing. I cannot answer you as you want me to -do, and yet I should feel so sorry if I vexed you.' - -'Margaret,' said he, looking into her eyes, which met his with -their open, straight look, expressive of the utmost good faith -and reluctance to give pain. - -'Do you'--he was going to say--'love any one else?' But it seemed -as if this question would be an insult to the pure serenity of -those eyes. 'Forgive me I have been too abrupt. I am punished. -Only let me hope. Give me the poor comfort of telling me you have -never seen any one whom you could----' Again a pause. He could -not end his sentence. Margaret reproached herself acutely as the -cause of his distress. - -'Ah! if you had but never got this fancy into your head! It was -such a pleasure to think of you as a friend.' - -'But I may hope, may I not, Margaret, that some time you will -think of me as a lover? Not yet, I see--there is no hurry--but -some time----' She was silent for a minute or two, trying to -discover the truth as it was in her own heart, before replying; -then she said: - -'I have never thought of--you, but as a friend. I like to think -of you so; but I am sure I could never think of you as anything -else. Pray, let us both forget that all this' ('disagreeable,' -she was going to say, but stopped short) 'conversation has taken -place.' - -He paused before he replied. Then, in his habitual coldness of -tone, he answered: - -'Of course, as your feelings are so decided, and as this -conversation has been so evidently unpleasant to you, it had -better not be remembered. That is all very fine in theory, that -plan of forgetting whatever is painful, but it will be somewhat -difficult for me, at least, to carry it into execution.' - -'You are vexed,' said she, sadly; 'yet how can I help it?' - -She looked so truly grieved as she said this, that he struggled -for a moment with his real disappointment, and then answered more -cheerfully, but still with a little hardness in his tone: - -'You should make allowances for the mortification, not only of a -lover, Margaret, but of a man not given to romance in -general--prudent, worldly, as some people call me--who has been -carried out of his usual habits by the force of a passion--well, -we will say no more of that; but in the one outlet which he has -formed for the deeper and better feelings of his nature, he meets -with rejection and repulse. I shall have to console myself with -scorning my own folly. A struggling barrister to think of -matrimony!' - -Margaret could not answer this. The whole tone of it annoyed her. -It seemed to touch on and call out all the points of difference -which had often repelled her in him; while yet he was the -pleasantest man, the most sympathising friend, the person of all -others who understood her best in Harley Street. She felt a tinge -of contempt mingle itself with her pain at having refused him. -Her beautiful lip curled in a slight disdain. It was well that, -having made the round of the garden, they came suddenly upon Mr. -Hale, whose whereabouts had been quite forgotten by them. He had -not yet finished the pear, which he had delicately peeled in one -long strip of silver-paper thinness, and which he was enjoying in -a deliberate manner. It was like the story of the eastern king, -who dipped his head into a basin of water, at the magician's -command, and ere he instantly took it out went through the -experience of a lifetime. I Margaret felt stunned, and unable to -recover her self-possession enough to join in the trivial -conversation that ensued between her father and Mr. Lennox. She -was grave, and little disposed to speak; full of wonder when Mr. -Lennox would go, and allow her to relax into thought on the -events of the last quarter of an hour. He was almost as anxious -to take his departure as she was for him to leave; but a few -minutes light and careless talking, carried on at whatever -effort, was a sacrifice which he owed to his mortified vanity, or -his self-respect. He glanced from time to time at her sad and -pensive face. - -'I am not so indifferent to her as she believes,' thought he to -himself. 'I do not give up hope.' - -Before a quarter of an hour was over, he had fallen into a way of -conversing with quiet sarcasm; speaking of life in London and -life in the country, as if he were conscious of his second -mocking self, and afraid of his own satire. Mr. Hale was puzzled. -His visitor was a different man to what he had seen him before at -the wedding-breakfast, and at dinner to-day; a lighter, cleverer, -more worldly man, and, as such, dissonant to Mr. Hale. It was a -relief to all three when Mr. Lennox said that he must go directly -if he meant to catch the five o'clock train. They proceeded to -the house to find Mrs. Hale, and wish her good-bye. At the last -moment, Henry Lennox's real self broke through the crust. - -'Margaret, don't despise me; I have a heart, notwithstanding all -this good-for-nothing way of talking. As a proof of it, I believe -I love you more than ever--if I do not hate you--for the disdain -with which you have listened to me during this last half-hour. -Good-bye, Margaret--Margaret!' - - -CHAPTER IV - - -DOUBTS AND DIFFICULTIES - -'Cast me upon some naked shore, -Where I may tracke -Only the print of some sad wracke, -If thou be there, though the seas roare, -I shall no gentler calm implore.' -HABINGTON. - - -He was gone. The house was shut up for the evening. No more deep -blue skies or crimson and amber tints. Margaret went up to dress -for the early tea, finding Dixon in a pretty temper from the -interruption which a visitor had naturally occasioned on a busy -day. She showed it by brushing away viciously at Margaret's hair, -under pretence of being in a great hurry to go to Mrs. Hale. Yet, -after all, Margaret had to wait a long time in the drawing-room -before her mother came down. She sat by herself at the fire, with -unlighted candles on the table behind her, thinking over the day, -the happy walk, happy sketching, cheerful pleasant dinner, and -the uncomfortable, miserable walk in the garden. - -How different men were to women! Here was she disturbed and -unhappy, because her instinct had made anything but a refusal -impossible; while he, not many minutes after he had met with a -rejection of what ought to have been the deepest, holiest -proposal of his life, could speak as if briefs, success, and all -its superficial consequences of a good house, clever and -agreeable society, were the sole avowed objects of his desires. -Oh dear! how she could have loved him if he had but been -different, with a difference which she felt, on reflection, to be -one that went low--deep down. Then she took it into her head -that, after all, his lightness might be but assumed, to cover a -bitterness of disappointment which would have been stamped on her -own heart if she had loved and been rejected. - -Her mother came into the room before this whirl of thoughts was -adjusted into anything like order. Margaret had to shake off the -recollections of what had been done and said through the day, and -turn a sympathising listener to the account of how Dixon had -complained that the ironing-blanket had been burnt again; and how -Susan Lightfoot had been seen with artificial flowers in her -bonnet, thereby giving evidence of a vain and giddy character. -Mr. Hale sipped his tea in abstracted silence; Margaret had the -responses all to herself. She wondered how her father and mother -could be so forgetful, so regardless of their companion through -the day, as never to mention his name. She forgot that he had not -made them an offer. - -After tea Mr. Hale got up, and stood with his elbow on the -chimney-piece, leaning his head on his hand, musing over -something, and from time to time sighing deeply. Mrs. Hale went -out to consult with Dixon about some winter clothing for the -poor. Margaret was preparing her mother's worsted work, and -rather shrinking from the thought of the long evening, and -wishing bed-time were come that she might go over the events of -the day again. - -'Margaret!' said Mr. Hale, at last, in a sort of sudden desperate -way, that made her start. 'Is that tapestry thing of immediate -consequence? I mean, can you leave it and come into my study? I -want to speak to you about something very serious to us all.' - -'Very serious to us all.' Mr. Lennox had never had the -opportunity of having any private conversation with her father -after her refusal, or else that would indeed be a very serious -affair. In the first place, Margaret felt guilty and ashamed of -having grown so much into a woman as to be thought of in -marriage; and secondly, she did not know if her father might not -be displeased that she had taken upon herself to decline Mr. -Lennox's proposal. But she soon felt it was not about anything, -which having only lately and suddenly occurred, could have given -rise to any complicated thoughts, that her father wished to speak -to her. He made her take a chair by him; he stirred the fire, -snuffed the candles, and sighed once or twice before he could -make up his mind to say--and it came out with a jerk after -all--'Margaret! I am going to leave Helstone.' - -'Leave Helstone, papa! But why?' - -Mr. Hale did not answer for a minute or two. He played with some -papers on the table in a nervous and confused manner, opening his -lips to speak several times, but closing them again without -having the courage to utter a word. Margaret could not bear the -sight of the suspense, which was even more distressing to her -father than to herself. - -'But why, dear papa? Do tell me!' - -He looked up at her suddenly, and then said with a slow and -enforced calmness: - -'Because I must no longer be a minister in the Church of -England.' - -Margaret had imagined nothing less than that some of the -preferments which her mother so much desired had befallen her -father at last--something that would force him to leave -beautiful, beloved Helstone, and perhaps compel him to go and -live in some of the stately and silent Closes which Margaret had -seen from time to time in cathedral towns. They were grand and -imposing places, but if, to go there, it was necessary to leave -Helstone as a home for ever, that would have been a sad, long, -lingering pain. But nothing to the shock she received from Mr. -Hale's last speech. What could he mean? It was all the worse for -being so mysterious. The aspect of piteous distress on his face, -almost as imploring a merciful and kind judgment from his child, -gave her a sudden sickening. Could he have become implicated in -anything Frederick had done? Frederick was an outlaw. Had her -father, out of a natural love for his son, connived at any-- - -'Oh! what is it? do speak, papa! tell me all! Why can you no -longer be a clergyman? Surely, if the bishop were told all we -know about Frederick, and the hard, unjust--' - -'It is nothing about Frederick; the bishop would have nothing to -do with that. It is all myself. Margaret, I will tell you about -it. I will answer any questions this once, but after to-night let -us never speak of it again. I can meet the consequences of my -painful, miserable doubts; but it is an effort beyond me to speak -of what has caused me so much suffering.' - -'Doubts, papa! Doubts as to religion?' asked Margaret, more -shocked than ever. - -'No! not doubts as to religion; not the slightest injury to -that.' He paused. Margaret sighed, as if standing on the verge of -some new horror. He began again, speaking rapidly, as if to get -over a set task: - -'You could not understand it all, if I told you--my anxiety, for -years past, to know whether I had any right to hold my living--my -efforts to quench my smouldering doubts by the authority of the -Church. Oh! Margaret, how I love the holy Church from which I am -to be shut out!' He could not go on for a moment or two. Margaret -could not tell what to say; it seemed to her as terribly -mysterious as if her father were about to turn Mahometan. - -'I have been reading to-day of the two thousand who were ejected -from their churches,'--continued Mr. Hale, smiling -faintly,--'trying to steal some of their bravery; but it is of no -use--no use--I cannot help feeling it acutely.' - -'But, papa, have you well considered? Oh! it seems so terrible, -so shocking,' said Margaret, suddenly bursting into tears. The -one staid foundation of her home, of her idea of her beloved -father, seemed reeling and rocking. What could she say? What was -to be done? The sight of her distress made Mr. Hale nerve -himself, in order to try and comfort her. He swallowed down the -dry choking sobs which had been heaving up from his heart -hitherto, and going to his bookcase he took down a volume, which -he had often been reading lately, and from which he thought he -had derived strength to enter upon the course in which he was now -embarked. - -'Listen, dear Margaret,' said he, putting one arm round her -waist. She took his hand in hers and grasped it tight, but she -could not lift up her head; nor indeed could she attend to what -he read, so great was her internal agitation. - -'This is the soliloquy of one who was once a clergyman in a -country parish, like me; it was written by a Mr. Oldfield, -minister of Carsington, in Derbyshire, a hundred and sixty years -ago, or more. His trials are over. He fought the good fight.' -These last two sentences he spoke low, as if to himself. Then he -read aloud,-- - -'When thou canst no longer continue in thy work without dishonour -to God, discredit to religion, foregoing thy integrity, wounding -conscience, spoiling thy peace, and hazarding the loss of thy -salvation; in a word, when the conditions upon which thou must -continue (if thou wilt continue) in thy employments are sinful, -and unwarranted by the word of God, thou mayest, yea, thou must -believe that God will turn thy very silence, suspension, -deprivation, and laying aside, to His glory, and the advancement -of the Gospel's interest. When God will not use thee in one kind, -yet He will in another. A soul that desires to serve and honour -Him shall never want opportunity to do it; nor must thou so limit -the Holy One of Israel as to think He hath but one way in which -He can glorify Himself by thee. He can do it by thy silence as -well as by thy preaching; thy laying aside as well as thy -continuance in thy work. It is not pretence of doing God the -greatest service, or performing the weightiest duty, that will -excuse the least sin, though that sin capacitated or gave us the -opportunity for doing that duty. Thou wilt have little thanks, O -my soul! if, when thou art charged with corrupting God's worship, -falsifying thy vows, thou pretendest a necessity for it in order -to a continuance in the ministry. As he read this, and glanced at -much more which he did not read, he gained resolution for -himself, and felt as if he too could be brave and firm in doing -what he believed to be right; but as he ceased he heard -Margaret's low convulsive sob; and his courage sank down under -the keen sense of suffering. - -'Margaret, dear!' said he, drawing her closer, 'think of the -early martyrs; think of the thousands who have suffered.' - -'But, father,' said she, suddenly lifting up her flushed, -tear-wet face, 'the early martyrs suffered for the truth, while -you--oh! dear, dear papa!' - -'I suffer for conscience' sake, my child,' said he, with a -dignity that was only tremulous from the acute sensitiveness of -his character; 'I must do what my conscience bids. I have borne -long with self-reproach that would have roused any mind less -torpid and cowardly than mine.' He shook his head as he went on. -'Your poor mother's fond wish, gratified at last in the mocking -way in which over-fond wishes are too often fulfilled--Sodom -apples as they are--has brought on this crisis, for which I ought -to be, and I hope I am thankful. It is not a month since the -bishop offered me another living; if I had accepted it, I should -have had to make a fresh declaration of conformity to the Liturgy -at my institution. Margaret, I tried to do it; I tried to content -myself with simply refusing the additional preferment, and -stopping quietly here,--strangling my conscience now, as I had -strained it before. God forgive me!' - -He rose and walked up and down the room, speaking low words of -self-reproach and humiliation, of which Margaret was thankful to -hear but few. At last he said, - -'Margaret, I return to the old sad burden we must leave -Helstone.' - -'Yes! I see. But when?' - -'I have written to the bishop--I dare say I have told you so, but -I forget things just now,' said Mr. Hale, collapsing into his -depressed manner as soon as he came to talk of hard -matter-of-fact details, 'informing him of my intention to resign -this vicarage. He has been most kind; he has used arguments and -expostulations, all in vain--in vain. They are but what I have -tried upon myself, without avail. I shall have to take my deed of -resignation, and wait upon the bishop myself, to bid him -farewell. That will be a trial, but worse, far worse, will be the -parting from my dear people. There is a curate appointed to read -prayers--a Mr. Brown. He will come to stay with us to-morrow. -Next Sunday I preach my farewell sermon.' - -Was it to be so sudden then? thought Margaret; and yet perhaps it -was as well. Lingering would only add stings to the pain; it was -better to be stunned into numbness by hearing of all these -arrangements, which seemed to be nearly completed before she had -been told. 'What does mamma say?' asked she, with a deep sigh. - -To her surprise, her father began to walk about again before he -answered. At length he stopped and replied: - -'Margaret, I am a poor coward after all. I cannot bear to give -pain. I know so well your mother's married life has not been all -she hoped--all she had a right to expect--and this will be such a -blow to her, that I have never had the heart, the power to tell -her. She must be told though, now,' said he, looking wistfully at -his daughter. Margaret was almost overpowered with the idea that -her mother knew nothing of it all, and yet the affair was so far -advanced! - -'Yes, indeed she must,' said Margaret. 'Perhaps, after all, she -may not--Oh yes! she will, she must be shocked'--as the force of -the blow returned upon herself in trying to realise how another -would take it. 'Where are we to go to?' said she at last, struck -with a fresh wonder as to their future plans, if plans indeed her -father had. - -'To Milton-Northern,' he answered, with a dull indifference, for -he had perceived that, although his daughter's love had made her -cling to him, and for a moment strive to soothe him with her -love, yet the keenness of the pain was as fresh as ever in her -mind. - -'Milton-Northern! The manufacturing town in Darkshire?' - -'Yes,' said he, in the same despondent, indifferent way. - -'Why there, papa?' asked she. - -'Because there I can earn bread for my family. Because I know no -one there, and no one knows Helstone, or can ever talk to me -about it.' - -'Bread for your family! I thought you and mamma had'--and then -she stopped, checking her natural interest regarding their future -life, as she saw the gathering gloom on her father's brow. But -he, with his quick intuitive sympathy, read in her face, as in a -mirror, the reflections of his own moody depression, and turned -it off with an effort. - -'You shall be told all, Margaret. Only help me to tell your -mother. I think I could do anything but that: the idea of her -distress turns me sick with dread. If I tell you all, perhaps you -could break it to her to-morrow. I am going out for the day, to -bid Farmer Dobson and the poor people on Bracy Common good-bye. -Would you dislike breaking it to her very much, Margaret?' - -Margaret did dislike it, did shrink from it more than from -anything she had ever had to do in her life before. She could not -speak, all at once. Her father said, 'You dislike it very much, -don't you, Margaret?' Then she conquered herself, and said, with -a bright strong look on her face: - -'It is a painful thing, but it must be done, and I will do it as -well as ever I can. You must have many painful things to do.' - -Mr. Hale shook his head despondingly: he pressed her hand in -token of gratitude. Margaret was nearly upset again into a burst -of crying. To turn her thoughts, she said: 'Now tell me, papa, -what our plans are. You and mamma have some money, independent of -the income from the living, have not you? Aunt Shaw has, I know.' - -'Yes. I suppose we have about a hundred and seventy pounds a year -of our own. Seventy of that has always gone to Frederick, since -he has been abroad. I don't know if he wants it all,' he -continued in a hesitating manner. 'He must have some pay for -serving with the Spanish army.' - -'Frederick must not suffer,' said Margaret, decidedly; 'in a -foreign country; so unjustly treated by his own. A hundred is -left Could not you, and I, and mamma live on a hundred a year in -some very cheap--very quiet part of England? Oh! I think we -could.' - -'No!' said Mr. Hale. 'That would not answer. I must do something. -I must make myself busy, to keep off morbid thoughts. Besides, in -a country parish I should be so painfully reminded of Helstone, -and my duties here. I could not bear it, Margaret. And a hundred -a year would go a very little way, after the necessary wants of -housekeeping are met, towards providing your mother with all the -comforts she has been accustomed to, and ought to have. No: we -must go to Milton. That is settled. I can always decide better by -myself, and not influenced by those whom I love,' said he, as a -half apology for having arranged so much before he had told any -one of his family of his intentions. 'I cannot stand objections. -They make me so undecided.' - -Margaret resolved to keep silence. After all, what did it signify -where they went, compared to the one terrible change? - -Mr. Hale continued: 'A few months ago, when my misery of doubt -became more than I could bear without speaking, I wrote to Mr. -Bell--you remember Mr. Bell, Margaret?' - -'No; I never saw him, I think. But I know who he is. Frederick's -godfather--your old tutor at Oxford, don't you mean?' - -'Yes. He is a Fellow of Plymouth College there. He is a native of -Milton-Northern, I believe. At any rate, he has property there, -which has very much increased in value since Milton has become -such a large manufacturing town. Well, I had reason to -suspect--to imagine--I had better say nothing about it, however. -But I felt sure of sympathy from Mr. Bell. I don't know that he -gave me much strength. He has lived an easy life in his college -all his days. But he has been as kind as can be. And it is owing -to him we are going to Milton.' - -'How?' said Margaret. - -'Why he has tenants, and houses, and mills there; so, though he -dislikes the place--too bustling for one of his habits--he is -obliged to keep up some sort of connection; and he tells me that -he hears there is a good opening for a private tutor there.' - -'A private tutor!' said Margaret, looking scornful: 'What in the -world do manufacturers want with the classics, or literature, or -the accomplishments of a gentleman?' - -'Oh,' said her father, 'some of them really seem to be fine -fellows, conscious of their own deficiencies, which is more than -many a man at Oxford is. Some want resolutely to learn, though -they have come to man's estate. Some want their children to be -better instructed than they themselves have been. At any rate, -there is an opening, as I have said, for a private tutor. Mr. -Bell has recommended me to a Mr. Thornton, a tenant of his, and a -very intelligent man, as far as I can judge from his letters. And -in Milton, Margaret, I shall find a busy life, if not a happy -one, and people and scenes so different that I shall never be -reminded of Helstone.' - -There was the secret motive, as Margaret knew from her own -feelings. It would be different. Discordant as it was--with -almost a detestation for all she had ever heard of the North of -England, the manufacturers, the people, the wild and bleak -country--there was this one recommendation--it would be different -from Helstone, and could never remind them of that beloved place. - -'When do we go?' asked Margaret, after a short silence. - -'I do not know exactly. I wanted to talk it over with you. You -see, your mother knows nothing about it yet: but I think, in a -fortnight;--after my deed of resignation is sent in, I shall have -no right to remain. - -Margaret was almost stunned. - -'In a fortnight!' - -'No--no, not exactly to a day. Nothing is fixed,' said her -father, with anxious hesitation, as he noticed the filmy sorrow -that came over her eyes, and the sudden change in her complexion. -But she recovered herself immediately. - -'Yes, papa, it had better be fixed soon and decidedly, as you -say. Only mamma to know nothing about it! It is that that is the -great perplexity.' - -'Poor Maria!' replied Mr. Hale, tenderly. 'Poor, poor Maria! Oh, -if I were not married--if I were but myself in the world, how -easy it would be! As it is--Margaret, I dare not tell her!' - -'No,' said Margaret, sadly, 'I will do it. Give me till to-morrow -evening to choose my time Oh, papa,' cried she, with sudden -passionate entreaty, 'say--tell me it is a night-mare--a horrid -dream--not the real waking truth! You cannot mean that you are -really going to leave the Church--to give up Helstone--to be for -ever separate from me, from mamma--led away by some -delusion--some temptation! You do not really mean it!' - -Mr. Hale sat in rigid stillness while she spoke. - -Then he looked her in the face, and said in a slow, hoarse, -measured way--'I do mean it, Margaret. You must not deceive -yourself into doubting the reality of my words--my fixed -intention and resolve.' He looked at her in the same steady, -stony manner, for some moments after he had done speaking. She, -too, gazed back with pleading eyes before she would believe that -it was irrevocable. Then she arose and went, without another word -or look, towards the door. As her fingers were on the handle he -called her back. He was standing by the fireplace, shrunk and -stooping; but as she came near he drew himself up to his full -height, and, placing his hands on her head, he said, solemnly: - -'The blessing of God be upon thee, my child!' - -'And may He restore you to His Church,' responded she, out of the -fulness of her heart. The next moment she feared lest this answer -to his blessing might be irreverent, wrong--might hurt him as -coming from his daughter, and she threw her arms round his neck. -He held her to him for a minute or two. She heard him murmur to -himself, 'The martyrs and confessors had even more pain to -bear--I will not shrink.' - -They were startled by hearing Mrs. Hale inquiring for her -daughter. They started asunder in the full consciousness of all -that was before them. Mr. Hale hurriedly said--'Go, Margaret, go. -I shall be out all to-morrow. Before night you will have told -your mother.' - -'Yes,' she replied, and she returned to the drawing-room in a -stunned and dizzy state. - - -CHAPTER V - - -DECISION - -'I ask Thee for a thoughtful love, -Through constant watching wise, -To meet the glad with joyful smiles, -And to wipe the weeping eyes; -And a heart at leisure from itself -To soothe and sympathise.' -ANON. - - -Margaret made a good listener to all her mother's little plans -for adding some small comforts to the lot of the poorer -parishioners. She could not help listening, though each new -project was a stab to her heart. By the time the frost had set -in, they should be far away from Helstone. Old Simon's rheumatism -might be bad and his eyesight worse; there would be no one to go -and read to him, and comfort him with little porringers of broth -and good red flannel: or if there was, it would be a stranger, -and the old man would watch in vain for her. Mary Domville's -little crippled boy would crawl in vain to the door and look for -her coming through the forest. These poor friends would never -understand why she had forsaken them; and there were many others -besides. 'Papa has always spent the income he derived from his -living in the parish. I am, perhaps, encroaching upon the next -dues, but the winter is likely to be severe, and our poor old -people must be helped.' - -'Oh, mamma, let us do all we can,' said Margaret eagerly, not -seeing the prudential side of the question, only grasping at the -idea that they were rendering such help for the last time; 'we -may not be here long.' - -'Do you feel ill, my darling?' asked Mrs. Hale, anxiously, -misunderstanding Margaret's hint of the uncertainty of their stay -at Helstone. 'You look pale and tired. It is this soft, damp, -unhealthy air.' - -'No--no, mamma, it is not that: it is delicious air. It smells of -the freshest, purest fragrance, after the smokiness of Harley -Street. But I am tired: it surely must be near bedtime.' - -'Not far off--it is half-past nine. You had better go to bed at -dear. Ask Dixon for some gruel. I will come and see you as soon -as you are in bed. I am afraid you have taken cold; or the bad -air from some of the stagnant ponds--' - -'Oh, mamma,' said Margaret, faintly smiling as she kissed her -mother, 'I am quite well--don't alarm yourself about me; I am -only tired.' - -Margaret went upstairs. To soothe her mother's anxiety she -submitted to a basin of gruel. She was lying languidly in bed -when Mrs. Hale came up to make some last inquiries and kiss her -before going to her own room for the night. But the instant she -heard her mother's door locked, she sprang out of bed, and -throwing her dressing-gown on, she began to pace up and down the -room, until the creaking of one of the boards reminded her that -she must make no noise. She went and curled herself up on the -window-seat in the small, deeply-recessed window. That morning -when she had looked out, her heart had danced at seeing the -bright clear lights on the church tower, which foretold a fine -and sunny day. This evening--sixteen hours at most had past -by--she sat down, too full of sorrow to cry, but with a dull cold -pain, which seemed to have pressed the youth and buoyancy out of -her heart, never to return. Mr. Henry Lennox's visit--his -offer--was like a dream, a thing beside her actual life. The hard -reality was, that her father had so admitted tempting doubts into -his mind as to become a schismatic--an outcast; all the changes -consequent upon this grouped themselves around that one great -blighting fact. - -She looked out upon the dark-gray lines of the church tower, -square and straight in the centre of the view, cutting against -the deep blue transparent depths beyond, into which she gazed, -and felt that she might gaze for ever, seeing at every moment -some farther distance, and yet no sign of God! It seemed to her -at the moment, as if the earth was more utterly desolate than if -girt in by an iron dome, behind which there might be the -ineffaceable peace and glory of the Almighty: those never-ending -depths of space, in their still serenity, were more mocking to -her than any material bounds could be--shutting in the cries of -earth's sufferers, which now might ascend into that infinite -splendour of vastness and be lost--lost for ever, before they -reached His throne. In this mood her father came in unheard. The -moonlight was strong enough to let him see his daughter in her -unusual place and attitude. He came to her and touched her -shoulder before she was aware that he was there. - -'Margaret, I heard you were up. I could not help coming in to ask -you to pray with me--to say the Lord's Prayer; that will do good -to both of us.' - -Mr. Hale and Margaret knelt by the window-seat--he looking up, -she bowed down in humble shame. God was there, close around them, -hearing her father's whispered words. Her father might be a -heretic; but had not she, in her despairing doubts not five -minutes before, shown herself a far more utter sceptic? She spoke -not a word, but stole to bed after her father had left her, like -a child ashamed of its fault. If the world was full of perplexing -problems she would trust, and only ask to see the one step -needful for the hour. Mr. Lennox--his visit, his proposal--the -remembrance of which had been so rudely pushed aside by the -subsequent events of the day--haunted her dreams that night. He -was climbing up some tree of fabulous height to reach the branch -whereon was slung her bonnet: he was falling, and she was -struggling to save him, but held back by some invisible powerful -hand. He was dead. And yet, with a shifting of the scene, she was -once more in the Harley Street drawing-room, talking to him as of -old, and still with a consciousness all the time that she had -seen him killed by that terrible fall. - -Miserable, unresting night! Ill preparation for the coming day! -She awoke with a start, unrefreshed, and conscious of some -reality worse even than her feverish dreams. It all came back -upon her; not merely the sorrow, but the terrible discord in the -sorrow. Where, to what distance apart, had her father wandered, -led by doubts which were to her temptations of the Evil One? She -longed to ask, and yet would not have heard for all the world. - -The fine Crisp morning made her mother feel particularly well and -happy at breakfast-time. She talked on, planning village -kindnesses, unheeding the silence of her husband and the -monosyllabic answers of Margaret. Before the things were cleared -away, Mr. Hale got up; he leaned one hand on the table, as if to -support himself: - -'I shall not be at home till evening. I am going to Bracy Common, -and will ask Farmer Dobson to give me something for dinner. I -shall be back to tea at seven.' He did not look at either of -them, but Margaret knew what he meant. By seven the announcement -must be made to her mother. Mr. Hale would have delayed making it -till half-past six, but Margaret was of different stuff. She -could not bear the impending weight on her mind all the day long: -better get the worst over; the day would be too short to comfort -her mother. But while she stood by the window, thinking how to -begin, and waiting for the servant to have left the room, her -mother had gone up-stairs to put on her things to go to the -school. She came down ready equipped, in a brisker mood than -usual. - -'Mother, come round the garden with me this morning; just one -turn,' said Margaret, putting her arm round Mrs. Hale's waist. - -They passed through the open window. Mrs. Hale spoke--said -something--Margaret could not tell what. Her eye caught on a bee -entering a deep-belled flower: when that bee flew forth with his -spoil she would begin--that should be the sign. Out he came. - -'Mamma! Papa is going to leave Helstone!' she blurted forth. -'He's going to leave the Church, and live in Milton-Northern.' -There were the three hard facts hardly spoken. - -'What makes you say so?' asked Mrs. Hale, in a surprised -incredulous voice. 'Who has been telling you such nonsense?' - -'Papa himself,' said Margaret, longing to say something gentle -and consoling, but literally not knowing how. They were close to -a garden-bench. Mrs. Hale sat down, and began to cry. - -'I don't understand you,' she said. 'Either you have made some -great mistake, or I don't quite understand you.' - -'No, mother, I have made no mistake. Papa has written to the -bishop, saying that he has such doubts that he cannot -conscientiously remain a priest of the Church of England, and -that he must give up Helstone. He has also consulted Mr. -Bell--Frederick's godfather, you know, mamma; and it is arranged -that we go to live in Milton-Northern.' Mrs. Hale looked up in -Margaret's face all the time she was speaking these words: the -shadow on her countenance told that she, at least, believed in -the truth of what she said. - -'I don't think it can be true,' said Mrs. Hale, at length. 'He -would surely have told me before it came to this.' - -It came strongly upon Margaret's mind that her mother ought to -have been told: that whatever her faults of discontent and -repining might have been, it was an error in her father to have -left her to learn his change of opinion, and his approaching -change of life, from her better-informed child. Margaret sat down -by her mother, and took her unresisting head on her breast, -bending her own soft cheeks down caressingly to touch her face. - -'Dear, darling mamma! we were so afraid of giving you pain. Papa -felt so acutely--you know you are not strong, and there must have -been such terrible suspense to go through.' - -'When did he tell you, Margaret?' - -'Yesterday, only yesterday,' replied Margaret, detecting the -jealousy which prompted the inquiry. 'Poor papa!'--trying to -divert her mother's thoughts into compassionate sympathy for all -her father had gone through. Mrs. Hale raised her head. - -'What does he mean by having doubts?' she asked. 'Surely, he does -not mean that he thinks differently--that he knows better than -the Church.' Margaret shook her head, and the tears came into her -eyes, as her mother touched the bare nerve of her own regret. - -'Can't the bishop set him right?' asked Mrs. Hale, half -impatiently. - -'I'm afraid not,' said Margaret. 'But I did not ask. I could not -bear to hear what he might answer. It is all settled at any rate. -He is going to leave Helstone in a fortnight. I am not sure if he -did not say he had sent in his deed of resignation.' - -'In a fortnight!' exclaimed Mrs. Hale, 'I do think this is very -strange--not at all right. I call it very unfeeling,' said she, -beginning to take relief in tears. 'He has doubts, you say, and -gives up his living, and all without consulting me. I dare say, -if he had told me his doubts at the first I could have nipped -them in the bud.' - -Mistaken as Margaret felt her father's conduct to have been, she -could not bear to hear it blamed by her mother. She knew that his -very reserve had originated in a tenderness for her, which might -be cowardly, but was not unfeeling. - -'I almost hoped you might have been glad to leave Helstone, -mamma,' said she, after a pause. 'You have never been well in -this air, you know.' - -'You can't think the smoky air of a manufacturing town, all -chimneys and dirt like Milton-Northern, would be better than this -air, which is pure and sweet, if it is too soft and relaxing. -Fancy living in the middle of factories, and factory people! -Though, of course, if your father leaves the Church, we shall not -be admitted into society anywhere. It will be such a disgrace to -us! Poor dear Sir John! It is well he is not alive to see what -your father has come to! Every day after dinner, when I was a -girl, living with your aunt Shaw, at Beresford Court, Sir John -used to give for the first toast--"Church and King, and down with -the Rump."' - -Margaret was glad that her mother's thoughts were turned away -from the fact of her husband's silence to her on the point which -must have been so near his heart. Next to the serious vital -anxiety as to the nature of her father's doubts, this was the one -circumstance of the case that gave Margaret the most pain. - -'You know, we have very little society here, mamma. The Gormans, -who are our nearest neighbours (to call society--and we hardly -ever see them), have been in trade just as much as these -Milton-Northern people.' - -'Yes,' said Mrs. Hale, almost indignantly, 'but, at any rate, the -Gormans made carriages for half the gentry of the county, and -were brought into some kind of intercourse with them; but these -factory people, who on earth wears cotton that can afford linen?' - -'Well, mamma, I give up the cotton-spinners; I am not standing up -for them, any more than for any other trades-people. Only we -shall have little enough to do with them.' - -'Why on earth has your father fixed on Milton-Northern to live -in?' - -'Partly,' said Margaret, sighing, 'because it is so very -different from Helstone--partly because Mr. Bell says there is an -opening there for a private tutor.' - -'Private tutor in Milton! Why can't he go to Oxford, and be a -tutor to gentlemen?' - -'You forget, mamma! He is leaving the Church on account of his -opinions--his doubts would do him no good at Oxford.' - -Mrs. Hale was silent for some time, quietly crying. At last she -said:-- - -'And the furniture--How in the world are we to manage the -removal? I never removed in my life, and only a fortnight to -think about it!' - -Margaret was inexpressibly relieved to find that her mother's -anxiety and distress was lowered to this point, so insignificant -to herself, and on which she could do so much to help. She -planned and promised, and led her mother on to arrange fully as -much as could be fixed before they knew somewhat more -definitively what Mr. Hale intended to do. Throughout the day -Margaret never left her mother; bending her whole soul to -sympathise in all the various turns her feelings took; towards -evening especially, as she became more and more anxious that her -father should find a soothing welcome home awaiting him, after -his return from his day of fatigue and distress. She dwelt upon -what he must have borne in secret for long; her mother only -replied coldly that he ought to have told her, and that then at -any rate he would have had an adviser to give him counsel; and -Margaret turned faint at heart when she heard her father's step -in the hall. She dared not go to meet him, and tell him what she -had done all day, for fear of her mother's jealous annoyance. She -heard him linger, as if awaiting her, or some sign of her; and -she dared not stir; she saw by her mother's twitching lips, and -changing colour, that she too was aware that her husband had -returned. Presently he opened the room-door, and stood there -uncertain whether to come in. His face was gray and pale; he had -a timid, fearful look in his eyes; something almost pitiful to -see in a man's face; but that look of despondent uncertainty, of -mental and bodily languor, touched his wife's heart. She went to -him, and threw herself on his breast, crying out-- - -'Oh! Richard, Richard, you should have told me sooner!' - -And then, in tears, Margaret left her, as she rushed up-stairs to -throw herself on her bed, and hide her face in the pillows to -stifle the hysteric sobs that would force their way at last, -after the rigid self-control of the whole day. How long she lay -thus she could not tell. She heard no noise, though the housemaid -came in to arrange the room. The affrighted girl stole out again -on tip-toe, and went and told Mrs. Dixon that Miss Hale was -crying as if her heart would break: she was sure she would make -herself deadly ill if she went on at that rate. In consequence of -this, Margaret felt herself touched, and started up into a -sitting posture; she saw the accustomed room, the figure of Dixon -in shadow, as the latter stood holding the candle a little behind -her, for fear of the effect on Miss Hale's startled eyes, swollen -and blinded as they were. - -'Oh, Dixon! I did not hear you come into the room!' said -Margaret, resuming her trembling self-restraint. 'Is it very -late?' continued she, lifting herself languidly off the bed, yet -letting her feet touch the ground without fairly standing down, -as she shaded her wet ruffled hair off her face, and tried to -look as though nothing were the matter; as if she had only been -asleep. - -'I hardly can tell what time it is,' replied Dixon, in an -aggrieved tone of voice. 'Since your mamma told me this terrible -news, when I dressed her for tea, I've lost all count of time. -I'm sure I don't know what is to become of us all. When Charlotte -told me just now you were sobbing, Miss Hale, I thought, no -wonder, poor thing! And master thinking of turning Dissenter at -his time of life, when, if it is not to be said he's done well in -the Church, he's not done badly after all. I had a cousin, miss, -who turned Methodist preacher after he was fifty years of age, -and a tailor all his life; but then he had never been able to -make a pair of trousers to fit, for as long as he had been in the -trade, so it was no wonder; but for master! as I said to missus, -"What would poor Sir John have said? he never liked your marrying -Mr. Hale, but if he could have known it would have come to this, -he would have sworn worse oaths than ever, if that was -possible!"' - -Dixon had been so much accustomed to comment upon Mr. Hale's -proceedings to her mistress (who listened to her, or not, as she -was in the humour), that she never noticed Margaret's flashing -eye and dilating nostril. To hear her father talked of in this -way by a servant to her face! - -'Dixon,' she said, in the low tone she always used when much -excited, which had a sound in it as of some distant turmoil, or -threatening storm breaking far away. 'Dixon! you forget to whom -you are speaking.' She stood upright and firm on her feet now, -confronting the waiting-maid, and fixing her with her steady -discerning eye. 'I am Mr. Hale's daughter. Go! You have made a -strange mistake, and one that I am sure your own good feeling -will make you sorry for when you think about it.' - -Dixon hung irresolutely about the room for a minute or two. -Margaret repeated, 'You may leave me, Dixon. I wish you to go.' -Dixon did not know whether to resent these decided words or to -cry; either course would have done with her mistress: but, as she -said to herself, 'Miss Margaret has a touch of the old gentleman -about her, as well as poor Master Frederick; I wonder where they -get it from?' and she, who would have resented such words from -any one less haughty and determined in manner, was subdued enough -to say, in a half humble, half injured tone: - -'Mayn't I unfasten your gown, miss, and do your hair?' - -'No! not to-night, thank you.' And Margaret gravely lighted her -out of the room, and bolted the door. From henceforth Dixon -obeyed and admired Margaret. She said it was because she was so -like poor Master Frederick; but the truth was, that Dixon, as do -many others, liked to feel herself ruled by a powerful and -decided nature. - -Margaret needed all Dixon's help in action, and silence in words; -for, for some time, the latter thought it her duty to show her -sense of affront by saying as little as possible to her young -lady; so the energy came out in doing rather than in speaking A -fortnight was a very short time to make arrangements for so -serious a removal; as Dixon said, 'Any one but a -gentleman--indeed almost any other gentleman--' but catching a -look at Margaret's straight, stern brow just here, she coughed -the remainder of the sentence away, and meekly took the horehound -drop that Margaret offered her, to stop the 'little tickling at -my chest, miss.' But almost any one but Mr. Hale would have had -practical knowledge enough to see, that in so short a time it -would be difficult to fix on any house in Milton-Northern, or -indeed elsewhere, to which they could remove the furniture that -had of necessity to be taken out of Helstone vicarage. Mrs. Hale, -overpowered by all the troubles and necessities for immediate -household decisions that seemed to come upon her at once, became -really ill, and Margaret almost felt it as a relief when her -mother fairly took to her bed, and left the management of affairs -to her. Dixon, true to her post of body-guard, attended most -faithfully to her mistress, and only emerged from Mrs. Hale's -bed-room to shake her head, and murmur to herself in a manner -which Margaret did not choose to hear. For, the one thing clear -and straight before her, was the necessity for leaving Helstone. -Mr. Hale's successor in the living was appointed; and, at any -rate, after her father's decision; there must be no lingering -now, for his sake, as well as from every other consideration. For -he came home every evening more and more depressed, after the -necessary leave-taking which he had resolved to have with every -individual parishioner. Margaret, inexperienced as she was in all -the necessary matter-of-fact business to be got through, did not -know to whom to apply for advice. The cook and Charlotte worked -away with willing arms and stout hearts at all the moving and -packing; and as far as that went, Margaret's admirable sense -enabled her to see what was best, and to direct how it should be -done. But where were they to go to? In a week they must be gone. -Straight to Milton, or where? So many arrangements depended on -this decision that Margaret resolved to ask her father one -evening, in spite of his evident fatigue and low spirits. He -answered: - -'My dear! I have really had too much to think about to settle -this. What does your mother say? What does she wish? Poor Maria!' - -He met with an echo even louder than his sigh. Dixon had just -come into the room for another cup of tea for Mrs. Hale, and -catching Mr. Hale's last words, and protected by his presence -from Margaret's upbraiding eyes, made bold to say, 'My poor -mistress!' - -'You don't think her worse to-day,' said Mr. Hale, turning -hastily. - -'I'm sure I can't say, sir. It's not for me to judge. The illness -seems so much more on the mind than on the body.' - -Mr. Hale looked infinitely distressed. - -'You had better take mamma her tea while it is hot, Dixon,' said -Margaret, in a tone of quiet authority. - -'Oh! I beg your pardon, miss! My thoughts was otherwise occupied -in thinking of my poor----of Mrs. Hale.' - -'Papa!' said Margaret, 'it is this suspense that is bad for you -both. Of course, mamma must feel your change of opinions: we -can't help that,' she continued, softly; 'but now the course is -clear, at least to a certain point. And I think, papa, that I -could get mamma to help me in planning, if you could tell me what -to plan for. She has never expressed any wish in any way, and -only thinks of what can't be helped. Are we to go straight to -Milton? Have you taken a house there?' - -'No,' he replied. 'I suppose we must go into lodgings, and look -about for a house. - -'And pack up the furniture so that it can be left at the railway -station, till we have met with one?' - -'I suppose so. Do what you think best. Only remember, we shall -have much less money to spend.' - -They had never had much superfluity, as Margaret knew. She felt -that it was a great weight suddenly thrown upon her shoulders. -Four months ago, all the decisions she needed to make were what -dress she would wear for dinner, and to help Edith to draw out -the lists of who should take down whom in the dinner parties at -home. Nor was the household in which she lived one that called -for much decision. Except in the one grand case of Captain -Lennox's offer, everything went on with the regularity of -clockwork. Once a year, there was a long discussion between her -aunt and Edith as to whether they should go to the Isle of Wight, -abroad, or to Scotland; but at such times Margaret herself was -secure of drifting, without any exertion of her own, into the -quiet harbour of home. Now, since that day when Mr. Lennox came, -and startled her into a decision, every day brought some -question, momentous to her, and to those whom she loved, to be -settled. - -Her father went up after tea to sit with his wife. Margaret -remained alone in the drawing-room. Suddenly she took a candle -and went into her father's study for a great atlas, and lugging -it back into the drawing-room, she began to pore over the map of -England. She was ready to look up brightly when her father came -down stairs. - -'I have hit upon such a beautiful plan. Look here--in Darkshire, -hardly the breadth of my finger from Milton, is Heston, which I -have often heard of from people living in the north as such a -pleasant little bathing-place. Now, don't you think we could get -mamma there with Dixon, while you and I go and look at houses, -and get one all ready for her in Milton? She would get a breath -of sea air to set her up for the winter, and be spared all the -fatigue, and Dixon would enjoy taking care of her.' - -'Is Dixon to go with us?' asked Mr. Hale, in a kind of helpless -dismay. - -'Oh, yes!' said Margaret. 'Dixon quite intends it, and I don't -know what mamma would do without her.' - -'But we shall have to put up with a very different way of living, -I am afraid. Everything is so much dearer in a town. I doubt if -Dixon can make herself comfortable. To tell you the truth -Margaret, I sometimes feel as if that woman gave herself airs.' - -'To be sure she does, papa,' replied Margaret; 'and if she has to -put up with a different style of living, we shall have to put up -with her airs, which will be worse. But she really loves us all, -and would be miserable to leave us, I am sure--especially in this -change; so, for mamma's sake, and for the sake of her -faithfulness, I do think she must go.' - -'Very well, my dear. Go on. I am resigned. How far is Heston from -Milton? The breadth of one of your fingers does not give me a -very clear idea of distance.' - -'Well, then, I suppose it is thirty miles; that is not much!' - -'Not in distance, but in--. Never mind! If you really think it -will do your mother good, let it be fixed so.' - -This was a great step. Now Margaret could work, and act, and plan -in good earnest. And now Mrs. Hale could rouse herself from her -languor, and forget her real suffering in thinking of the -pleasure and the delight of going to the sea-side. Her only -regret was that Mr. Hale could not be with her all the fortnight -she was to be there, as he had been for a whole fortnight once, -when they were engaged, and she was staying with Sir John and -Lady Beresford at Torquay. - - -CHAPTER VI - - -FAREWELL - -'Unwatch'd the garden bough shall sway, -The tender blossom flutter down, -Unloved that beech will gather brown, -The maple burn itself away; - -Unloved, the sun-flower, shining fair, -Ray round with flames her disk of seed, -And many a rose-carnation feed -With summer spice the humming air; - -* * * * * * - -Till from the garden and the wild -A fresh association blow, -And year by year the landscape grow -Familiar to the stranger's child; - -As year by year the labourer tills -His wonted glebe, or lops the glades; -And year by year our memory fades -From all the circle of the hills.' -TENNYSON. - - -The last day came; the house was full of packing-cases, which -were being carted off at the front door, to the nearest railway -station. Even the pretty lawn at the side of the house was made -unsightly and untidy by the straw that had been wafted upon it -through the open door and windows. The rooms had a strange -echoing sound in them,--and the light came harshly and strongly -in through the uncurtained windows,--seeming already unfamiliar -and strange. Mrs. Hale's dressing-room was left untouched to the -last; and there she and Dixon were packing up clothes, and -interrupting each other every now and then to exclaim at, and -turn over with fond regard, some forgotten treasure, in the shape -of some relic of the children while they were yet little. They -did not make much progress with their work. Down-stairs, Margaret -stood calm and collected, ready to counsel or advise the men who -had been called in to help the cook and Charlotte. These two -last, crying between whiles, wondered how the young lady could -keep up so this last day, and settled it between them that she -was not likely to care much for Helstone, having been so long in -London. There she stood, very pale and quiet, with her large -grave eyes observing everything,--up to every present -circumstance, however small. They could not understand how her -heart was aching all the time, with a heavy pressure that no -sighs could lift off or relieve, and how constant exertion for -her perceptive faculties was the only way to keep herself from -crying out with pain. Moreover, if she gave way, who was to act? -Her father was examining papers, books, registers, what not, in -the vestry with the clerk; and when he came in, there were his -own books to pack up, which no one but himself could do to his -satisfaction. Besides, was Margaret one to give way before -strange men, or even household friends like the cook and -Charlotte! Not she. But at last the four packers went into the -kitchen to their tea; and Margaret moved stiffly and slowly away -from the place in the hall where she had been standing so long, -out through the bare echoing drawing-room, into the twilight of -an early November evening. There was a filmy veil of soft dull -mist obscuring, but not hiding, all objects, giving them a lilac -hue, for the sun had not yet fully set; a robin was -singing,--perhaps, Margaret thought, the very robin that her -father had so often talked of as his winter pet, and for which he -had made, with his own hands, a kind of robin-house by his -study-window. The leaves were more gorgeous than ever; the first -touch of frost would lay them all low on the ground. Already one -or two kept constantly floating down, amber and golden in the low -slanting sun-rays. - -Margaret went along the walk under the pear-tree wall. She had -never been along it since she paced it at Henry Lennox's side. -Here, at this bed of thyme, he began to speak of what she must -not think of now. Her eyes were on that late-blowing rose as she -was trying to answer; and she had caught the idea of the vivid -beauty of the feathery leaves of the carrots in the very middle -of his last sentence. Only a fortnight ago And all so changed! -Where was he now? In London,--going through the old round; dining -with the old Harley Street set, or with gayer young friends of -his own. Even now, while she walked sadly through that damp and -drear garden in the dusk, with everything falling and fading, and -turning to decay around her, he might be gladly putting away his -law-books after a day of satisfactory toil, and freshening -himself up, as he had told her he often did, by a run in the -Temple Gardens, taking in the while the grand inarticulate mighty -roar of tens of thousands of busy men, nigh at hand, but not -seen, and catching ever, at his quick turns, glimpses of the -lights of the city coming up out of the depths of the river. He -had often spoken to Margaret of these hasty walks, snatched in -the intervals between study and dinner. At his best times and in -his best moods had he spoken of them; and the thought of them had -struck upon her fancy. Here there was no sound. The robin had -gone away into the vast stillness of night. Now and then, a -cottage door in the distance was opened and shut, as if to admit -the tired labourer to his home; but that sounded very far away. A -stealthy, creeping, cranching sound among the crisp fallen leaves -of the forest, beyond the garden, seemed almost close at hand. -Margaret knew it was some poacher. Sitting up in her bed-room -this past autumn, with the light of her candle extinguished, and -purely revelling in the solemn beauty of the heavens and the -earth, she had many a time seen the light noiseless leap of the -poachers over the garden-fence, their quick tramp across the dewy -moonlit lawn, their disappearance in the black still shadow -beyond. The wild adventurous freedom of their life had taken her -fancy; she felt inclined to wish them success; she had no fear of -them. But to-night she was afraid, she knew not why. She heard -Charlotte shutting the windows, and fastening up for the night, -unconscious that any one had gone out into the garden. A small -branch--it might be of rotten wood, or it might be broken by -force--came heavily down in the nearest part of the forest, -Margaret ran, swift as Camilla, down to the window, and rapped at -it with a hurried tremulousness which startled Charlotte within. - -'Let me in! Let me in! It is only me, Charlotte!' Her heart did -not still its fluttering till she was safe in the drawing-room, -with the windows fastened and bolted, and the familiar walls -hemming her round, and shutting her in. She had sate down upon a -packing case; cheerless, Chill was the dreary and dismantled -room--no fire nor other light, but Charlotte's long unsnuffed -candle. Charlotte looked at Margaret with surprise; and Margaret, -feeling it rather than seeing it, rose up. - -'I was afraid you were shutting me out altogether, Charlotte,' -said she, half-smiling. 'And then you would never have heard me -in the kitchen, and the doors into the lane and churchyard are -locked long ago.' - -'Oh, miss, I should have been sure to have missed you soon. The -men would have wanted you to tell them how to go on. And I have -put tea in master's study, as being the most comfortable room, so -to speak.' - -'Thank you, Charlotte. You are a kind girl. I shall be sorry to -leave you. You must try and write to me, if I can ever give you -any little help or good advice. I shall always be glad to get a -letter from Helstone, you know. I shall be sure and send you my -address when I know it.' - -The study was all ready for tea. There was a good blazing fire, -and unlighted candles on the table. Margaret sat down on the rug, -partly to warm herself, for the dampness of the evening hung -about her dress, and overfatigue had made her chilly. She kept -herself balanced by clasping her hands together round her knees; -her head dropped a little towards her chest; the attitude was one -of despondency, whatever her frame of mind might be. But when she -heard her father's step on the gravel outside, she started up, -and hastily shaking her heavy black hair back, and wiping a few -tears away that had come on her cheeks she knew not how, she went -out to open the door for him. He showed far more depression than -she did. She could hardly get him to talk, although she tried to -speak on subjects that would interest him, at the cost of an -effort every time which she thought would be her last. - -'Have you been a very long walk to-day?' asked she, on seeing his -refusal to touch food of any kind. - -'As far as Fordham Beeches. I went to see Widow Maltby; she is -sadly grieved at not having wished you good-bye. She says little -Susan has kept watch down the lane for days past.--Nay, Margaret, -what is the matter, dear?' The thought of the little child -watching for her, and continually disappointed--from no -forgetfulness on her part, but from sheer inability to leave -home--was the last drop in poor Margaret's cup, and she was -sobbing away as if her heart would break. Mr. Hale was -distressingly perplexed. He rose, and walked nervously up and -down the room. Margaret tried to check herself, but would not -speak until she could do so with firmness. She heard him talking, -as if to himself. - -'I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to see the sufferings of others. -I think I could go through my own with patience. Oh, is there no -going back?' - -'No, father,' said Margaret, looking straight at him, and -speaking low and steadily. 'It is bad to believe you in error. It -would be infinitely worse to have known you a hypocrite.' She -dropped her voice at the last few words, as if entertaining the -idea of hypocrisy for a moment in connection with her father -savoured of irreverence. - -'Besides,' she went on, 'it is only that I am tired to-night; -don't think that I am suffering from what you have done, dear -papa. We can't either of us talk about it to-night, I believe,' -said she, finding that tears and sobs would come in spite of -herself. 'I had better go and take mamma up this cup of tea. She -had hers very early, when I was too busy to go to her, and I am -sure she will be glad of another now.' - -Railroad time inexorably wrenched them away from lovely, beloved -Helstone, the next morning. They were gone; they had seen the -last of the long low parsonage home, half-covered with -China-roses and pyracanthus--more homelike than ever in the -morning sun that glittered on its windows, each belonging to some -well-loved room. Almost before they had settled themselves into -the car, sent from Southampton to fetch them to the station, they -were gone away to return no more. A sting at Margaret's heart -made her strive to look out to catch the last glimpse of the old -church tower at the turn where she knew it might be seen above a -wave of the forest trees; but her father remembered this too, and -she silently acknowledged his greater right to the one window -from which it could be seen. She leant back and shut her eyes, -and the tears welled forth, and hung glittering for an instant on -the shadowing eye-lashes before rolling slowly down her cheeks, -and dropping, unheeded, on her dress. - -They were to stop in London all night at some quiet hotel. Poor -Mrs. Hale had cried in her way nearly all day long; and Dixon -showed her sorrow by extreme crossness, and a continual irritable -attempt to keep her petticoats from even touching the unconscious -Mr. Hale, whom she regarded as the origin of all this suffering. - -They went through the well-known streets, past houses which they -had often visited, past shops in which she had lounged, -impatient, by her aunt's side, while that lady was making some -important and interminable decision-nay, absolutely past -acquaintances in the streets; for though the morning had been of -an incalculable length to them, and they felt as if it ought long -ago to have closed in for the repose of darkness, it was the very -busiest time of a London afternoon in November when they arrived -there. It was long since Mrs. Hale had been in London; and she -roused up, almost like a child, to look about her at the -different streets, and to gaze after and exclaim at the shops and -carriages. - -'Oh, there's Harrison's, where I bought so many of my wedding-things. -Dear! how altered! They've got immense plate-glass windows, larger -than Crawford's in Southampton. Oh, and there, I declare--no, it -is not--yes, it is--Margaret, we have just passed Mr. Henry Lennox. -Where can he be going, among all these shops?' - -Margaret started forwards, and as quickly fell back, half-smiling -at herself for the sudden motion. They were a hundred yards away -by this time; but he seemed like a relic of Helstone--he was -associated with a bright morning, an eventful day, and she should -have liked to have seen him, without his seeing her,--without the -chance of their speaking. - -The evening, without employment, passed in a room high up in an -hotel, was long and heavy. Mr. Hale went out to his bookseller's, -and to call on a friend or two. Every one they saw, either in the -house or out in the streets, appeared hurrying to some -appointment, expected by, or expecting somebody. They alone -seemed strange and friendless, and desolate. Yet within a mile, -Margaret knew of house after house, where she for her own sake, -and her mother for her aunt Shaw's, would be welcomed, if they -came in gladness, or even in peace of mind. If they came -sorrowing, and wanting sympathy in a complicated trouble like the -present, then they would be felt as a shadow in all these houses -of intimate acquaintances, not friends. London life is too -whirling and full to admit of even an hour of that deep silence -of feeling which the friends of Job showed, when 'they sat with -him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spake a -word unto him; for they saw that his grief was very great.' - - -CHAPTER VII - - -NEW SCENES AND FACES - -'Mist clogs the sunshine, -Smoky dwarf houses -Have we round on every side.' -MATTHEW ARNOLD. - - -The next afternoon, about twenty miles from Milton-Northern, they -entered on the little branch railway that led to Heston. Heston -itself was one long straggling street, running parallel to the -seashore. It had a character of its own, as different from the -little bathing-places in the south of England as they again from -those of the continent. To use a Scotch word, every thing looked -more 'purposelike.' The country carts had more iron, and less -wood and leather about the horse-gear; the people in the streets, -although on pleasure bent, had yet a busy mind. The colours -looked grayer--more enduring, not so gay and pretty. There were -no smock-frocks, even among the country folk; they retarded -motion, and were apt to catch on machinery, and so the habit of -wearing them had died out. In such towns in the south of England, -Margaret had seen the shopmen, when not employed in their -business, lounging a little at their doors, enjoying the fresh -air, and the look up and down the street. Here, if they had any -leisure from customers, they made themselves business in the -shop--even, Margaret fancied, to the unnecessary unrolling and -rerolling of ribbons. All these differences struck upon her mind, -as she and her mother went out next morning to look for lodgings. - -Their two nights at hotels had cost more than Mr. Hale had -anticipated, and they were glad to take the first clean, cheerful -for the first time for many days, did Margaret feel at rest. -There rooms they met with that were at liberty to receive them. -There, was a dreaminess in the rest, too, which made it still -more perfect and luxurious to repose in. The distant sea, lapping -the sandy shore with measured sound; the nearer cries of the -donkey-boys; the unusual scenes moving before her like pictures, -which she cared not in her laziness to have fully explained -before they passed away; the stroll down to the beach to breathe -the sea-air, soft and warm on that sandy shore even to the end of -November; the great long misty sea-line touching the -tender-coloured sky; the white sail of a distant boat turning -silver in some pale sunbeam:--it seemed as if she could dream her -life away in such luxury of pensiveness, in which she made her -present all in all, from not daring to think of the past, or -wishing to contemplate the future. - -But the future must be met, however stern and iron it be. One -evening it was arranged that Margaret and her father should go -the next day to Milton-Northern, and look out for a house. Mr. -Hale had received several letters from Mr. Bell, and one or two -from Mr. Thornton, and he was anxious to ascertain at once a good -many particulars respecting his position and chances of success -there, which he could only do by an interview with the latter -gentleman. Margaret knew that they ought to be removing; but she -had a repugnance to the idea of a manufacturing town, and -believed that her mother was receiving benefit from Heston air, -so she would willingly have deferred the expedition to Milton. - -For several miles before they reached Milton, they saw a deep -lead-coloured cloud hanging over the horizon in the direction in -which it lay. It was all the darker from contrast with the pale -gray-blue of the wintry sky; for in Heston there had been the -earliest signs of frost. Nearer to the town, the air had a faint -taste and smell of smoke; perhaps, after all, more a loss of the -fragrance of grass and herbage than any positive taste or smell. -Quick they were whirled over long, straight, hopeless streets of -regularly-built houses, all small and of brick. Here and there a -great oblong many-windowed factory stood up, like a hen among her -chickens, puffing out black 'unparliamentary' smoke, and -sufficiently accounting for the cloud which Margaret had taken to -foretell rain. As they drove through the larger and wider -streets, from the station to the hotel, they had to stop -constantly; great loaded lurries blocked up the not over-wide -thoroughfares. Margaret had now and then been into the city in -her drives with her aunt. But there the heavy lumbering vehicles -seemed various in their purposes and intent; here every van, -every waggon and truck, bore cotton, either in the raw shape in -bags, or the woven shape in bales of calico. People thronged the -footpaths, most of them well-dressed as regarded the material, -but with a slovenly looseness which struck Margaret as different -from the shabby, threadbare smartness of a similar class in -London. - -'New Street,' said Mr. Hale. 'This, I believe, is the principal -street in Milton. Bell has often spoken to me about it. It was -the opening of this street from a lane into a great thoroughfare, -thirty years ago, which has caused his property to rise so much -in value. Mr. Thornton's mill must be somewhere not very far off, -for he is Mr. Bell's tenant. But I fancy he dates from his -warehouse.' - -'Where is our hotel, papa?' - -'Close to the end of this street, I believe. Shall we have lunch -before or after we have looked at the houses we marked in the -Milton Times?' - -'Oh, let us get our work done first.' - -'Very well. Then I will only see if there is any note or letter -for me from Mr. Thornton, who said he would let me know anything -he might hear about these houses, and then we will set off. We -will keep the cab; it will be safer than losing ourselves, and -being too late for the train this afternoon.' - -There were no letters awaiting him. They set out on their -house-hunting. Thirty pounds a-year was all they could afford to -give, but in Hampshire they could have met with a roomy house and -pleasant garden for the money. Here, even the necessary -accommodation of two sitting-rooms and four bed-rooms seemed -unattainable. They went through their list, rejecting each as -they visited it. Then they looked at each other in dismay. - -'We must go back to the second, I think. That one,--in Crampton, -don't they call the suburb? There were three sitting-rooms; don't -you remember how we laughed at the number compared with the three -bed-rooms? But I have planned it all. The front room down-stairs -is to be your study and our dining-room (poor papa!), for, you -know, we settled mamma is to have as cheerful a sitting-room as -we can get; and that front room up-stairs, with the atrocious -blue and pink paper and heavy cornice, had really a pretty view -over the plain, with a great bend of river, or canal, or whatever -it is, down below. Then I could have the little bed-room behind, -in that projection at the head of the first flight of -stairs--over the kitchen, you know--and you and mamma the room -behind the drawing-room, and that closet in the roof will make -you a splendid dressing-room.' - -'But Dixon, and the girl we are to have to help?' - -'Oh, wait a minute. I am overpowered by the discovery of my own -genius for management. Dixon is to have--let me see, I had it -once--the back sitting-room. I think she will like that. She -grumbles so much about the stairs at Heston; and the girl is to -have that sloping attic over your room and mamma's. Won't that -do?' - -'I dare say it will. But the papers. What taste! And the -overloading such a house with colour and such heavy cornices!' - -'Never mind, papa! Surely, you can charm the landlord into -re-papering one or two of the rooms--the drawing-room and your -bed-room--for mamma will come most in contact with them; and your -book-shelves will hide a great deal of that gaudy pattern in the -dining-room.' - -'Then you think it the best? If so, I had better go at once and -call on this Mr. Donkin, to whom the advertisement refers me. I -will take you back to the hotel, where you can order lunch, and -rest, and by the time it is ready, I shall be with you. I hope I -shall be able to get new papers.' - -Margaret hoped so too, though she said nothing. She had never -come fairly in contact with the taste that loves ornament, -however bad, more than the plainness and simplicity which are of -themselves the framework of elegance. Her father took her through -the entrance of the hotel, and leaving her at the foot of the -staircase, went to the address of the landlord of the house they -had fixed upon. Just as Margaret had her hand on the door of -their sitting-room, she was followed by a quick-stepping waiter: - -'I beg your pardon, ma'am. The gentleman was gone so quickly, I -had no time to tell him. Mr. Thornton called almost directly -after you left; and, as I understood from what the gentleman -said, you would be back in an hour, I told him so, and he came -again about five minutes ago, and said he would wait for Mr. -Hale. He is in your room now, ma'am.' - -'Thank you. My father will return soon, and then you can tell -him.' Margaret opened the door and went in with the straight, -fearless, dignified presence habitual to her. She felt no -awkwardness; she had too much the habits of society for that. -Here was a person come on business to her father; and, as he was -one who had shown himself obliging, she was disposed to treat him -with a full measure of civility. Mr. Thornton was a good deal -more surprised and discomfited than she. Instead of a quiet, -middle-aged clergyman, a young lady came forward with frank -dignity,--a young lady of a different type to most of those he -was in the habit of seeing. Her dress was very plain: a close -straw bonnet of the best material and shape, trimmed with white -ribbon; a dark silk gown, without any trimming or flounce; a -large Indian shawl, which hung about her in long heavy folds, and -which she wore as an empress wears her drapery. He did not -understand who she was, as he caught the simple, straight, -unabashed look, which showed that his being there was of no -concern to the beautiful countenance, and called up no flush of -surprise to the pale ivory of the complexion. He had heard that -Mr. Hale had a daughter, but he had imagined that she was a -little girl. - -'Mr. Thornton, I believe!' said Margaret, after a half-instant's -pause, during which his unready words would not come. 'Will you -sit down. My father brought me to the door, not a minute ago, but -unfortunately he was not told that you were here, and he has gone -away on some business. But he will come back almost directly. I -am sorry you have had the trouble of calling twice.' - -Mr. Thornton was in habits of authority himself, but she seemed -to assume some kind of rule over him at once. He had been getting -impatient at the loss of his time on a market-day, the moment -before she appeared, yet now he calmly took a seat at her -bidding. - -'Do you know where it is that Mr. Hale has gone to? Perhaps I -might be able to find him.' - -'He has gone to a Mr. Donkin's in Canute Street. He is the -land-lord of the house my father wishes to take in Crampton.' - -Mr. Thornton knew the house. He had seen the advertisement, and -been to look at it, in compliance with a request of Mr. Bell's -that he would assist Mr. Hale to the best of his power: and also -instigated by his own interest in the case of a clergyman who had -given up his living under circumstances such as those of Mr. -Hale. Mr. Thornton had thought that the house in Crampton was -really just the thing; but now that he saw Margaret, with her -superb ways of moving and looking, he began to feel ashamed of -having imagined that it would do very well for the Hales, in -spite of a certain vulgarity in it which had struck him at the -time of his looking it over. - -Margaret could not help her looks; but the short curled upper -lip, the round, massive up-turned chin, the manner of carrying -her head, her movements, full of a soft feminine defiance, always -gave strangers the impression of haughtiness. She was tired now, -and would rather have remained silent, and taken the rest her -father had planned for her; but, of course, she owed it to -herself to be a gentlewoman, and to speak courteously from time -to time to this stranger; not over-brushed, nor over-polished, it -must be confessed, after his rough encounter with Milton streets -and crowds. She wished that he would go, as he had once spoken of -doing, instead of sitting there, answering with curt sentences -all the remarks she made. She had taken off her shawl, and hung -it over the back of her chair. She sat facing him and facing the -light; her full beauty met his eye; her round white flexile -throat rising out of the full, yet lithe figure; her lips, moving -so slightly as she spoke, not breaking the cold serene look of -her face with any variation from the one lovely haughty curve; -her eyes, with their soft gloom, meeting his with quiet maiden -freedom. He almost said to himself that he did not like her, -before their conversation ended; he tried so to compensate -himself for the mortified feeling, that while he looked upon her -with an admiration he could not repress, she looked at him with -proud indifference, taking him, he thought, for what, in his -irritation, he told himself he was--a great rough fellow, with -not a grace or a refinement about him. Her quiet coldness of -demeanour he interpreted into contemptuousness, and resented it -in his heart to the pitch of almost inclining him to get up and -go away, and have nothing more to do with these Hales, and their -superciliousness. - -Just as Margaret had exhausted her last subject of -conversation--and yet conversation that could hardly be called -which consisted of so few and such short speeches--her father -came in, and with his pleasant gentlemanly courteousness of -apology, reinstated his name and family in Mr. Thornton's good -opinion. - -Mr. Hale and his visitor had a good deal to say respecting their -mutual friend, Mr. Bell; and Margaret, glad that her part of -entertaining the visitor was over, went to the window to try and -make herself more familiar with the strange aspect of the street. -She got so much absorbed in watching what was going on outside -that she hardly heard her father when he spoke to her, and he had -to repeat what he said: - -'Margaret! the landlord will persist in admiring that hideous -paper, and I am afraid we must let it remain.' - -'Oh dear! I am sorry!' she replied, and began to turn over in her -mind the possibility of hiding part of it, at least, by some of -her sketches, but gave up the idea at last, as likely only to -make bad worse. Her father, meanwhile, with his kindly country -hospitality, was pressing Mr. Thornton to stay to luncheon with -them. It would have been very inconvenient to him to do so, yet -he felt that he should have yielded, if Margaret by word or look -had seconded her father's invitation; he was glad she did not, -and yet he was irritated at her for not doing it. She gave him a -low, grave bow when he left, and he felt more awkward and -self-conscious in every limb than he had ever done in all his -life before. - -'Well, Margaret, now to luncheon, as fast we can. Have you -ordered it?' - -'No, papa; that man was here when I came home, and I have never -had an opportunity.' - -'Then we must take anything we can get. He must have been waiting -a long time, I'm afraid.' - -'It seemed exceedingly long to me. I was just at the last gasp -when you came in. He never went on with any subject, but gave -little, short, abrupt answers.' - -'Very much to the point though, I should think. He is a -clearheaded fellow. He said (did you hear?) that Crampton is on -gravelly soil, and by far the most healthy suburb in the -neighbour hood of Milton.' - -When they returned to Heston, there was the day's account to be -given to Mrs. Hale, who was full of questions which they answered -in the intervals of tea-drinking. - -'And what is your correspondent, Mr. Thornton, like?' - -'Ask Margaret,' said her husband. 'She and he had a long attempt -at conversation, while I was away speaking to the landlord.' - -'Oh! I hardly know what he is like,' said Margaret, lazily; too -tired to tax her powers of description much. And then rousing -herself, she said, 'He is a tall, broad-shouldered man, -about--how old, papa?' - -'I should guess about thirty.' - -'About thirty--with a face that is neither exactly plain, nor yet -handsome, nothing remarkable--not quite a gentleman; but that was -hardly to be expected.' - -'Not vulgar, or common though,' put in her father, rather jealous -of any disparagement of the sole friend he had in Milton. - -'Oh no!' said Margaret. 'With such an expression of resolution -and power, no face, however plain in feature, could be either -vulgar or common. I should not like to have to bargain with him; -he looks very inflexible. Altogether a man who seems made for his -niche, mamma; sagacious, and strong, as becomes a great -tradesman.' - -'Don't call the Milton manufacturers tradesmen, Margaret,' said -her father. - -'They are very different.' - -'Are they? I apply the word to all who have something tangible to -sell; but if you think the term is not correct, papa, I won't use -it. But, oh mamma! speaking of vulgarity and commonness, you must -prepare yourself for our drawing-room paper. Pink and blue roses, -with yellow leaves! And such a heavy cornice round the room!' - -But when they removed to their new house in Milton, the obnoxious -papers were gone. The landlord received their thanks very -composedly; and let them think, if they liked, that he had -relented from his expressed determination not to repaper. There -was no particular need to tell them, that what he did not care to -do for a Reverend Mr. Hale, unknown in Milton, he was only too -glad to do at the one short sharp remonstrance of Mr. Thornton, -the wealthy manufacturer. - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -HOME SICKNESS - -'And it's hame, hame; hame, -Hame fain wad I be.' - - -It needed the pretty light papering of the rooms to reconcile -them to Milton. It needed more--more that could not be had. The -thick yellow November fogs had come on; and the view of the plain -in the valley, made by the sweeping bend of the river, was all -shut out when Mrs. Hale arrived at her new home. - -Margaret and Dixon had been at work for two days, unpacking and -arranging, but everything inside the house still looked in -disorder; and outside a thick fog crept up to the very windows, -and was driven in to every open door in choking white wreaths of -unwholesome mist. - -'Oh, Margaret! are we to live here?' asked Mrs. Hale in blank -dismay. Margaret's heart echoed the dreariness of the tone in -which this question was put. She could scarcely command herself -enough to say, 'Oh, the fogs in London are sometimes far worse!' - -'But then you knew that London itself, and friends lay behind it. -Here--well! we are desolate. Oh Dixon, what a place this is!' - -'Indeed, ma'am, I'm sure it will be your death before long, and -then I know who'll--stay! Miss Hale, that's far too heavy for you -to lift.' - -'Not at all, thank you, Dixon,' replied Margaret, coldly. 'The -best thing we can do for mamma is to get her room quite ready for -her to go to bed, while I go and bring her a cup of coffee.' - -Mr. Hale was equally out of spirits, and equally came upon -Margaret for sympathy. - -'Margaret, I do believe this is an unhealthy place. Only suppose -that your mother's health or yours should suffer. I wish I had -gone into some country place in Wales; this is really terrible,' -said he, going up to the window. There was no comfort to be -given. They were settled in Milton, and must endure smoke and -fogs for a season; indeed, all other life seemed shut out from -them by as thick a fog of circumstance. Only the day before, Mr. -Hale had been reckoning up with dismay how much their removal and -fortnight at Heston had cost, and he found it had absorbed nearly -all his little stock of ready money. No! here they were, and here -they must remain. - -At night when Margaret realised this, she felt inclined to sit -down in a stupor of despair. The heavy smoky air hung about her -bedroom, which occupied the long narrow projection at the back of -the house. The window, placed at the side of the oblong, looked -to the blank wall of a similar projection, not above ten feet -distant. It loomed through the fog like a great barrier to hope. -Inside the room everything was in confusion. All their efforts -had been directed to make her mother's room comfortable. Margaret -sat down on a box, the direction card upon which struck her as -having been written at Helstone--beautiful, beloved Helstone! She -lost herself in dismal thought: but at last she determined to -take her mind away from the present; and suddenly remembered that -she had a letter from Edith which she had only half read in the -bustle of the morning. It was to tell of their arrival at Corfu; -their voyage along the Mediterranean--their music, and dancing on -board ship; the gay new life opening upon her; her house with its -trellised balcony, and its views over white cliffs and deep blue -sea. Edith wrote fluently and well, if not graphically. She could -not only seize the salient and characteristic points of a scene, -but she could enumerate enough of indiscriminate particulars for -Margaret to make it out for herself Captain Lennox and another -lately married officer shared a villa, high up on the beautiful -precipitous rocks overhanging the sea. Their days, late as it was -in the year, seemed spent in boating or land pic-nics; all -out-of-doors, pleasure-seeking and glad, Edith's life seemed like -the deep vault of blue sky above her, free--utterly free from -fleck or cloud. Her husband had to attend drill, and she, the -most musical officer's wife there, had to copy the new and -popular tunes out of the most recent English music, for the -benefit of the bandmaster; those seemed their most severe and -arduous duties. She expressed an affectionate hope that, if the -regiment stopped another year at Corfu, Margaret might come out -and pay her a long visit. She asked Margaret if she remembered -the day twelve-month on which she, Edith, wrote--how it rained -all day long in Harley Street; and how she would not put on her -new gown to go to a stupid dinner, and get it all wet and -splashed in going to the carriage; and how at that very dinner -they had first met Captain Lennox. - -Yes! Margaret remembered it well. Edith and Mrs. Shaw had gone to -dinner. Margaret had joined the party in the evening. The -recollection of the plentiful luxury of all the arrangements, the -stately handsomeness of the furniture, the size of the house, the -peaceful, untroubled ease of the visitors--all came vividly -before her, in strange contrast to the present time. The smooth -sea of that old life closed up, without a mark left to tell where -they had all been. The habitual dinners, the calls, the shopping, -the dancing evenings, were all going on, going on for ever, -though her Aunt Shaw and Edith were no longer there; and she, of -course, was even less missed. She doubted if any one of that old -set ever thought of her, except Henry Lennox. He too, she knew, -would strive to forget her, because of the pain she had caused -him. She had heard him often boast of his power of putting any -disagreeable thought far away from him. Then she penetrated -farther into what might have been. If she had cared for him as a -lover, and had accepted him, and this change in her father's -opinions and consequent station had taken place, she could not -doubt but that it would have been impatiently received by Mr. -Lennox. It was a bitter mortification to her in one sense; but -she could bear it patiently, because she knew her father's purity -of purpose, and that strengthened her to endure his errors, grave -and serious though in her estimation they were. But the fact of -the world esteeming her father degraded, in its rough wholesale -judgment, would have oppressed and irritated Mr. Lennox. As she -realised what might have been, she grew to be thankful for what -was. They were at the lowest now; they could not be worse. -Edith's astonishment and her aunt Shaw's dismay would have to be -met bravely, when their letters came. So Margaret rose up and -began slowly to undress herself, feeling the full luxury of -acting leisurely, late as it was, after all the past hurry of the -day. She fell asleep, hoping for some brightness, either internal -or external. But if she had known how long it would be before the -brightness came, her heart would have sunk low down. The time of -the year was most unpropitious to health as well as to spirits. -Her mother caught a severe cold, and Dixon herself was evidently -not well, although Margaret could not insult her more than by -trying to save her, or by taking any care of her. They could hear -of no girl to assist her; all were at work in the factories; at -least, those who applied were well scolded by Dixon, for thinking -that such as they could ever be trusted to work in a gentleman's -house. So they had to keep a charwoman in almost constant employ. -Margaret longed to send for Charlotte; but besides the objection -of her being a better servant than they could now afford to keep, -the distance was too great. - -Mr. Hale met with several pupils, recommended to him by Mr. Bell, -or by the more immediate influence of Mr. Thornton. They were -mostly of the age when many boys would be still at school, but, -according to the prevalent, and apparently well-founded notions -of Milton, to make a lad into a good tradesman he must be caught -young, and acclimated to the life of the mill, or office, or -warehouse. If he were sent to even the Scotch Universities, he -came back unsettled for commercial pursuits; how much more so if -he went to Oxford or Cambridge, where he could not be entered -till he was eighteen? So most of the manufacturers placed their -sons in sucking situations' at fourteen or fifteen years of age, -unsparingly cutting away all off-shoots in the direction of -literature or high mental cultivation, in hopes of throwing the -whole strength and vigour of the plant into commerce. Still there -were some wiser parents; and some young men, who had sense enough -to perceive their own deficiencies, and strive to remedy them. -Nay, there were a few no longer youths, but men in the prime of -life, who had the stern wisdom to acknowledge their own -ignorance, and to learn late what they should have learnt early. -Mr. Thornton was perhaps the oldest of Mr. Hale's pupils. He was -certainly the favourite. Mr. Hale got into the habit of quoting -his opinions so frequently, and with such regard, that it became -a little domestic joke to wonder what time, during the hour -appointed for instruction, could be given to absolute learning, -so much of it appeared to have been spent in conversation. - -Margaret rather encouraged this light, merry way of viewing her -father's acquaintance with Mr. Thornton, because she felt that -her mother was inclined to look upon this new friendship of her -husband's with jealous eyes. As long as his time had been solely -occupied with his books and his parishioners, as at Helstone, she -had appeared to care little whether she saw much of him or not; -but now that he looked eagerly forward to each renewal of his -intercourse with Mr. Thornton, she seemed hurt and annoyed, as if -he were slighting her companionship for the first time. Mr. -Hale's over-praise had the usual effect of over-praise upon his -auditors; they were a little inclined to rebel against Aristides -being always called the Just. - -After a quiet life in a country parsonage for more than twenty -years, there was something dazzling to Mr. Hale in the energy -which conquered immense difficulties with ease; the power of the -machinery of Milton, the power of the men of Milton, impressed -him with a sense of grandeur, which he yielded to without caring -to inquire into the details of its exercise. But Margaret went -less abroad, among machinery and men; saw less of power in its -public effect, and, as it happened, she was thrown with one or -two of those who, in all measures affecting masses of people, -must be acute sufferers for the good of many. The question always -is, has everything been done to make the sufferings of these -exceptions as small as possible? Or, in the triumph of the -crowded procession, have the helpless been trampled on, instead -of being gently lifted aside out of the roadway of the conqueror, -whom they have no power to accompany on his march? - -It fell to Margaret's share to have to look out for a servant to -assist Dixon, who had at first undertaken to find just the person -she wanted to do all the rough work of the house. But Dixon's -ideas of helpful girls were founded on the recollection of tidy -elder scholars at Helstone school, who were only too proud to be -allowed to come to the parsonage on a busy day, and treated Mrs. -Dixon with all the respect, and a good deal more of fright, which -they paid to Mr. and Mrs. Hale. Dixon was not unconscious of this -awed reverence which was given to her; nor did she dislike it; it -flattered her much as Louis the Fourteenth was flattered by his -courtiers shading their eyes from the dazzling light of his -presence.' But nothing short of her faithful love for Mrs. Hale -could have made her endure the rough independent way in which all -the Milton girls, who made application for the servant's place, -replied to her inquiries respecting their qualifications. They -even went the length of questioning her back again; having doubts -and fears of their own, as to the solvency of a family who lived -in a house of thirty pounds a-year, and yet gave themselves airs, -and kept two servants, one of them so very high and mighty. Mr. -Hale was no longer looked upon as Vicar of Helstone, but as a man -who only spent at a certain rate. Margaret was weary and -impatient of the accounts which Dixon perpetually brought to Mrs. -Hale of the behaviour of these would-be servants. Not but what -Margaret was repelled by the rough uncourteous manners of these -people; not but what she shrunk with fastidious pride from their -hail-fellow accost and severely resented their unconcealed -curiosity as to the means and position of any family who lived in -Milton, and yet were not engaged in trade of some kind. But the -more Margaret felt impertinence, the more likely she was to be -silent on the subject; and, at any rate, if she took upon herself -to make inquiry for a servant, she could spare her mother the -recital of all her disappointments and fancied or real insults. - -Margaret accordingly went up and down to butchers and grocers, -seeking for a nonpareil of a girl; and lowering her hopes and -expectations every week, as she found the difficulty of meeting -with any one in a manufacturing town who did not prefer the -better wages and greater independence of working in a mill. It -was something of a trial to Margaret to go out by herself in this -busy bustling place. Mrs. Shaw's ideas of propriety and her own -helpless dependence on others, had always made her insist that a -footman should accompany Edith and Margaret, if they went beyond -Harley Street or the immediate neighbourhood. The limits by which -this rule of her aunt's had circumscribed Margaret's independence -had been silently rebelled against at the time: and she had -doubly enjoyed the free walks and rambles of her forest life, -from the contrast which they presented. She went along there with -a bounding fearless step, that occasionally broke out into a run, -if she were in a hurry, and occasionally was stilled into perfect -repose, as she stood listening to, or watching any of the wild -creatures who sang in the leafy courts, or glanced out with their -keen bright eyes from the low brushwood or tangled furze. It was -a trial to come down from such motion or such stillness, only -guided by her own sweet will, to the even and decorous pace -necessary in streets. But she could have laughed at herself for -minding this change, if it had not been accompanied by what was a -more serious annoyance. The side of the town on which Crampton -lay was especially a thoroughfare for the factory people. In the -back streets around them there were many mills, out of which -poured streams of men and women two or three times a day. Until -Margaret had learnt the times of their ingress and egress, she -was very unfortunate in constantly falling in with them. They -came rushing along, with bold, fearless faces, and loud laughs -and jests, particularly aimed at all those who appeared to be -above them in rank or station. The tones of their unrestrained -voices, and their carelessness of all common rules of street -politeness, frightened Margaret a little at first. The girls, -with their rough, but not unfriendly freedom, would comment on -her dress, even touch her shawl or gown to ascertain the exact -material; nay, once or twice she was asked questions relative to -some article which they particularly admired. There was such a -simple reliance on her womanly sympathy with their love of dress, -and on her kindliness, that she gladly replied to these -inquiries, as soon as she understood them; and half smiled back -at their remarks. She did not mind meeting any number of girls, -loud spoken and boisterous though they might be. But she -alternately dreaded and fired up against the workmen, who -commented not on her dress, but on her looks, in the same open -fearless manner. She, who had hitherto felt that even the most -refined remark on her personal appearance was an impertinence, -had to endure undisguised admiration from these outspoken men. -But the very out-spokenness marked their innocence of any -intention to hurt her delicacy, as she would have perceived if -she had been less frightened by the disorderly tumult. Out of her -fright came a flash of indignation which made her face scarlet, -and her dark eyes gather flame, as she heard some of their -speeches. Yet there were other sayings of theirs, which, when she -reached the quiet safety of home, amused her even while they -irritated her. - -For instance, one day, after she had passed a number of men, -several of whom had paid her the not unusual compliment of -wishing she was their sweetheart, one of the lingerers added, -'Your bonny face, my lass, makes the day look brighter.' And -another day, as she was unconsciously smiling at some passing -thought, she was addressed by a poorly-dressed, middle-aged -workman, with 'You may well smile, my lass; many a one would -smile to have such a bonny face.' This man looked so careworn -that Margaret could not help giving him an answering smile, glad -to think that her looks, such as they were, should have had the -power to call up a pleasant thought. He seemed to understand her -acknowledging glance, and a silent recognition was established -between them whenever the chances of the day brought them across -each other s paths. They had never exchanged a word; nothing had -been said but that first compliment; yet somehow Margaret looked -upon this man with more interest than upon any one else in -Milton. Once or twice, on Sundays, she saw him walking with a -girl, evidently his daughter, and, if possible, still more -unhealthy than he was himself. - -One day Margaret and her father had been as far as the fields -that lay around the town; it was early spring, and she had -gathered some of the hedge and ditch flowers, dog-violets, lesser -celandines, and the like, with an unspoken lament in her heart -for the sweet profusion of the South. Her father had left her to -go into Milton upon some business; and on the road home she met -her humble friends. The girl looked wistfully at the flowers, -and, acting on a sudden impulse, Margaret offered them to her. -Her pale blue eyes lightened up as she took them, and her father -spoke for her. - -'Thank yo, Miss. Bessy'll think a deal o' them flowers; that hoo -will; and I shall think a deal o' yor kindness. Yo're not of this -country, I reckon?' - -'No!' said Margaret, half sighing. 'I come from the South--from -Hampshire,' she continued, a little afraid of wounding his -consciousness of ignorance, if she used a name which he did not -understand. - -'That's beyond London, I reckon? And I come fro' Burnley-ways, -and forty mile to th' North. And yet, yo see, North and South has -both met and made kind o' friends in this big smoky place.' - -Margaret had slackened her pace to walk alongside of the man and -his daughter, whose steps were regulated by the feebleness of the -latter. She now spoke to the girl, and there was a sound of -tender pity in the tone of her voice as she did so that went -right to the heart of the father. - -'I'm afraid you are not very strong.' - -'No,' said the girl, 'nor never will be.' - -'Spring is coming,' said Margaret, as if to suggest pleasant, -hopeful thoughts. - -'Spring nor summer will do me good,' said the girl quietly. - -Margaret looked up at the man, almost expecting some -contradiction from him, or at least some remark that would modify -his daughter's utter hopelessness. But, instead, he added-- - -'I'm afeared hoo speaks truth. I'm afeared hoo's too far gone in -a waste.' - -'I shall have a spring where I'm boun to, and flowers, and -amaranths, and shining robes besides.' - -'Poor lass, poor lass!' said her father in a low tone. 'I'm none -so sure o' that; but it's a comfort to thee, poor lass, poor -lass. Poor father! it'll be soon.' - -Margaret was shocked by his words--shocked but not repelled; -rather attracted and interested. - -'Where do you live? I think we must be neighbours, we meet so -often on this road.' - -'We put up at nine Frances Street, second turn to th' left at -after yo've past th' Goulden Dragon.' - -'And your name? I must not forget that.' - -'I'm none ashamed o' my name. It's Nicholas Higgins. Hoo's called -Bessy Higgins. Whatten yo' asking for?' - -Margaret was surprised at this last question, for at Helstone it -would have been an understood thing, after the inquiries she had -made, that she intended to come and call upon any poor neighbour -whose name and habitation she had asked for. - -'I thought--I meant to come and see you.' She suddenly felt -rather shy of offering the visit, without having any reason to -give for her wish to make it, beyond a kindly interest in a -stranger. It seemed all at once to take the shape of an -impertinence on her part; she read this meaning too in the man's -eyes. - -'I'm none so fond of having strange folk in my house.' But then -relenting, as he saw her heightened colour, he added, 'Yo're a -foreigner, as one may say, and maybe don't know many folk here, -and yo've given my wench here flowers out of yo'r own hand;--yo -may come if yo like.' - -Margaret was half-amused, half-nettled at this answer. She was -not sure if she would go where permission was given so like a -favour conferred. But when they came to the town into Frances -Street, the girl stopped a minute, and said, - -'Yo'll not forget yo're to come and see us.' - -'Aye, aye,' said the father, impatiently, 'hoo'll come. Hoo's a -bit set up now, because hoo thinks I might ha' spoken more -civilly; but hoo'll think better on it, and come. I can read her -proud bonny face like a book. Come along, Bess; there's the mill -bell ringing.' - -Margaret went home, wondering at her new friends, and smiling at -the man's insight into what had been passing in her mind. From -that day Milton became a brighter place to her. It was not the -long, bleak sunny days of spring, nor yet was it that time was -reconciling her to the town of her habitation. It was that in it -she had found a human interest. - - -CHAPTER IX - - -DRESSING FOR TEA - -'Let China's earth, enrich'd with colour'd stains, -Pencil'd with gold, and streak'd with azure veins, -The grateful flavour of the Indian leaf, -Or Mocho's sunburnt berry glad receive.' -MRS. BARBAULD. - - -The day after this meeting with Higgins and his daughter, Mr. -Hale came upstairs into the little drawing-room at an unusual -hour. He went up to different objects in the room, as if -examining them, but Margaret saw that it was merely a nervous -trick--a way of putting off something he wished, yet feared to -say. Out it came at last-- - -'My dear! I've asked Mr. Thornton to come to tea to-night.' - -Mrs. Hale was leaning back in her easy chair, with her eyes shut, -and an expression of pain on her face which had become habitual -to her of late. But she roused up into querulousness at this -speech of her husband's. - -'Mr. Thornton!--and to-night! What in the world does the man want -to come here for? And Dixon is washing my muslins and laces, and -there is no soft water with these horrid east winds, which I -suppose we shall have all the year round in Milton.' - -'The wind is veering round, my dear,' said Mr. Hale, looking out -at the smoke, which drifted right from the east, only he did not -yet understand the points of the compass, and rather arranged -them ad libitum, according to circumstances. - -'Don't tell me!' said Mrs. Hale, shuddering up, and wrapping her -shawl about her still more closely. 'But, east or west wind, I -suppose this man comes.' - -'Oh, mamma, that shows you never saw Mr. Thornton. He looks like -a person who would enjoy battling with every adverse thing he -could meet with--enemies, winds, or circumstances. The more it -rains and blows, the more certain we are to have him. But I'll go -and help Dixon. I'm getting to be a famous clear-starcher. And he -won't want any amusement beyond talking to papa. Papa, I am -really longing to see the Pythias to your Damon. You know I never -saw him but once, and then we were so puzzled to know what to say -to each other that we did not get on particularly well.' - -'I don't know that you would ever like him, or think him -agreeable, Margaret. He is not a lady's man.' - -Margaret wreathed her throat in a scornful curve. - -'I don't particularly admire ladies' men, papa. But Mr. Thornton -comes here as your friend--as one who has appreciated you'-- - -'The only person in Milton,' said Mrs. Hale. - -'So we will give him a welcome, and some cocoa-nut cakes. Dixon -will be flattered if we ask her to make some; and I will -undertake to iron your caps, mamma.' - -Many a time that morning did Margaret wish Mr. Thornton far -enough away. She had planned other employments for herself: a -letter to Edith, a good piece of Dante, a visit to the Higginses. -But, instead, she ironed away, listening to Dixon's complaints, -and only hoping that by an excess of sympathy she might prevent -her from carrying the recital of her sorrows to Mrs. Hale. Every -now and then, Margaret had to remind herself of her father's -regard for Mr. Thornton, to subdue the irritation of weariness -that was stealing over her, and bringing on one of the bad -headaches to which she had lately become liable. She could hardly -speak when she sat down at last, and told her mother that she was -no longer Peggy the laundry-maid, but Margaret Hale the lady. She -meant this speech for a little joke, and was vexed enough with -her busy tongue when she found her mother taking it seriously. - -'Yes! if any one had told me, when I was Miss Beresford, and one -of the belles of the county, that a child of mine would have to -stand half a day, in a little poky kitchen, working away like any -servant, that we might prepare properly for the reception of a -tradesman, and that this tradesman should be the only'--'Oh, -mamma!' said Margaret, lifting herself up, 'don't punish me so -for a careless speech. I don't mind ironing, or any kind of work, -for you and papa. I am myself a born and bred lady through it -all, even though it comes to scouring a floor, or washing dishes. -I am tired now, just for a little while; but in half an hour I -shall be ready to do the same over again. And as to Mr. -Thornton's being in trade, why he can't help that now, poor -fellow. I don't suppose his education would fit him for much -else.' Margaret lifted herself slowly up, and went to her own -room; for just now she could not bear much more. - -In Mr. Thornton's house, at this very same time, a similar, yet -different, scene was going on. A large-boned lady, long past -middle age, sat at work in a grim handsomely-furnished -dining-room. Her features, like her frame, were strong and -massive, rather than heavy. Her face moved slowly from one -decided expression to another equally decided. There was no great -variety in her countenance; but those who looked at it once, -generally looked at it again; even the passers-by in the street, -half-turned their heads to gaze an instant longer at the firm, -severe, dignified woman, who never gave way in street-courtesy, -or paused in her straight-onward course to the clearly-defined -end which she proposed to herself. She was handsomely dressed in -stout black silk, of which not a thread was worn or discoloured. -She was mending a large long table-cloth of the finest texture, -holding it up against the light occasionally to discover thin -places, which required her delicate care. There was not a book -about in the room, with the exception of Matthew Henry's Bible -Commentaries, six volumes of which lay in the centre of the -massive side-board, flanked by a tea-urn on one side, and a lamp -on the other. In some remote apartment, there was exercise upon -the piano going on. Some one was practising up a morceau de -salon, playing it very rapidly; every third note, on an average, -being either indistinct, or wholly missed out, and the loud -chords at the end being half of them false, but not the less -satisfactory to the performer. Mrs. Thornton heard a step, like -her own in its decisive character, pass the dining-room door. - -'John! Is that you?' - -Her son opened the door and showed himself. - -'What has brought you home so early? I thought you were going to -tea with that friend of Mr. Bell's; that Mr. Hale.' - -'So I am, mother; I am come home to dress!' - -'Dress! humph! When I was a girl, young men were satisfied with -dressing once in a day. Why should you dress to go and take a cup -of tea with an old parson?' - -'Mr. Hale is a gentleman, and his wife and daughter are ladies.' - -'Wife and daughter! Do they teach too? What do they do? You have -never mentioned them.' - -'No! mother, because I have never seen Mrs. Hale; I have only -seen Miss Hale for half an hour.' - -'Take care you don't get caught by a penniless girl, John.' - -'I am not easily caught, mother, as I think you know. But I must -not have Miss Hale spoken of in that way, which, you know, is -offensive to me. I never was aware of any young lady trying to -catch me yet, nor do I believe that any one has ever given -themselves that useless trouble.' - -Mrs. Thornton did not choose to yield the point to her son; or -else she had, in general, pride enough for her sex. - -'Well! I only say, take care. Perhaps our Milton girls have too -much spirit and good feeling to go angling after husbands; but -this Miss Hale comes out of the aristocratic counties, where, if -all tales be true, rich husbands are reckoned prizes.' - -Mr. Thornton's brow contracted, and he came a step forward into -the room. - -'Mother' (with a short scornful laugh), 'you will make me -confess. The only time I saw Miss Hale, she treated me with a -haughty civility which had a strong flavour of contempt in it. -She held herself aloof from me as if she had been a queen, and I -her humble, unwashed vassal. Be easy, mother.' - -'No! I am not easy, nor content either. What business had she, a -renegade clergyman's daughter, to turn up her nose at you! I -would dress for none of them--a saucy set! if I were you.' As he -was leaving the room, he said:-- - -'Mr. Hale is good, and gentle, and learned. He is not saucy. As -for Mrs. Hale, I will tell you what she is like to-night, if you -care to hear.' He shut the door and was gone. - -'Despise my son! treat him as her vassal, indeed! Humph! I should -like to know where she could find such another! Boy and man, he's -the noblest, stoutest heart I ever knew. I don't care if I am his -mother; I can see what's what, and not be blind. I know what -Fanny is; and I know what John is. Despise him! I hate her!' - - -CHAPTER X - - -WROUGHT IRON AND GOLD - -'We are the trees whom shaking fastens more.' -GEORGE HERBERT. - - -Mr. Thornton left the house without coming into the dining-room -again. He was rather late, and walked rapidly out to Crampton. He -was anxious not to slight his new friend by any disrespectful -unpunctuality. The church-clock struck half-past seven as he -stood at the door awaiting Dixon's slow movements; always doubly -tardy when she had to degrade herself by answering the door-bell. -He was ushered into the little drawing-room, and kindly greeted -by Mr. Hale, who led him up to his wife, whose pale face, and -shawl-draped figure made a silent excuse for the cold languor of -her greeting. Margaret was lighting the lamp when he entered, for -the darkness was coming on. The lamp threw a pretty light into -the centre of the dusky room, from which, with country habits, -they did not exclude the night-skies, and the outer darkness of -air. Somehow, that room contrasted itself with the one he had -lately left; handsome, ponderous, with no sign of feminine -habitation, except in the one spot where his mother sate, and no -convenience for any other employment than eating and drinking. To -be sure, it was a dining-room; his mother preferred to sit in it; -and her will was a household law. But the drawing-room was not -like this. It was twice--twenty times as fine; not one quarter as -comfortable. Here were no mirrors, not even a scrap of glass to -reflect the light, and answer the same purpose as water in a -landscape; no gilding; a warm, sober breadth of colouring, well -relieved by the dear old Helstone chintz-curtains and chair -covers. An open davenport stood in the window opposite the door; -in the other there was a stand, with a tall white china vase, -from which drooped wreaths of English ivy, pale-green birch, and -copper-coloured beech-leaves. Pretty baskets of work stood about -in different places: and books, not cared for on account of their -binding solely, lay on one table, as if recently put down. Behind -the door was another table, decked out for tea, with a white -tablecloth, on which flourished the cocoa-nut cakes, and a basket -piled with oranges and ruddy American apples, heaped on leaves. - -It appeared to Mr. Thornton that all these graceful cares were -habitual to the family; and especially of a piece with Margaret. -She stood by the tea-table in a light-coloured muslin gown, which -had a good deal of pink about it. She looked as if she was not -attending to the conversation, but solely busy with the tea-cups, -among which her round ivory hands moved with pretty, noiseless, -daintiness. She had a bracelet on one taper arm, which would fall -down over her round wrist. Mr. Thornton watched the replacing of -this troublesome ornament with far more attention than he -listened to her father. It seemed as if it fascinated him to see -her push it up impatiently, until it tightened her soft flesh; -and then to mark the loosening--the fall. He could almost have -exclaimed--'There it goes, again!' There was so little left to be -done after he arrived at the preparation for tea, that he was -almost sorry the obligation of eating and drinking came so soon -to prevent his watching Margaret. She handed him his cup of tea -with the proud air of an unwilling slave; but her eye caught the -moment when he was ready for another cup; and he almost longed to -ask her to do for him what he saw her compelled to do for her -father, who took her little finger and thumb in his masculine -hand, and made them serve as sugar-tongs. Mr. Thornton saw her -beautiful eyes lifted to her father, full of light, half-laughter -and half-love, as this bit of pantomime went on between the two, -unobserved, as they fancied, by any. Margaret's head still ached, -as the paleness of her complexion, and her silence might have -testified; but she was resolved to throw herself into the breach, -if there was any long untoward pause, rather than that her -father's friend, pupil, and guest should have cause to think -himself in any way neglected. But the conversation went on; and -Margaret drew into a corner, near her mother, with her work, -after the tea-things were taken away; and felt that she might let -her thoughts roam, without fear of being suddenly wanted to fill -up a gap. - -Mr. Thornton and Mr. Hale were both absorbed in the continuation -of some subject which had been started at their last meeting. -Margaret was recalled to a sense of the present by some trivial, -low-spoken remark of her mother's; and on suddenly looking up -from her work, her eye was caught by the difference of outward -appearance between her father and Mr. Thornton, as betokening -such distinctly opposite natures. Her father was of slight -figure, which made him appear taller than he really was, when not -contrasted, as at this time, with the tall, massive frame of -another. The lines in her father's face were soft and waving, -with a frequent undulating kind of trembling movement passing -over them, showing every fluctuating emotion; the eyelids were -large and arched, giving to the eyes a peculiar languid beauty -which was almost feminine. The brows were finely arched, but -were, by the very size of the dreamy lids, raised to a -considerable distance from the eyes. Now, in Mr. Thornton's face -the straight brows fell low over the clear, deep-set earnest -eyes, which, without being unpleasantly sharp, seemed intent -enough to penetrate into the very heart and core of what he was -looking at. The lines in the face were few but firm, as if they -were carved in marble, and lay principally about the lips, which -were slightly compressed over a set of teeth so faultless and -beautiful as to give the effect of sudden sunlight when the rare -bright smile, coming in an instant and shining out of the eyes, -changed the whole look from the severe and resolved expression of -a man ready to do and dare everything, to the keen honest -enjoyment of the moment, which is seldom shown so fearlessly and -instantaneously except by children. Margaret liked this smile; it -was the first thing she had admired in this new friend of her -father's; and the opposition of character, shown in all these -details of appearance she had just been noticing, seemed to -explain the attraction they evidently felt towards each other. - -She rearranged her mother's worsted-work, and fell back into her -own thoughts--as completely forgotten by Mr. Thornton as if she -had not been in the room, so thoroughly was he occupied in -explaining to Mr. Hale the magnificent power, yet delicate -adjustment of the might of the steam-hammer, which was recalling -to Mr. Hale some of the wonderful stories of subservient genii in -the Arabian Nights--one moment stretching from earth to sky and -filling all the width of the horizon, at the next obediently -compressed into a vase small enough to be borne in the hand of a -child. - -'And this imagination of power, this practical realisation of a -gigantic thought, came out of one man's brain in our good town. -That very man has it within him to mount, step by step, on each -wonder he achieves to higher marvels still. And I'll be bound to -say, we have many among us who, if he were gone, could spring -into the breach and carry on the war which compels, and shall -compel, all material power to yield to science.' - -'Your boast reminds me of the old lines--"I've a hundred -captains in England," he said, "As good as ever was he."' - -At her father's quotation Margaret looked suddenly up, with -inquiring wonder in her eyes. How in the world had they got from -cog-wheels to Chevy Chace? - -'It is no boast of mine,' replied Mr. Thornton; 'it is plain -matter-of-fact. I won't deny that I am proud of belonging to a -town--or perhaps I should rather say a district--the necessities -of which give birth to such grandeur of conception. I would -rather be a man toiling, suffering--nay, failing and -successless--here, than lead a dull prosperous life in the old -worn grooves of what you call more aristocratic society down in -the South, with their slow days of careless ease. One may be -clogged with honey and unable to rise and fly.' - -'You are mistaken,' said Margaret, roused by the aspersion on her -beloved South to a fond vehemence of defence, that brought the -colour into her cheeks and the angry tears into her eyes. 'You do -not know anything about the South. If there is less adventure or -less progress--I suppose I must not say less excitement--from the -gambling spirit of trade, which seems requisite to force out -these wonderful inventions, there is less suffering also. I see -men h ere going about in the streets who look ground down by some -pinching sorrow or care--who are not only sufferers but haters. -Now, in the South we have our poor, but there is not that -terrible expression in their countenances of a sullen sense of -injustice which I see here. You do not know the South, Mr. -Thornton,' she concluded, collapsing into a determined silence, -and angry with herself for having said so much. - -'And may I say you do not know the North?' asked he, with an -inexpressible gentleness in his tone, as he saw that he had -really hurt her. She continued resolutely silent; yearning after -the lovely haunts she had left far away in Hampshire, with a -passionate longing that made her feel her voice would be unsteady -and trembling if she spoke. - -'At any rate, Mr. Thornton,' said Mrs. Hale, 'you will allow that -Milton is a much more smoky, dirty town than you will ever meet -with in the South.' - -'I'm afraid I must give up its cleanliness,' said Mr. Thornton, -with the quick gleaming smile. 'But we are bidden by parliament -to burn our own smoke; so I suppose, like good little children, -we shall do as we are bid--some time.' - -'But I think you told me you had altered your chimneys so as to -consume the smoke, did you not?' asked Mr. Hale. - -'Mine were altered by my own will, before parliament meddled with -the affair. It was an immediate outlay, but it repays me in the -saving of coal. I'm not sure whether I should have done it, if I -had waited until the act was passed. At any rate, I should have -waited to be informed against and fined, and given all the -trouble in yielding that I legally could. But all laws which -depend for their enforcement upon informers and fines, become -inert from the odiousness of the machinery. I doubt if there has -been a chimney in Milton informed against for five years past, -although some are constantly sending out one-third of their coal -in what is called here unparliamentary smoke.' - -'I only know it is impossible to keep the muslin blinds clean -here above a week together; and at Helstone we have had them up -for a month or more, and they have not looked dirty at the end of -that time. And as for hands--Margaret, how many times did you say -you had washed your hands this morning before twelve o'clock? -Three times, was it not?' - -'Yes, mamma.' - -'You seem to have a strong objection to acts of parliament and -all legislation affecting your mode of management down here at -Milton,' said Mr. Hale. - -'Yes, I have; and many others have as well. And with justice, I -think. The whole machinery--I don't mean the wood and iron -machinery now--of the cotton trade is so new that it is no wonder -if it does not work well in every part all at once. Seventy years -ago what was it? And now what is it not? Raw, crude materials -came together; men of the same level, as regarded education and -station, took suddenly the different positions of masters and -men, owing to the motherwit, as regarded opportunities and -probabilities, which distinguished some, and made them far-seeing -as to what great future lay concealed in that rude model of Sir -Richard Arkwright's. The rapid development of what might be -called a new trade, gave those early masters enormous power of -wealth and command. I don't mean merely over the workmen; I mean -over purchasers--over the whole world's market. Why, I may give -you, as an instance, an advertisement, inserted not fifty years -ago in a Milton paper, that so-and-so (one of the half-dozen -calico-printers of the time) would close his warehouse at noon -each day; therefore, that all purchasers must come before that -hour. Fancy a man dictating in this manner the time when he would -sell and when he would not sell. Now, I believe, if a good -customer chose to come at midnight, I should get up, and stand -hat in hand to receive his orders.' - -Margaret's lip curled, but somehow she was compelled to listen; -she could no longer abstract herself in her own thoughts. - -'I only name such things to show what almost unlimited power the -manufacturers had about the beginning of this century. The men -were rendered dizzy by it. Because a man was successful in his -ventures, there was no reason that in all other things his mind -should be well-balanced. On the Contrary, his sense of justice, -and his simplicity, were often utterly smothered under the glut -of wealth that came down upon him; and they tell strange tales of -the wild extravagance of living indulged in on gala-days by those -early cotton-lords. There can be no doubt, too, of the tyranny -they exercised over their work-people. You know the proverb, Mr. -Hale, "Set a beggar on horseback, and he'll ride to the -devil,"--well, some of these early manufacturers did ride to the -devil in a magnificent style--crushing human bone and flesh under -their horses' hoofs without remorse. But by-and-by came a -re-action, there were more factories, more masters; more men were -wanted. The power of masters and men became more evenly balanced; -and now the battle is pretty fairly waged between us. We will -hardly submit to the decision of an umpire, much less to the -interference of a meddler with only a smattering of the knowledge -of the real facts of the case, even though that meddler be called -the High Court of Parliament. - -'Is there necessity for calling it a battle between the two -classes?' asked Mr. Hale. 'I know, from your using the term, it -is one which gives a true idea of the real state of things to -your mind.' - -'It is true; and I believe it to be as much a necessity as that -prudent wisdom and good conduct are always opposed to, and doing -battle with ignorance and improvidence. It is one of the great -beauties of our system, that a working-man may raise himself into -the power and position of a master by his own exertions and -behaviour; that, in fact, every one who rules himself to decency -and sobriety of conduct, and attention to his duties, comes over -to our ranks; it may not be always as a master, but as an -over-looker, a cashier, a book-keeper, a clerk, one on the side -of authority and order.' - -'You consider all who are unsuccessful in raising themselves in -the world, from whatever cause, as your enemies, then, if I -under-stand you rightly,' said Margaret' in a clear, cold voice. - -'As their own enemies, certainly,' said he, quickly, not a little -piqued by the haughty disapproval her form of expression and tone -of speaking implied. But, in a moment, his straightforward -honesty made him feel that his words were but a poor and -quibbling answer to what she had said; and, be she as scornful as -she liked, it was a duty he owed to himself to explain, as truly -as he could, what he did mean. Yet it was very difficult to -separate her interpretation, and keep it distinct from his -meaning. He could best have illustrated what he wanted to say by -telling them something of his own life; but was it not too -personal a subject to speak about to strangers? Still, it was the -simple straightforward way of explaining his meaning; so, putting -aside the touch of shyness that brought a momentary flush of -colour into his dark cheek, he said: - -'I am not speaking without book. Sixteen years ago, my father -died under very miserable circumstances. I was taken from school, -and had to become a man (as well as I could) in a few days. I had -such a mother as few are blest with; a woman of strong power, and -firm resolve. We went into a small country town, where living was -cheaper than in Milton, and where I got employment in a draper's -shop (a capital place, by the way, for obtaining a knowledge of -goods). Week by week our income came to fifteen shillings, out of -which three people had to be kept. My mother managed so that I -put by three out of these fifteen shillings regularly. This made -the beginning; this taught me self-denial. Now that I am able to -afford my mother such comforts as her age, rather than her own -wish, requires, I thank her silently on each occasion for the -early training she gave me. Now when I feel that in my own case -it is no good luck, nor merit, nor talent,--but simply the habits -of life which taught me to despise indulgences not thoroughly -earned,--indeed, never to think twice about them,--I believe that -this suffering, which Miss Hale says is impressed on the -countenances of the people of Milton, is but the natural -punishment of dishonestly-enjoyed pleasure, at some former period -of their lives. I do not look on self-indulgent, sensual people -as worthy of my hatred; I simply look upon them with contempt for -their poorness of character.' - -'But you have had the rudiments of a good education,' remarked -Mr. Hale. 'The quick zest with which you are now reading Homer, -shows me that you do not come to it as an unknown book; you have -read it before, and are only recalling your old knowledge.' - -'That is true,--I had blundered along it at school; I dare say, I -was even considered a pretty fair classic in those days, though -my Latin and Greek have slipt away from me since. But I ask you, -what preparation they were for such a life as I had to lead? None -at all. Utterly none at all. On the point of education, any man -who can read and write starts fair with me in the amount of -really useful knowledge that I had at that time.' - -'Well! I don't agree with you. But there I am perhaps somewhat of -a pedant. Did not the recollection of the heroic simplicity of -the Homeric life nerve you up?' - -'Not one bit!' exclaimed Mr. Thornton, laughing. 'I was too busy -to think about any dead people, with the living pressing -alongside of me, neck to neck, in the struggle for bread. Now -that I have my mother safe in the quiet peace that becomes her -age, and duly rewards her former exertions, I can turn to all -that old narration and thoroughly enjoy it.' - -'I dare say, my remark came from the professional feeling of -there being nothing like leather,' replied Mr. Hale. - -When Mr. Thornton rose up to go away, after shaking hands with -Mr. and Mrs. Hale, he made an advance to Margaret to wish her -good-bye in a similar manner. It was the frank familiar custom of -the place; but Margaret was not prepared for it. She simply bowed -her farewell; although the instant she saw the hand, half put -out, quickly drawn back, she was sorry she had not been aware of -the intention. Mr. Thornton, however, knew nothing of her sorrow, -and, drawing himself up to his full height, walked off, muttering -as he left the house-- - -'A more proud, disagreeable girl I never saw. Even her great -beauty is blotted out of one's memory by her scornful ways.' - - -CHAPTER XI - - -FIRST IMPRESSIONS - -'There's iron, they say, in all our blood, -And a grain or two perhaps is good; -But his, he makes me harshly feel, -Has got a little too much of steel.' -ANON. - - -'Margaret!' said Mr. Hale, as he returned from showing his guest -downstairs; 'I could not help watching your face with some -anxiety, when Mr. Thornton made his confession of having been a -shop-boy. I knew it all along from Mr. Bell; so I was aware of -what was coming; but I half expected to see you get up and leave -the room.' - -'Oh, papa! you don't mean that you thought me so silly? I really -liked that account of himself better than anything else he said. -Everything else revolted me, from its hardness; but he spoke -about himself so simply--with so little of the pretence that -makes the vulgarity of shop-people, and with such tender respect -for his mother, that I was less likely to leave the room then -than when he was boasting about Milton, as if there was not such -another place in the world; or quietly professing to despise -people for careless, wasteful improvidence, without ever seeming -to think it his duty to try to make them different,--to give them -anything of the training which his mother gave him, and to which -he evidently owes his position, whatever that may be. No! his -statement of having been a shop-boy was the thing I liked best of -all.' - -'I am surprised at you, Margaret,' said her mother. 'You who were -always accusing people of being shoppy at Helstone! I don't I -think, Mr. Hale, you have done quite right in introducing such a -person to us without telling us what he had been. I really was -very much afraid of showing him how much shocked I was at some -parts of what he said. His father "dying in miserable -circumstances." Why it might have been in the workhouse.' - -'I am not sure if it was not worse than being in the workhouse,' -replied her husband. 'I heard a good deal of his previous life -from Mr. Bell before we came here; and as he has told you a part, -I will fill up what he left out. His father speculated wildly, -failed, and then killed himself, because he could not bear the -disgrace. All his former friends shrunk from the disclosures that -had to be made of his dishonest gambling--wild, hopeless -struggles, made with other people's money, to regain his own -moderate portion of wealth. No one came forwards to help the -mother and this boy. There was another child, I believe, a girl; -too young to earn money, but of course she had to be kept. At -least, no friend came forwards immediately, and Mrs. Thornton is -not one, I fancy, to wait till tardy kindness comes to find her -out. So they left Milton. I knew he had gone into a shop, and -that his earnings, with some fragment of property secured to his -mother, had been made to keep them for a long time. Mr. Bell said -they absolutely lived upon water-porridge for years--how, he did -not know; but long after the creditors had given up hope of any -payment of old Mr. Thornton's debts (if, indeed, they ever had -hoped at all about it, after his suicide,) this young man -returned to Milton, and went quietly round to each creditor, -paying him the first instalment of the money owing to him. No -noise--no gathering together of creditors--it was done very -silently and quietly, but all was paid at last; helped on -materially by the circumstance of one of the creditors, a crabbed -old fellow (Mr. Bell says), taking in Mr. Thornton as a kind of -partner.' - -'That really is fine,' said Margaret. 'What a pity such a nature -should be tainted by his position as a Milton manufacturer.' - -'How tainted?' asked her father. - -'Oh, papa, by that testing everything by the standard of wealth. -When he spoke of the mechanical powers, he evidently looked upon -them only as new ways of extending trade and making money. And -the poor men around him--they were poor because they were -vicious--out of the pale of his sympathies because they had not -his iron nature, and the capabilities that it gives him for being -rich.' - -'Not vicious; he never said that. Improvident and self-indulgent -were his words.' - -Margaret was collecting her mother's working materials, and -preparing to go to bed. Just as she was leaving the room, she -hesitated--she was inclined to make an acknowledgment which she -thought would please her father, but which to be full and true -must include a little annoyance. However, out it came. - -'Papa, I do think Mr. Thornton a very remarkable man; but -personally I don't like him at all.' - -'And I do!' said her father laughing. 'Personally, as you call -it, and all. I don't set him up for a hero, or anything of that -kind. But good night, child. Your mother looks sadly tired -to-night, Margaret.' - -Margaret had noticed her mother's jaded appearance with anxiety -for some time past, and this remark of her father's sent her up -to bed with a dim fear lying like a weight on her heart. The life -in Milton was so different from what Mrs. Hale had been -accustomed to live in Helstone, in and out perpetually into the -fresh and open air; the air itself was so different, deprived of -all revivifying principle as it seemed to be here; the domestic -worries pressed so very closely, and in so new and sordid a form, -upon all the women in the family, that there was good reason to -fear that her mother's health might be becoming seriously -affected. There were several other signs of something wrong about -Mrs. Hale. She and Dixon held mysterious consultations in her -bedroom, from which Dixon would come out crying and cross, as was -her custom when any distress of her mistress called upon her -sympathy. Once Margaret had gone into the chamber soon after -Dixon left it, and found her mother on her knees, and as Margaret -stole out she caught a few words, which were evidently a prayer -for strength and patience to endure severe bodily suffering. -Margaret yearned to re-unite the bond of intimate confidence -which had been broken by her long residence at her aunt Shaw's, -and strove by gentle caresses and softened words to creep into -the warmest place in her mother's heart. But though she received -caresses and fond words back again, in such profusion as would -have gladdened her formerly, yet she felt that there was a secret -withheld from her, and she believed it bore serious reference to -her mother's health. She lay awake very long this night, planning -how to lessen the evil influence of their Milton life on her -mother. A servant to give Dixon permanent assistance should be -got, if she gave up her whole time to the search; and then, at -any rate, her mother might have all the personal attention she -required, and had been accustomed to her whole life. Visiting -register offices, seeing all manner of unlikely people, and very -few in the least likely, absorbed Margaret's time and thoughts -for several days. One afternoon she met Bessy Higgins in the -street, and stopped to speak to her. - -'Well, Bessy, how are you? Better, I hope, now the wind has -changed.' - -'Better and not better, if yo' know what that means.' - -'Not exactly,' replied Margaret, smiling. - -'I'm better in not being torn to pieces by coughing o'nights, but -I'm weary and tired o' Milton, and longing to get away to the -land o' Beulah; and when I think I'm farther and farther off, my -heart sinks, and I'm no better; I'm worse.' Margaret turned round -to walk alongside of the girl in her feeble progress homeward. -But for a minute or two she did not speak. At last she said in a -low voice, - -'Bessy, do you wish to die?' For she shrank from death herself, -with all the clinging to life so natural to the young and -healthy. - -Bessy was silent in her turn for a minute or two. Then she -replied, - -'If yo'd led the life I have, and getten as weary of it as I -have, and thought at times, "maybe it'll last for fifty or sixty -years--it does wi' some,"--and got dizzy and dazed, and sick, as -each of them sixty years seemed to spin about me, and mock me -with its length of hours and minutes, and endless bits o' -time--oh, wench! I tell thee thou'd been glad enough when th' -doctor said he feared thou'd never see another winter.' - -'Why, Bessy, what kind of a life has yours been?' - -'Nought worse than many others, I reckon. Only I fretted again -it, and they didn't.' - -'But what was it? You know, I'm a stranger here, so perhaps I'm -not so quick at understanding what you mean as if I'd lived all -my life at Milton.' - -'If yo'd ha' come to our house when yo' said yo' would, I could -maybe ha' told you. But father says yo're just like th' rest on -'em; it's out o' sight out o' mind wi' you.' - -'I don't know who the rest are; and I've been very busy; and, to -tell the truth, I had forgotten my promise--' - -'Yo' offered it! we asked none of it.' - -'I had forgotten what I said for the time,' continued Margaret -quietly. 'I should have thought of it again when I was less busy. -May I go with you now?' Bessy gave a quick glance at Margaret's -face, to see if the wish expressed was really felt. The sharpness -in her eye turned to a wistful longing as she met Margaret's soft -and friendly gaze. - -'I ha' none so many to care for me; if yo' care yo' may come. - -So they walked on together in silence. As they turned up into a -small court, opening out of a squalid street, Bessy said, - -'Yo'll not be daunted if father's at home, and speaks a bit -gruffish at first. He took a mind to ye, yo' see, and he thought -a deal o' your coming to see us; and just because he liked yo' he -were vexed and put about.' - -'Don't fear, Bessy.' - -But Nicholas was not at home when they entered. A great -slatternly girl, not so old as Bessy, but taller and stronger, -was busy at the wash-tub, knocking about the furniture in a rough -capable way, but altogether making so much noise that Margaret -shrunk, out of sympathy with poor Bessy, who had sat down on the -first chair, as if completely tired out with her walk. Margaret -asked the sister for a cup of water, and while she ran to fetch -it (knocking down the fire-irons, and tumbling over a chair in -her way), she unloosed Bessy's bonnet strings, to relieve her -catching breath. - -'Do you think such life as this is worth caring for?' gasped -Bessy, at last. Margaret did not speak, but held the water to her -lips. Bessy took a long and feverish draught, and then fell back -and shut her eyes. Margaret heard her murmur to herself: 'They -shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the -sun light on them, nor any heat.' - -Margaret bent over and said, 'Bessy, don't be impatient with your -life, whatever it is--or may have been. Remember who gave it you, -and made it what it is!' She was startled by hearing Nicholas -speak behind her; he had come in without her noticing him. - -'Now, I'll not have my wench preached to. She's bad enough as it -is, with her dreams and her methodee fancies, and her visions of -cities with goulden gates and precious stones. But if it amuses -her I let it abe, but I'm none going to have more stuff poured -into her.' - -'But surely,' said Margaret, facing round, 'you believe in what I -said, that God gave her life, and ordered what kind of life it -was to be?' - -'I believe what I see, and no more. That's what I believe, young -woman. I don't believe all I hear--no! not by a big deal. I did -hear a young lass make an ado about knowing where we lived, and -coming to see us. And my wench here thought a deal about it, and -flushed up many a time, when hoo little knew as I was looking at -her, at the sound of a strange step. But hoo's come at last,--and -hoo's welcome, as long as hoo'll keep from preaching on what hoo -knows nought about.' Bessy had been watching Margaret's face; she -half sate up to speak now, laying her hand on Margaret's arm with -a gesture of entreaty. 'Don't be vexed wi' him--there's many a -one thinks like him; many and many a one here. If yo' could hear -them speak, yo'd not be shocked at him; he's a rare good man, is -father--but oh!' said she, falling back in despair, 'what he says -at times makes me long to die more than ever, for I want to know -so many things, and am so tossed about wi' wonder.' - -'Poor wench--poor old wench,--I'm loth to vex thee, I am; but a -man mun speak out for the truth, and when I see the world going -all wrong at this time o' day, bothering itself wi' things it -knows nought about, and leaving undone all the things that lie in -disorder close at its hand--why, I say, leave a' this talk about -religion alone, and set to work on what yo' see and know. That's -my creed. It's simple, and not far to fetch, nor hard to work.' - -But the girl only pleaded the more with Margaret. - -'Don't think hardly on him--he's a good man, he is. I sometimes -think I shall be moped wi' sorrow even in the City of God, if -father is not there.' The feverish colour came into her cheek, -and the feverish flame into her eye. 'But you will be there, -father! you shall! Oh! my heart!' She put her hand to it, and -became ghastly pale. - -Margaret held her in her arms, and put the weary head to rest -upon her bosom. She lifted the thin soft hair from off the -temples, and bathed them with water. Nicholas understood all her -signs for different articles with the quickness of love, and even -the round-eyed sister moved with laborious gentleness at -Margaret's 'hush!' Presently the spasm that foreshadowed death -had passed away, and Bessy roused herself and said,-- - -'I'll go to bed,--it's best place; but,' catching at Margaret's -gown, 'yo'll come again,--I know yo' will--but just say it!' - -'I will come to-morrow, said Margaret. - -Bessy leant back against her father, who prepared to carry her -upstairs; but as Margaret rose to go, he struggled to say -something: 'I could wish there were a God, if it were only to ask -Him to bless thee.' - -Margaret went away very sad and thoughtful. - -She was late for tea at home. At Helstone unpunctuality at -meal-times was a great fault in her mother's eyes; but now this, -as well as many other little irregularities, seemed to have lost -their power of irritation, and Margaret almost longed for the old -complainings. - -'Have you met with a servant, dear?' - -'No, mamma; that Anne Buckley would never have done.' - -'Suppose I try,' said Mr. Hale. 'Everybody else has had their -turn at this great difficulty. Now let me try. I may be the -Cinderella to put on the slipper after all.' - -Margaret could hardly smile at this little joke, so oppressed was -she by her visit to the Higginses. - -'What would you do, papa? How would you set about it?' - -'Why, I would apply to some good house-mother to recommend me one -known to herself or her servants.' - -'Very good. But we must first catch our house-mother.' - -'You have caught her. Or rather she is coming into the snare, and -you will catch her to-morrow, if you're skilful.' - -'What do you mean, Mr. Hale?' asked his wife, her curiosity -aroused. - -'Why, my paragon pupil (as Margaret calls him), has told me that -his mother intends to call on Mrs. and Miss Hale to-morrow.' - -'Mrs. Thornton!' exclaimed Mrs. Hale. - -'The mother of whom he spoke to us?' said Margaret. - -'Mrs. Thornton; the only mother he has, I believe,' said Mr. Hale -quietly. - -'I shall like to see her. She must be an uncommon person, her -mother added. - -'Perhaps she may have a relation who might suit us, and be glad -of our place. She sounded to be such a careful economical person, -that I should like any one out of the same family.' - -'My dear,' said Mr. Hale alarmed. 'Pray don't go off on that -idea. I fancy Mrs. Thornton is as haughty and proud in her way, -as our little Margaret here is in hers, and that she completely -ignores that old time of trial, and poverty, and economy, of -which he speaks so openly. I am sure, at any rate, she would not -like strangers to know anything about It.' - -'Take notice that is not my kind of haughtiness, papa, if I have -any at all; which I don't agree to, though you're always accusing -me of it.' - -'I don't know positively that it is hers either; but from little -things I have gathered from him, I fancy so.' - -They cared too little to ask in what manner her son had spoken -about her. Margaret only wanted to know if she must stay in to -receive this call, as it would prevent her going to see how Bessy -was, until late in the day, since the early morning was always -occupied in household affairs; and then she recollected that her -mother must not be left to have the whole weight of entertaining -her visitor. - - -CHAPTER XII - - -MORNING CALLS - -'Well--I suppose we must.' -FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. - - -Mr. Thornton had had some difficulty in working up his mother to -the desired point of civility. She did not often make calls; and -when she did, it was in heavy state that she went through her -duties. Her son had given her a carriage; but she refused to let -him keep horses for it; they were hired for the solemn occasions, -when she paid morning or evening visits. She had had horses for -three days, not a fortnight before, and had comfortably 'killed -off' all her acquaintances, who might now put themselves to -trouble and expense in their turn. Yet Crampton was too far off -for her to walk; and she had repeatedly questioned her son as to -whether his wish that she should call on the Hales was strong -enough to bear the expense of cab-hire. She would have been -thankful if it had not; for, as she said, 'she saw no use in -making up friendships and intimacies with all the teachers and -masters in Milton; why, he would be wanting her to call on -Fanny's dancing-master's wife, the next thing!' - -'And so I would, mother, if Mr. Mason and his wife were friend -less in a strange place, like the Hales.' - -'Oh! you need not speak so hastily. I am going to-morrow. I only -wanted you exactly to understand about it.' - -'If you are going to-morrow, I shall order horses.' - -'Nonsense, John. One would think you were made of money.' - -'Not quite, yet. But about the horses I'm determined. The last -time you were out in a cab, you came home with a headache from -the jolting.' - -'I never complained of it, I'm sure.' - -'No. My mother is not given to complaints,' said he, a little -proudly. 'But so much the more I have to watch over you. Now as -for Fanny there, a little hardship would do her good.' - -'She is not made of the same stuff as you are, John. She could -not bear it.' Mrs. Thornton was silent after this; for her last -words bore relation to a subject which mortified her. She had an -unconscious contempt for a weak character; and Fanny was weak in -the very points in which her mother and brother were strong. Mrs. -Thornton was not a woman much given to reasoning; her quick -judgment and firm resolution served her in good stead of any long -arguments and discussions with herself; she felt instinctively -that nothing could strengthen Fanny to endure hardships -patiently, or face difficulties bravely; and though she winced as -she made this acknowledgment to herself about her daughter, it -only gave her a kind of pitying tenderness of manner towards her; -much of the same description of demeanour with which mothers are -wont to treat their weak and sickly children. A stranger, a -careless observer might have considered that Mrs. Thornton's -manner to her children betokened far more love to Fanny than to -John. But such a one would have been deeply mistaken. The very -daringness with which mother and son spoke out unpalatable -truths, the one to the other, showed a reliance on the firm -centre of each other's souls, which the uneasy tenderness of Mrs. -Thornton's manner to her daughter, the shame with which she -thought to hide the poverty of her child in all the grand -qualities which she herself possessed unconsciously, and which -she set so high a value upon in others--this shame, I say, -betrayed the want of a secure resting-place for her affection. -She never called her son by any name but John; 'love,' and -'dear,' and such like terms, were reserved for Fanny. But her -heart gave thanks for him day and night; and she walked proudly -among women for his sake. - -'Fanny dear I shall have horses to the carriage to-day, to go and -call on these Hales. Should not you go and see nurse? It's in the -same direction, and she's always so glad to see you. You could go -on there while I am at Mrs. Hale's.' - -'Oh! mamma, it's such a long way, and I am so tired.' - -'With what?' asked Mrs. Thornton, her brow slightly contracting. - -'I don't know--the weather, I think. It is so relaxing. Couldn't -you bring nurse here, mamma? The carriage could fetch her, and -she could spend the rest of the day here, which I know she would -like.' - -Mrs. Thornton did not speak; but she laid her work on the table, -and seemed to think. - -'It will be a long way for her to walk back at night!' she -remarked, at last. - -'Oh, but I will send her home in a cab. I never thought of her -walking.' At this point, Mr. Thornton came in, just before going -to the mill. - -'Mother! I need hardly say, that if there is any little thing -that could serve Mrs. Hale as an invalid, you will offer it, I'm -sure.' - -'If I can find it out, I will. But I have never been ill myself, -so I am not much up to invalids' fancies.' - -'Well! here is Fanny then, who is seldom without an ailment. She -will be able to suggest something, perhaps--won't you, Fan?' - -'I have not always an ailment,' said Fanny, pettishly; 'and I am -not going with mamma. I have a headache to-day, and I shan't go -out.' - -Mr. Thornton looked annoyed. His mother's eyes were bent on her -work, at which she was now stitching away busily. - -'Fanny! I wish you to go,' said he, authoritatively. 'It will do -you good, instead of harm. You will oblige me by going, without -my saying anything more about it.' - -He went abruptly out of the room after saying this. - -If he had staid a minute longer, Fanny would have cried at his -tone of command, even when he used the words, 'You will oblige -me.' As it was, she grumbled. - -'John always speaks as if I fancied I was ill, and I am sure I -never do fancy any such thing. Who are these Hales that he makes -such a fuss about?' - -'Fanny, don't speak so of your brother. He has good reasons of -some kind or other, or he would not wish us to go. Make haste and -put your things on.' - -But the little altercation between her son and her daughter did -not incline Mrs. Thornton more favourably towards 'these Hales.' -Her jealous heart repeated her daughter's question, 'Who are -they, that he is so anxious we should pay them all this -attention?' It came up like a burden to a song, long after Fanny -had forgotten all about it in the pleasant excitement of seeing -the effect of a new bonnet in the looking-glass. - -Mrs. Thornton was shy. It was only of late years that she had had -leisure enough in her life to go into society; and as society she -did not enjoy it. As dinner-giving, and as criticising other -people's dinners, she took satisfaction in it. But this going to -make acquaintance with strangers was a very different thing. She -was ill at ease, and looked more than usually stern and -forbidding as she entered the Hales' little drawing-room. - -Margaret was busy embroidering a small piece of cambric for some -little article of dress for Edith's expected baby--'Flimsy, -useless work,' as Mrs. Thornton observed to herself. She liked -Mrs. Hale's double knitting far better; that was sensible of its -kind. The room altogether was full of knick-knacks, which must -take a long time to dust; and time to people of limited income -was money. She made all these reflections as she was talking in -her stately way to Mrs. Hale, and uttering all the stereotyped -commonplaces that most people can find to say with their senses -blindfolded. Mrs. Hale was making rather more exertion in her -answers, captivated by some real old lace which Mrs. Thornton -wore; 'lace,' as she afterwards observed to Dixon, 'of that old -English point which has not been made for this seventy years, and -which cannot be bought. It must have been an heir-loom, and shows -that she had ancestors.' So the owner of the ancestral lace -became worthy of something more than the languid exertion to be -agreeable to a visitor, by which Mrs. Hale's efforts at -conversation would have been otherwise bounded. And presently, -Margaret, racking her brain to talk to Fanny, heard her mother -and Mrs. Thornton plunge into the interminable subject of -servants. - -'I suppose you are not musical,' said Fanny, 'as I see no piano.' - -'I am fond of hearing good music; I cannot play well myself; and -papa and mamma don't care much about it; so we sold our old piano -when we came here.' - -'I wonder how you can exist without one. It almost seems to me a -necessary of life.' - -'Fifteen shillings a week, and three saved out of them!' thought -Margaret to herself 'But she must have been very young. She -probably has forgotten her own personal experience. But she must -know of those days.' Margaret's manner had an extra tinge of -coldness in it when she next spoke. - -'You have good concerts here, I believe.' - -'Oh, yes! Delicious! Too crowded, that is the worst. The -directors admit so indiscriminately. But one is sure to hear the -newest music there. I always have a large order to give to -Johnson's, the day after a concert.' - -'Do you like new music simply for its newness, then?' - -'Oh; one knows it is the fashion in London, or else the singers -would not bring it down here. You have been in London, of -course.' - -'Yes,' said Margaret, 'I have lived there for several years.' - -'Oh! London and the Alhambra are the two places I long to see!' - -'London and the Alhambra!' - -'Yes! ever since I read the Tales of the Alhambra. Don't you know -them?' - -'I don't think I do. But surely, it is a very easy journey to -London.' - -'Yes; but somehow,' said Fanny, lowering her voice, 'mamma has -never been to London herself, and can't understand my longing. -She is very proud of Milton; dirty, smoky place, as I feel it to -be. I believe she admires it the more for those very qualities.' - -'If it has been Mrs. Thornton's home for some years, I can well -understand her loving it,' said Margaret, in her clear bell-like -voice. - -'What are you saying about me, Miss Hale? May I inquire?' - -Margaret had not the words ready for an answer to this question, -which took her a little by surprise, so Miss Thornton replied: - -'Oh, mamma! we are only trying to account for your being so fond -of Milton.' - -'Thank you,' said Mrs. Thornton. 'I do not feel that my very -natural liking for the place where I was born and brought -up,--and which has since been my residence for some years, -requires any accounting for.' - -Margaret was vexed. As Fanny had put it, it did seem as if they -had been impertinently discussing Mrs. Thornton's feelings; but -she also rose up against that lady's manner of showing that she -was offended. - -Mrs. Thornton went on after a moment's pause: - -'Do you know anything of Milton, Miss Hale? Have you seen any of -our factories? our magnificent warehouses?' - -'No!' said Margaret. 'I have not seen anything of that -description as yet. Then she felt that, by concealing her utter -indifference to all such places, she was hardly speaking with -truth; so she went on: - -'I dare say, papa would have taken me before now if I had cared. -But I really do not find much pleasure in going over -manufactories.' - -'They are very curious places,' said Mrs. Hale, 'but there is so -much noise and dirt always. I remember once going in a lilac silk -to see candles made, and my gown was utterly ruined.' - -'Very probably,' said Mrs. Thornton, in a short displeased -manner. 'I merely thought, that as strangers newly come to reside -in a town which has risen to eminence in the country, from the -character and progress of its peculiar business, you might have -cared to visit some of the places where it is carried on; places -unique in the kingdom, I am informed. If Miss Hale changes her -mind and condescends to be curious as to the manufactures of -Milton, I can only say I shall be glad to procure her admission -to print-works, or reed-making, or the more simple operations of -spinning carried on in my son's mill. Every improvement of -machinery is, I believe, to be seen there, in its highest -perfection.' - -'I am so glad you don't like mills and manufactories, and all -those kind of things,' said Fanny, in a half-whisper, as she rose -to accompany her mother, who was taking leave of Mrs. Hale with -rustling dignity. - -'I think I should like to know all about them, if I were you,' -replied Margaret quietly. - -'Fanny!' said her mother, as they drove away, 'we will be civil -to these Hales: but don't form one of your hasty friendships with -the daughter. She will do you no good, I see. The mother looks -very ill, and seems a nice, quiet kind of person.' - -'I don't want to form any friendship with Miss Hale, mamma,' said -Fanny, pouting. 'I thought I was doing my duty by talking to her, -and trying to amuse her.' - -'Well! at any rate John must be satisfied now.' - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -A SOFT BREEZE IN A SULTRY PLACE - -'That doubt and trouble, fear and pain, -And anguish, all, are shadows vain, -That death itself shall not remain; - -That weary deserts we may tread, -A dreary labyrinth may thread, -Thro' dark ways underground be led; - -Yet, if we will one Guide obey, -The dreariest path, the darkest way -Shall issue out in heavenly day; - -And we, on divers shores now cast, -Shall meet, our perilous voyage past, -All in our Father's house at last!' -R. C. TRENCH. - - -Margaret flew up stairs as soon as their visitors were gone, and -put on her bonnet and shawl, to run and inquire how Bessy Higgins -was, and sit with her as long as she could before dinner. As she -went along the crowded narrow streets, she felt how much of -interest they had gained by the simple fact of her having learnt -to care for a dweller in them. - -Mary Higgins, the slatternly younger sister, had endeavoured as -well as she could to tidy up the house for the expected visit. -There had been rough-stoning done in the middle of the floor, -while the flags under the chairs and table and round the walls -retained their dark unwashed appearance. Although the day was -hot, there burnt a large fire in the grate, making the whole -place feel like an oven. Margaret did not understand that the -lavishness of coals was a sign of hospitable welcome to her on -Mary's part, and thought that perhaps the oppressive heat was -necessary for Bessy. Bessy herself lay on a squab, or short sofa, -placed under the window. She was very much more feeble than on -the previous day, and tired with raising herself at every step to -look out and see if it was Margaret coming. And now that Margaret -was there, and had taken a chair by her, Bessy lay back silent, -and content to look at Margaret's face, and touch her articles of -dress, with a childish admiration of their fineness of texture. - -'I never knew why folk in the Bible cared for soft raiment afore. -But it must be nice to go dressed as yo' do. It's different fro' -common. Most fine folk tire my eyes out wi' their colours; but -some how yours rest me. Where did ye get this frock?' - -'In London,' said Margaret, much amused. - -'London! Have yo' been in London?' - -'Yes! I lived there for some years. But my home was in a forest; -in the country. - -'Tell me about it,' said Bessy. 'I like to hear speak of the -country and trees, and such like things.' She leant back, and -shut her eye and crossed her hands over her breast, lying at -perfect rest, as if t receive all the ideas Margaret could -suggest. - -Margaret had never spoken of Helstone since she left it, except -just naming the place incidentally. She saw it in dreams more -vivid than life, and as she fell away to slumber at nights her -memory wandered in all its pleasant places. But her heart was -opened to this girl; 'Oh, Bessy, I loved the home we have left so -dearly! I wish you could see it. I cannot tell you half its -beauty. There are great trees standing all about it, with their -branches stretching long and level, and making a deep shade of -rest even at noonday. And yet, though every leaf may seem still, -there is a continual rushing sound of movement all around--not -close at hand. Then sometimes the turf is as soft and fine as -velvet; and sometimes quite lush with the perpetual moisture of a -little, hidden, tinkling brook near at hand. And then in other -parts there are billowy ferns--whole stretches of fern; some in -the green shadow; some with long streaks of golden sunlight lying -on them--just like the sea.' - -'I have never seen the sea,' murmured Bessy. 'But go on.' - -'Then, here and there, there are wide commons, high up as if -above the very tops of the trees--' - -'I'm glad of that. I felt smothered like down below. When I have -gone for an out, I've always wanted to get high up and see far -away, and take a deep breath o' fulness in that air. I get -smothered enough in Milton, and I think the sound yo' speak of -among the trees, going on for ever and ever, would send me dazed; -it's that made my head ache so in the mill. Now on these commons -I reckon there is but little noise?' - -'No,' said Margaret; 'nothing but here and there a lark high in -the air. Sometimes I used to hear a farmer speaking sharp and -loud to his servants; but it was so far away that it only -reminded me pleasantly that other people were hard at work in -some distant place, while I just sat on the heather and did -nothing.' - -'I used to think once that if I could have a day of doing -nothing, to rest me--a day in some quiet place like that yo' -speak on--it would maybe set me up. But now I've had many days o' -idleness, and I'm just as weary o' them as I was o' my work. -Sometimes I'm so tired out I think I cannot enjoy heaven without -a piece of rest first. I'm rather afeard o' going straight there -without getting a good sleep in the grave to set me up.' - -'Don't be afraid, Bessy,' said Margaret, laying her hand on the -girl's; 'God can give you more perfect rest than even idleness on -earth, or the dead sleep of the grave can do.' - -Bessy moved uneasily; then she said: - -'I wish father would not speak as he does. He means well, as I -telled yo' yesterday, and tell yo' again and again. But yo' see, -though I don't believe him a bit by day, yet by night--when I'm -in a fever, half-asleep and half-awake--it comes back upon -me--oh! so bad! And I think, if this should be th' end of all, -and if all I've been born for is just to work my heart and my -life away, and to sicken i' this dree place, wi' them mill-noises -in my ears for ever, until I could scream out for them to stop, -and let me have a little piece o' quiet--and wi' the fluff -filling my lungs, until I thirst to death for one long deep -breath o' the clear air yo' speak on--and my mother gone, and I -never able to tell her again how I loved her, and o' all my -troubles--I think if this life is th' end, and that there's no -God to wipe away all tears from all eyes--yo' wench, yo'!' said -she, sitting up, and clutching violently, almost fiercely, at -Margaret's hand, 'I could go mad, and kill yo', I could.' She -fell back completely worn out with her passion. Margaret knelt -down by her. - -'Bessy--we have a Father in Heaven.' - -'I know it! I know it,' moaned she, turning her head uneasily -from side to side. - -'I'm very wicked. I've spoken very wickedly. Oh! don't be -frightened by me and never come again. I would not harm a hair of -your head. And,' opening her eyes, and looking earnestly at -Margaret, 'I believe, perhaps, more than yo' do o' what's to -come. I read the book o' Revelations until I know it off by -heart, and I never doubt when I'm waking, and in my senses, of -all the glory I'm to come to.' - -'Don't let us talk of what fancies come into your head when you -are feverish. I would rather hear something about what you used -to do when you were well.' - -'I think I was well when mother died, but I have never been -rightly strong sin' somewhere about that time. I began to work in -a carding-room soon after, and the fluff got into my lungs and -poisoned me.' - -'Fluff?' said Margaret, inquiringly. - -'Fluff,' repeated Bessy. 'Little bits, as fly off fro' the -cotton, when they're carding it, and fill the air till it looks -all fine white dust. They say it winds round the lungs, and -tightens them up. Anyhow, there's many a one as works in a -carding-room, that falls into a waste, coughing and spitting -blood, because they're just poisoned by the fluff.' - -'But can't it be helped?' asked Margaret. - -'I dunno. Some folk have a great wheel at one end o' their -carding-rooms to make a draught, and carry off th' dust; but that -wheel costs a deal o' money--five or six hundred pound, maybe, -and brings in no profit; so it's but a few of th' masters as will -put 'em up; and I've heard tell o' men who didn't like working -places where there was a wheel, because they said as how it mad -'em hungry, at after they'd been long used to swallowing fluff, -tone go without it, and that their wage ought to be raised if -they were to work in such places. So between masters and men th' -wheels fall through. I know I wish there'd been a wheel in our -place, though.' - -'Did not your father know about it?' asked Margaret. - -'Yes! And he were sorry. But our factory were a good one on the -whole; and a steady likely set o' people; and father was afeard -of letting me go to a strange place, for though yo' would na -think it now, many a one then used to call me a gradely lass -enough. And I did na like to be reckoned nesh and soft, and -Mary's schooling were to be kept up, mother said, and father he -were always liking to buy books, and go to lectures o' one kind -or another--all which took money--so I just worked on till I -shall ne'er get the whirr out o' my ears, or the fluff out o' my -throat i' this world. That's all.' - -'How old are you?' asked Margaret. - -'Nineteen, come July.' - -'And I too am nineteen.' She thought, more sorrowfully than Bessy -did, of the contrast between them. She could not speak for a -moment or two for the emotion she was trying to keep down. - -'About Mary,' said Bessy. 'I wanted to ask yo' to be a friend to -her. She's seventeen, but she's th' last on us. And I don't want -her to go to th' mill, and yet I dunno what she's fit for.' - -'She could not do'--Margaret glanced unconsciously at the -uncleaned corners of the room--'She could hardly undertake a -servant's place, could she? We have an old faithful servant, -almost a friend, who wants help, but who is very particular; and -it would not be right to plague her with giving her any -assistance that would really be an annoyance and an irritation.' - -'No, I see. I reckon yo're right. Our Mary's a good wench; but -who has she had to teach her what to do about a house? No mother, -and me at the mill till I were good for nothing but scolding her -for doing badly what I didn't know how to do a bit. But I wish -she could ha' lived wi' yo', for all that.' - -'But even though she may not be exactly fitted to come and live -with us as a servant--and I don't know about that--I will always -try and be a friend to her for your sake, Bessy. And now I must -go. I will come again as soon as I can; but if it should not be -to-morrow, or the next day, or even a week or a fortnight hence, -don't think I've forgotten you. I may be busy.' - -'I'll know yo' won't forget me again. I'll not mistrust yo' no -more. But remember, in a week or a fortnight I may be dead and -buried!' - -'I'll come as soon as I can, Bessy,' said Margaret, squeezing her -hand tight. - -'But you'll let me know if you are worse. - -'Ay, that will I,' said Bessy, returning the pressure. - -From that day forwards Mrs. Hale became more and more of a -suffering invalid. It was now drawing near to the anniversary of -Edith's marriage, and looking back upon the year's accumulated -heap of troubles, Margaret wondered how they had been borne. If -she could have anticipated them, how she would have shrunk away -and hid herself from the coming time! And yet day by day had, of -itself, and by itself, been very endurable--small, keen, bright -little spots of positive enjoyment having come sparkling into the -very middle of sorrows. A year ago, or when she first went to -Helstone, and first became silently conscious of the -querulousness in her mother's temper, she would have groaned -bitterly over the idea of a long illness to be borne in a -strange, desolate, noisy, busy place, with diminished comforts on -every side of the home life. But with the increase of serious and -just ground of complaint, a new kind of patience had sprung up in -her mother's mind. She was gentle and quiet in intense bodily -suffering, almost in proportion as she had been restless and -depressed when there had been no real cause for grief. Mr. Hale -was in exactly that stage of apprehension which, in men of his -stamp, takes the shape of wilful blindness. He was more irritated -than Margaret had ever known him at his daughter's expressed -anxiety. - -'Indeed, Margaret, you are growing fanciful! God knows I should -be the first to take the alarm if your mother were really ill; we -always saw when she had her headaches at Helstone, even without -her telling us. She looks quite pale and white when she is ill; -and now she has a bright healthy colour in her cheeks, just as -she used to have when I first knew her.' - -'But, papa,' said Margaret, with hesitation, 'do you know, I -think that is the flush of pain.' - -'Nonsense, Margaret. I tell you, you are too fanciful. You are -the person not well, I think. Send for the doctor to-morrow for -yourself; and then, if it will make your mind easier, he can see -your mother.' - -'Thank you, dear papa. It will make me happier, indeed.' And she -went up to him to kiss him. But he pushed her away--gently -enough, but still as if she had suggested unpleasant ideas, which -he should be glad to get rid of as readily as he could of her -presence. He walked uneasily up and down the room. - -'Poor Maria!' said he, half soliloquising, 'I wish one could do -right without sacrificing others. I shall hate this town, and -myself too, if she----Pray, Margaret, does your mother often talk -to you of the old places of Helstone, I mean?' - -'No, papa,' said Margaret, sadly. - -'Then, you see, she can't be fretting after them, eh? It has -always been a comfort to me to think that your mother was so -simple and open that I knew every little grievance she had. She -never would conceal anything seriously affecting her health from -me: would she, eh, Margaret? I am quite sure she would not. So -don't let me hear of these foolish morbid ideas. Come, give me a -kiss, and run off to bed.' - -But she heard him pacing about (racooning, as she and Edith used -to call it) long after her slow and languid undressing was -finished--long after she began to listen as she lay in bed. - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -THE MUTINY - -'I was used -To sleep at nights as sweetly as a child,-- -Now if the wind blew rough, it made me start, -And think of my poor boy tossing about -Upon the roaring seas. And then I seemed -To feel that it was hard to take him from me -For such a little fault.' -SOUTHEY. - - -It was a comfort to Margaret about this time, to find that her -mother drew more tenderly and intimately towards her than she had -ever done since the days of her childhood. She took her to her -heart as a confidential friend--the post Margaret had always -longed to fill, and had envied Dixon for being preferred to. -Margaret took pains to respond to every call made upon her for -sympathy--and they were many--even when they bore relation to -trifles, which she would no more have noticed or regarded herself -than the elephant would perceive the little pin at his feet, -which yet he lifts carefully up at the bidding of his keeper. All -unconsciously Margaret drew near to a reward. - -One evening, Mr. Hale being absent, her mother began to talk to -her about her brother Frederick, the very subject on which -Margaret had longed to ask questions, and almost the only one on -which her timidity overcame her natural openness. The more she -wanted to hear about him, the less likely she was to speak. - -'Oh, Margaret, it was so windy last night! It came howling down -the chimney in our room! I could not sleep. I never can when -there is such a terrible wind. I got into a wakeful habit when -poor Frederick was at sea; and now, even if I don't waken all at -once, I dream of him in some stormy sea, with great, clear, -glass-green walls of waves on either side his ship, but far -higher than her very masts, curling over her with that cruel, -terrible white foam, like some gigantic crested serpent. It is an -old dream, but it always comes back on windy nights, till I am -thankful to waken, sitting straight and stiff up in bed with my -terror. Poor Frederick! He is on land now, so wind can do him no -harm. Though I did think it might shake down some of those tall -chimneys.' - -'Where is Frederick now, mamma? Our letters are directed to the -care of Messrs. Barbour, at Cadiz, I know; but where is he -himself?' - -'I can't remember the name of the place, but he is not called -Hale; you must remember that, Margaret. Notice the F. D. in every -corner of the letters. He has taken the name of Dickenson. I -wanted him to have been called Beresford, to which he had a kind -of right, but your father thought he had better not. He might be -recognised, you know, if he were called by my name.' - -'Mamma,' said Margaret, 'I was at Aunt Shaw's when it all -happened; and I suppose I was not old enough to be told plainly -about it. But I should like to know now, if I may--if it does not -give you too much pain to speak about it.' - -'Pain! No,' replied Mrs. Hale, her cheek flushing. 'Yet it is -pain to think that perhaps I may never see my darling boy again. -Or else he did right, Margaret. They may say what they like, but -I have his own letters to show, and I'll believe him, though he -is my son, sooner than any court-martial on earth. Go to my -little japan cabinet, dear, and in the second left-hand drawer -you will find a packet of letters.' - -Margaret went. There were the yellow, sea-stained letters, with -the peculiar fragrance which ocean letters have: Margaret carried -them back to her mother, who untied the silken string with -trembling fingers, and, examining their dates, she gave them to -Margaret to read, making her hurried, anxious remarks on their -contents, almost before her daughter could have understood what -they were. - -'You see, Margaret, how from the very first he disliked Captain -Reid. He was second lieutenant in the ship--the Orion--in which -Frederick sailed the very first time. Poor little fellow, how -well he looked in his midshipman's dress, with his dirk in his -hand, cutting open all the newspapers with it as if it were a -paper-knife! But this Mr. Reid, as he was then, seemed to take a -dislike to Frederick from the very beginning. And then--stay! -these are the letters he wrote on board the Russell. When he was -appointed to her, and found his old enemy Captain Reid in -command, he did mean to bear all his tyranny patiently. Look! -this is the letter. Just read it, Margaret. Where is it he -says--Stop--'my father may rely upon me, that I will bear with -all proper patience everything that one officer and gentleman can -take from another. But from my former knowledge of my present -captain, I confess I look forward with apprehension to a long -course of tyranny on board the Russell.' You see, he promises to -bear patiently, and I am sure he did, for he was the -sweetest-tempered boy, when he was not vexed, that could possibly -be. Is that the letter in which he speaks of Captain Reid's -impatience with the men, for not going through the ship's -manoeuvres as quickly as the Avenger? You see, he says that they -had many new hands on board the Russell, while the Avenger had -been nearly three years on the station, with nothing to do but to -keep slavers off, and work her men, till they ran up and down the -rigging like rats or monkeys.' - -Margaret slowly read the letter, half illegible through the -fading of the ink. It might be--it probably was--a statement of -Captain Reid's imperiousness in trifles, very much exaggerated by -the narrator, who had written it while fresh and warm from the -scene of altercation. Some sailors being aloft in the -main-topsail rigging, the captain had ordered them to race down, -threatening the hindmost with the cat-of-nine-tails. He who was -the farthest on the spar, feeling the impossibility of passing -his companions, and yet passionately dreading the disgrace of the -flogging, threw himself desperately down to catch a rope -considerably lower, failed, and fell senseless on deck. He only -survived for a few hours afterwards, and the indignation of the -ship's crew was at boiling point when young Hale wrote. - -'But we did not receive this letter till long, long after we -heard of the mutiny. Poor Fred! I dare say it was a comfort to -him to write it even though he could not have known how to send -it, poor fellow! And then we saw a report in the papers--that's -to say, long before Fred's letter reached us--of an atrocious -mutiny having broken out on board the Russell, and that the -mutineers had remained in possession of the ship, which had gone -off, it was supposed, to be a pirate; and that Captain Reid was -sent adrift in a boat with some men--officers or something--whose -names were all given, for they were picked up by a West-Indian -steamer. Oh, Margaret! how your father and I turned sick over -that list, when there was no name of Frederick Hale. We thought -it must be some mistake; for poor Fred was such a fine fellow, -only perhaps rather too passionate; and we hoped that the name of -Carr, which was in the list, was a misprint for that of -Hale--newspapers are so careless. And towards post-time the next -day, papa set off to walk to Southampton to get the papers; and I -could not stop at home, so I went to meet him. He was very -late--much later than I thought he would have been; and I sat -down under the hedge to wait for him. He came at last, his arms -hanging loose down, his head sunk, and walking heavily along, as -if every step was a labour and a trouble. Margaret, I see him -now.' - -'Don't go on, mamma. I can understand it all,' said Margaret, -leaning up caressingly against her mother's side, and kissing her -hand. - -'No, you can't, Margaret. No one can who did not see him then. I -could hardly lift myself up to go and meet him--everything seemed -so to reel around me all at once. And when I got to him, he did -not speak, or seem surprised to see me there, more than three -miles from home, beside the Oldham beech-tree; but he put my arm -in his, and kept stroking my hand, as if he wanted to soothe me -to be very quiet under some great heavy blow; and when I trembled -so all over that I could not speak, he took me in his arms, and -stooped down his head on mine, and began to shake and to cry in a -strange muffled, groaning voice, till I, for very fright, stood -quite still, and only begged him to tell me what he had heard. -And then, with his hand jerking, as if some one else moved it -against his will, he gave me a wicked newspaper to read, calling -our Frederick a "traitor of the blackest dye," "a base, -ungrateful disgrace to his profession." Oh! I cannot tell what -bad words they did not use. I took the paper in my hands as soon -as I had read it--I tore it up to little bits--I tore it--oh! I -believe Margaret, I tore it with my teeth. I did not cry. I could -not. My cheeks were as hot as fire, and my very eyes burnt in my -head. I saw your father looking grave at me. I said it was a lie, -and so it was. Months after, this letter came, and you see what -provocation Frederick had. It was not for himself, or his own -injuries, he rebelled; but he would speak his mind to Captain -Reid, and so it went on from bad to worse; and you see, most of -the sailors stuck by Frederick. - -'I think, Margaret,' she continued, after a pause, in a weak, -trembling, exhausted voice, 'I am glad of it--I am prouder of -Frederick standing up against injustice, than if he had been -simply a good officer.' - -'I am sure I am,' said Margaret, in a firm, decided tone. -'Loyalty and obedience to wisdom and justice are fine; but it is -still finer to defy arbitrary power, unjustly and cruelly -used-not on behalf of ourselves, but on behalf of others more -helpless.' - -'For all that, I wish I could see Frederick once more--just once. -He was my first baby, Margaret.' Mrs. Hale spoke wistfully, and -almost as if apologising for the yearning, craving wish, as -though it were a depreciation of her remaining child. But such an -idea never crossed Margaret's mind. She was thinking how her -mother's desire could be fulfilled. - -'It is six or seven years ago--would they still prosecute him, -mother? If he came and stood his trial, what would be the -punishment? Surely, he might bring evidence of his great -provocation.' - -'It would do no good,' replied Mrs. Hale. 'Some of the sailors -who accompanied Frederick were taken, and there was a -court-martial held on them on board the Amicia; I believed all -they said in their defence, poor fellows, because it just agreed -with Frederick's story--but it was of no use,--' and for the -first time during the conversation Mrs. Hale began to cry; yet -something possessed Margaret to force the information she -foresaw, yet dreaded, from her mother. - -'What happened to them, mamma?' asked she. - -'They were hung at the yard-arm,' said Mrs. Hale, solemnly. 'And -the worst was that the court, in condemning them to death, said -they had suffered themselves to be led astray from their duty by -their superior officers.' - -They were silent for a long time. - -'And Frederick was in South America for several years, was he -not?' - -'Yes. And now he is in Spain. At Cadiz, or somewhere near it. If -he comes to England he will be hung. I shall never see his face -again--for if he comes to England he will be hung.' - -There was no comfort to be given. Mrs. Hale turned her face to -the wall, and lay perfectly still in her mother's despair. -Nothing could be said to console her. She took her hand out of -Margaret's with a little impatient movement, as if she would fain -be left alone with the recollection of her son. When Mr. Hale -came in, Margaret went out, oppressed with gloom, and seeing no -promise of brightness on any side of the horizon. - - -CHAPTER XV - - -MASTERS AND MEN - -'Thought fights with thought; -out springs a spark of truth -From the collision of the sword and shield.' -W. S. LANDOR. - -'Margaret,' said her father, the next day, 'we must return Mrs. -Thornton's call. Your mother is not very well, and thinks she -cannot walk so far; but you and I will go this afternoon.' - -As they went, Mr. Hale began about his wife's health, with a kind -of veiled anxiety, which Margaret was glad to see awakened at -last. - -'Did you consult the doctor, Margaret? Did you send for him?' - -'No, papa, you spoke of his corning to see me. Now I was well. -But if I only knew of some good doctor, I would go this -afternoon, and ask him to come, for I am sure mamma is seriously -indisposed.' - -She put the truth thus plainly and strongly because her father -had so completely shut his mind against the idea, when she had -last named her fears. But now the case was changed. He answered -in a despondent tone: - -'Do you think she has any hidden complaint? Do you think she is -really very ill? Has Dixon said anything? Oh, Margaret! I am -haunted by the fear that our coming to Milton has killed her. My -poor Maria!' - -'Oh, papa! don't imagine such things,' said Margaret, shocked. -'She is not well, that is all. Many a one is not well for a time; -and with good advice gets better and stronger than ever.' - -'But has Dixon said anything about her?' - -'No! You know Dixon enjoys making a mystery out of trifles; and -she has been a little mysterious about mamma's health, which has -alarmed me rather, that is all. Without any reason, I dare say. -You know, papa, you said the other day I was getting fanciful.' - -'I hope and trust you are. But don't think of what I said then. I -like you to be fanciful about your mother's health. Don't be -afraid of telling me your fancies. I like to hear them, though, I -dare say, I spoke as if I was annoyed. But we will ask Mrs. -Thornton if she can tell us of a good doctor. We won't throw away -our money on any but some one first-rate. Stay, we turn up this -street.' The street did not look as if it could contain any house -large enough for Mrs. Thornton's habitation. Her son's presence -never gave any impression as to the kind of house he lived in; -but, unconsciously, Margaret had imagined that tall, massive, -handsomely dressed Mrs. Thornton must live in a house of the same -character as herself. Now Marlborough Street consisted of long -rows of small houses, with a blank wall here and there; at least -that was all they could see from the point at which they entered -it. - -'He told me he lived in Marlborough Street, I'm sure,' said Mr. -Hale, with a much perplexed air. - -'Perhaps it is one of the economies he still practises, to live -in a very small house. But here are plenty of people about; let -me ask.' - -She accordingly inquired of a passer-by, and was informed that -Mr. Thornton lived close to the mill, and had the factory -lodge-door pointed out to her, at the end of the long dead wall -they had noticed. - -The lodge-door was like a common garden-door; on one side of it -were great closed gates for the ingress and egress of lurries and -wagons. The lodge-keeper admitted them into a great oblong yard, -on one side of which were offices for the transaction of -business; on the opposite, an immense many-windowed mill, whence -proceeded the continual clank of machinery and the long groaning -roar of the steam-engine, enough to deafen those who lived within -the enclosure. Opposite to the wall, along which the street ran, -on one of the narrow sides of the oblong, was a handsome -stone-coped house,--blackened, to be sure, by the smoke, but with -paint, windows, and steps kept scrupulously clean. It was -evidently a house which had been built some fifty or sixty years. -The stone facings--the long, narrow windows, and the number of -them--the flights of steps up to the front door, ascending from -either side, and guarded by railing--all witnessed to its age. -Margaret only wondered why people who could afford to live in so -good a house, and keep it in such perfect order, did not prefer a -much smaller dwelling in the country, or even some suburb; not in -the continual whirl and din of the factory. Her unaccustomed ears -could hardly catch her father's voice, as they stood on the steps -awaiting the opening of the door. The yard, too, with the great -doors in the dead wall as a boundary, was but a dismal look-out -for the sitting-rooms of the house--as Margaret found when they -had mounted the old-fashioned stairs, and been ushered into the -drawing-room, the three windows of which went over the front door -and the room on the right-hand side of the entrance. There was no -one in the drawing-room. It seemed as though no one had been in -it since the day when the furniture was bagged up with as much -care as if the house was to be overwhelmed with lava, and -discovered a thousand years hence. The walls were pink and gold; -the pattern on the carpet represented bunches of flowers on a -light ground, but it was carefully covered up in the centre by a -linen drugget, glazed and colourless. The window-curtains were -lace; each chair and sofa had its own particular veil of netting, -or knitting. Great alabaster groups occupied every flat surface, -safe from dust under their glass shades. In the middle of the -room, right under the bagged-up chandelier, was a large circular -table, with smartly-bound books arranged at regular intervals -round the circumference of its polished surface, like -gaily-coloured spokes of a wheel. Everything reflected light, -nothing absorbed it. The whole room had a painfully spotted, -spangled, speckled look about it, which impressed Margaret so -unpleasantly that she was hardly conscious of the peculiar -cleanliness required to keep everything so white and pure in such -an atmosphere, or of the trouble that must be willingly expended -to secure that effect of icy, snowy discomfort. Wherever she -looked there was evidence of care and labour, but not care and -labour to procure ease, to help on habits of tranquil home -employment; solely to ornament, and then to preserve ornament -from dirt or destruction. - -They had leisure to observe, and to speak to each other in low -voices, before Mrs. Thornton appeared. They were talking of what -all the world might hear; but it is a common effect of such a -room as this to make people speak low, as if unwilling to awaken -the unused echoes. - -At last Mrs. Thornton came in, rustling in handsome black silk, -as was her wont; her muslins and laces rivalling, not excelling, -the pure whiteness of the muslins and netting of the room. -Margaret explained how it was that her mother could not accompany -them to return Mrs. Thornton's call; but in her anxiety not to -bring back her father's fears too vividly, she gave but a -bungling account, and left the impression on Mrs. Thornton's mind -that Mrs. Hale's was some temporary or fanciful fine-ladyish -indisposition, which might have been put aside had there been a -strong enough motive; or that if it was too severe to allow her -to come out that day, the call might have been deferred. -Remembering, too, the horses to her carriage, hired for her own -visit to the Hales, and how Fanny had been ordered to go by Mr. -Thornton, in order to pay every respect to them, Mrs. Thornton -drew up slightly offended, and gave Margaret no sympathy--indeed, -hardly any credit for the statement of her mother's -indisposition. - -'How is Mr. Thornton?' asked Mr. Hale. 'I was afraid he was not -well, from his hurried note yesterday.' - -'My son is rarely ill; and when he is, he never speaks about it, -or makes it an excuse for not doing anything. He told me he could -not get leisure to read with you last night, sir. He regretted -it, I am sure; he values the hours spent with you.' - -'I am sure they are equally agreeable to me,' said Mr. Hale. 'It -makes me feel young again to see his enjoyment and appreciation -of all that is fine in classical literature.' - -'I have no doubt the classics are very desirable for people who -have leisure. But, I confess, it was against my judgment that my -son renewed his study of them. The time and place in which he -lives, seem to me to require all his energy and attention. -Classics may do very well for men who loiter away their lives in -the country or in colleges; but Milton men ought to have their -thoughts and powers absorbed in the work of to-day. At least, -that is my opinion.' This last clause she gave out with 'the -pride that apes humility.' - -'But, surely, if the mind is too long directed to one object -only, it will get stiff and rigid, and unable to take in many -interests,' said Margaret. - -'I do not quite understand what you mean by a mind getting stiff -and rigid. Nor do I admire those whirligig characters that are -full of this thing to-day, to be utterly forgetful of it in their -new interest to-morrow. Having many interests does not suit the -life of a Milton manufacturer. It is, or ought to be, enough for -him to have one great desire, and to bring all the purposes of -his life to bear on the fulfilment of that.' - -'And that is--?' asked Mr. Hale. - -Her sallow cheek flushed, and her eye lightened, as she answered: - -'To hold and maintain a high, honourable place among the -merchants of his country--the men of his town. Such a place my -son has earned for himself. Go where you will--I don't say in -England only, but in Europe--the name of John Thornton of Milton -is known and respected amongst all men of business. Of course, it -is unknown in the fashionable circles,' she continued, -scornfully. - -'Idle gentlemen and ladies are not likely to know much of a -Milton manufacturer, unless he gets into parliament, or marries a -lord's daughter.' Both Mr. Hale and Margaret had an uneasy, -ludicrous consciousness that they had never heard of this great -name, until Mr. Bell had written them word that Mr. Thornton -would be a good friend to have in Milton. The proud mother's -world was not their world of Harley Street gentilities on the one -hand, or country clergymen and Hampshire squires on the other. -Margaret's face, in spite of all her endeavours to keep it simply -listening in its expression told the sensitive Mrs. Thornton this -feeling of hers. - -'You think you never heard of this wonderful son of mine, Miss -Hale. You think I'm an old woman whose ideas are bounded by -Milton, and whose own crow is the whitest ever seen.' - -'No,' said Margaret, with some spirit. 'It may be true, that I -was thinking I had hardly heard Mr. Thornton's name before I came -to Milton. But since I have come here, I have heard enough to -make me respect and admire him, and to feel how much justice and -truth there is in what you have said of him.' - -'Who spoke to you of him?' asked Mrs. Thornton, a little -mollified, yet jealous lest any one else's words should not have -done him full justice. Margaret hesitated before she replied. She -did not like this authoritative questioning. Mr. Hale came in, as -he thought, to the rescue. - -'It was what Mr. Thornton said himself, that made us know the -kind of man he was. Was it not, Margaret?' - -Mrs. Thornton drew herself up, and said-- - -'My son is not the one to tell of his own doings. May I again ask -you, Miss Hale, from whose account you formed your favourable -opinion of him? A mother is curious and greedy of commendation of -her children, you know.' - -Margaret replied, 'It was as much from what Mr. Thornton withheld -of that which we had been told of his previous life by Mr. -Bell,--it was more that than what he said, that made us all feel -what reason you have to be proud of him.' - -'Mr. Bell! What can he know of John? He, living a lazy life in a -drowsy college. But I'm obliged to you, Miss Hale. Many a missy -young lady would have shrunk from giving an old woman the -pleasure of hearing that her son was well spoken of.' - -'Why?' asked Margaret, looking straight at Mrs. Thornton, in -bewilderment. - -'Why! because I suppose they might have consciences that told -them how surely they were making the old mother into an advocate -for them, in case they had any plans on the son's heart.' - -She smiled a grim smile, for she had been pleased by Margaret's -frankness; and perhaps she felt that she had been asking -questions too much as if she had a right to catechise. Margaret -laughed outright at the notion presented to her; laughed so -merrily that it grated on Mrs. Thornton's ear, as if the words -that called forth that laugh, must have been utterly and entirely -ludicrous. Margaret stopped her merriment as soon as she saw Mrs. -Thornton's annoyed look. - -'I beg your pardon, madam. But I really am very much obliged to -you for exonerating me from making any plans on Mr. Thornton's -heart.' - -'Young ladies have, before now,' said Mrs. Thornton, stiffly. - -'I hope Miss Thornton is well,' put in Mr. Hale, desirous of -changing the current of the conversation. - -'She is as well as she ever is. She is not strong,' replied Mrs. -Thornton, shortly. - -'And Mr. Thornton? I suppose I may hope to see him on Thursday?' - -'I cannot answer for my son's engagements. There is some -uncomfortable work going on in the town; a threatening of a -strike. If so, his experience and judgment will make him much -consulted by his friends. But I should think he could come on -Thursday. At any rate, I am sure he will let you know if he -cannot.' - -'A strike!' asked Margaret. 'What for? What are they going to -strike for?' - -'For the mastership and ownership of other people's property,' -said Mrs. Thornton, with a fierce snort. 'That is what they -always strike for. If my son's work-people strike, I will only -say they are a pack of ungrateful hounds. But I have no doubt -they will.' - -'They are wanting higher wages, I suppose?' asked Mr. Hale. - -'That is the face of the thing. But the truth is, they want to be -masters, and make the masters into slaves on their own ground. -They are always trying at it; they always have it in their minds -and every five or six years, there comes a struggle between -masters and men. They'll find themselves mistaken this time, I -fancy,--a little out of their reckoning. If they turn out, they -mayn't find it so easy to go in again. I believe, the masters -have a thing or two in their heads which will teach the men not -to strike again in a hurry, if they try it this time.' - -'Does it not make the town very rough?' asked Margaret. - -'Of course it does. But surely you are not a coward, are you? -Milton is not the place for cowards. I have known the time when I -have had to thread my way through a crowd of white, angry men, -all swearing they would have Makinson's blood as soon as he -ventured to show his nose out of his factory; and he, knowing -nothing of it, some one had to go and tell him, or he was a dead -man, and it needed to be a woman,--so I went. And when I had got -in, I could not get out. It was as much as my life was worth. So -I went up to the roof, where there were stones piled ready to -drop on the heads of the crowd, if they tried to force the -factory doors. And I would have lifted those heavy stones, and -dropped them with as good an aim as the best man there, but that -I fainted with the heat I had gone through. If you live in -Milton, you must learn to have a brave heart, Miss Hale.' - -'I would do my best,' said Margaret rather pale. 'I do not know -whether I am brave or not till I am tried; but I am afraid I -should be a coward.' - -'South country people are often frightened by what our Darkshire -men and women only call living and struggling. But when you've -been ten years among a people who are always owing their betters -a grudge, and only waiting for an opportunity to pay it off, -you'll know whether you are a coward or not, take my word for -it.' - -Mr. Thornton came that evening to Mr. Hale's. He was shown up -into the drawing-room, where Mr. Hale was reading aloud to his -wife and daughter. - -'I am come partly to bring you a note from my mother, and partly -to apologise for not keeping to my time yesterday. The note -contains the address you asked for; Dr. Donaldson.' - -'Thank you!' said Margaret, hastily, holding out her hand to take -the note, for she did not wish her mother to hear that they had -been making any inquiry about a doctor. She was pleased that Mr. -Thornton seemed immediately to understand her feeling; he gave -her the note without another word of explanation. Mr. Hale began -to talk about the strike. Mr. Thornton's face assumed a likeness -to his mother's worst expression, which immediately repelled the -watching Margaret. - -'Yes; the fools will have a strike. Let them. It suits us well -enough. But we gave them a chance. They think trade is -flourishing as it was last year. We see the storm on the horizon -and draw in our sails. But because we don't explain our reasons, -they won't believe we're acting reasonably. We must give them -line and letter for the way we choose to spend or save our money. -Henderson tried a dodge with his men, out at Ashley, and failed. -He rather wanted a strike; it would have suited his book well -enough. So when the men came to ask for the five per cent. they -are claiming, he told 'em he'd think about it, and give them his -answer on the pay day; knowing all the while what his answer -would be, of course, but thinking he'd strengthen their conceit -of their own way. However, they were too deep for him, and heard -something about the bad prospects of trade. So in they came on -the Friday, and drew back their claim, and now he's obliged to go -on working. But we Milton masters have to-day sent in our -decision. We won't advance a penny. We tell them we may have to -lower wages; but can't afford to raise. So here we stand, waiting -for their next attack.' - -'And what will that be?' asked Mr. Hale. - -'I conjecture, a simultaneous strike. You will see Milton without -smoke in a few days, I imagine, Miss Hale.' - -'But why,' asked she, 'could you not explain what good reason you -have for expecting a bad trade? I don't know whether I use the -right words, but you will understand what I mean.' - -'Do you give your servants reasons for your expenditure, or your -economy in the use of your own money? We, the owners of capital, -have a right to choose what we will do with it.' - -'A human right,' said Margaret, very low. - -'I beg your pardon, I did not hear what you said.' - -'I would rather not repeat it,' said she; 'it related to a -feeling which I do not think you would share.' - -'Won't you try me?' pleaded he; his thoughts suddenly bent upon -learning what she had said. She was displeased with his -pertinacity, but did not choose to affix too much importance to -her words. - -'I said you had a human right. I meant that there seemed no -reason but religious ones, why you should not do what you like -with your own. - -'I know we differ in our religious opinions; but don't you give -me credit for having some, though not the same as yours?' - -He was speaking in a subdued voice, as if to her alone. She did -not wish to be so exclusively addressed. She replied out in her -usual tone: - -'I do not think that I have any occasion to consider your special -religious opinions in the affair. All I meant to say is, that -there is no human law to prevent the employers from utterly -wasting or throwing away all their money, if they choose; but -that there are passages in the Bible which would rather imply--to -me at least--that they neglected their duty as stewards if they -did so. However I know so little about strikes, and rate of -wages, and capital, and labour, that I had better not talk to a -political economist like you.' - -'Nay, the more reason,' said he, eagerly. 'I shall only be too -glad to explain to you all that may seem anomalous or mysterious -to a stranger; especially at a time like this, when our doings -are sure to be canvassed by every scribbler who can hold a pen.' - -'Thank you,' she answered, coldly. 'Of course, I shall apply to -my father in the first instance for any information he can give -me, if I get puzzled with living here amongst this strange -society.' - -'You think it strange. Why?' - -'I don't know--I suppose because, on the very face of it, I see -two classes dependent on each other in every possible way, yet -each evidently regarding the interests of the other as opposed to -their own; I never lived in a place before where there were two -sets of people always running each other down.' - -'Who have you heard running the masters down? I don't ask who you -have heard abusing the men; for I see you persist in -misunderstanding what I said the other day. But who have you -heard abusing the masters?' - -Margaret reddened; then smiled as she said, - -'I am not fond of being catechised. I refuse to answer your -question. Besides, it has nothing to do with the fact. You must -take my word for it, that I have heard some people, or, it may -be, only someone of the workpeople, speak as though it were the -interest of the employers to keep them from acquiring money--that -it would make them too independent if they had a sum in the -savings' bank.' - -'I dare say it was that man Higgins who told you all this,' said -Mrs Hale. Mr. Thornton did not appear to hear what Margaret -evidently did not wish him to know. But he caught it, -nevertheless. - -'I heard, moreover, that it was considered to the advantage of -the masters to have ignorant workmen--not hedge-lawyers, as -Captain Lennox used to call those men in his company who -questioned and would know the reason for every order.' This -latter part of her sentence she addressed rather to her father -than to Mr. Thornton. Who is Captain Lennox? asked Mr. Thornton -of himself, with a strange kind of displeasure, that prevented -him for the moment from replying to her! Her father took up the -conversation. - -'You never were fond of schools, Margaret, or you would have seen -and known before this, how much is being done for education in -Milton.' - -'No!' said she, with sudden meekness. 'I know I do not care -enough about schools. But the knowledge and the ignorance of -which I was speaking, did not relate to reading and writing,--the -teaching or information one can give to a child. I am sure, that -what was meant was ignorance of the wisdom that shall guide men -and women. I hardly know what that is. But he--that is, my -informant--spoke as if the masters would like their hands to be -merely tall, large children--living in the present moment--with a -blind unreasoning kind of obedience.' - -'In short, Miss Hale, it is very evident that your informant -found a pretty ready listener to all the slander he chose to -utter against the masters,' said Mr. Thornton, in an offended -tone. - -Margaret did not reply. She was displeased at the personal -character Mr. Thornton affixed to what she had said. - -Mr. Hale spoke next: - -'I must confess that, although I have not become so intimately -acquainted with any workmen as Margaret has, I am very much -struck by the antagonism between the employer and the employed, -on the very surface of things. I even gather this impression from -what you yourself have from time to time said.' - -Mr. Thornton paused awhile before he spoke. Margaret had just -left the room, and he was vexed at the state of feeling between -himself and her. However, the little annoyance, by making him -cooler and more thoughtful, gave a greater dignity to what he -said: - -'My theory is, that my interests are identical with those of my -workpeople and vice-versa. Miss Hale, I know, does not like to -hear men called 'hands,' so I won't use that word, though it -comes most readily to my lips as the technical term, whose -origin, whatever it was, dates before my time. On some future -day--in some millennium--in Utopia, this unity may be brought -into practice--just as I can fancy a republic the most perfect -form of government.' - -'We will read Plato's Republic as soon as we have finished -Homer.' - -'Well, in the Platonic year, it may fall out that we are all--men -women, and children--fit for a republic: but give me a -constitutional monarchy in our present state of morals and -intelligence. In our infancy we require a wise despotism to -govern us. Indeed, long past infancy, children and young people -are the happiest under the unfailing laws of a discreet, firm -authority. I agree with Miss Hale so far as to consider our -people in the condition of children, while I deny that we, the -masters, have anything to do with the making or keeping them so. -I maintain that despotism is the best kind of government for -them; so that in the hours in which I come in contact with them I -must necessarily be an autocrat. I will use my best -discretion--from no humbug or philanthropic feeling, of which we -have had rather too much in the North--to make wise laws and come -to just decisions in the conduct of my business--laws and -decisions which work for my own good in the first instance--for -theirs in the second; but I will neither be forced to give my -reasons, nor flinch from what I have once declared to be my -resolution. Let them turn out! I shall suffer as well as they: -but at the end they will find I have not bated nor altered one -jot.' - -Margaret had re-entered the room and was sitting at her work; but -she did not speak. Mr. Hale answered-- - -'I dare say I am talking in great ignorance; but from the little -I know, I should say that the masses were already passing rapidly -into the troublesome stage which intervenes between childhood and -manhood, in the life of the multitude as well as that of the -individual. Now, the error which many parents commit in the -treatment of the individual at this time is, insisting on the -same unreasoning obedience as when all he had to do in the way of -duty was, to obey the simple laws of "Come when you're called" and -"Do as you're bid!" But a wise parent humours the desire for -independent action, so as to become the friend and adviser when -his absolute rule shall cease. If I get wrong in my reasoning, -recollect, it is you who adopted the analogy.' - -'Very lately,' said Margaret, 'I heard a story of what happened -in Nuremberg only three or four years ago. A rich man there lived -alone in one of the immense mansions which were formerly both -dwellings and warehouses. It was reported that he had a child, -but no one knew of it for certain. For forty years this rumour -kept rising and falling--never utterly dying away. After his -death it was found to be true. He had a son--an overgrown man -with the unexercised intellect of a child, whom he had kept up in -that strange way, in order to save him from temptation and error. -But, of course, when this great old child was turned loose into -the world, every bad counsellor had power over him. He did not -know good from evil. His father had made the blunder of bringing -him up in ignorance and taking it for innocence; and after -fourteen months of riotous living, the city authorities had to -take charge of him, in order to save him from starvation. He -could not even use words effectively enough to be a successful -beggar.' - -'I used the comparison (suggested by Miss Hale) of the position -of the master to that of a parent; so I ought not to complain of -your turning the simile into a weapon against me. But, Mr. Hale, -when you were setting up a wise parent as a model for us, you -said he humoured his children in their desire for independent -action. Now certainly, the time is not come for the hands to have -any independent action during business hours; I hardly know what -you would mean by it then. And I say, that the masters would be -trenching on the independence of their hands, in a way that I, -for one, should not feel justified in doing, if we interfered too -much with the life they lead out of the mills. Because they -labour ten hours a-day for us, I do not see that we have any -right to impose leading-strings upon them for the rest of their -time. I value my own independence so highly that I can fancy no -degradation greater than that of having another man perpetually -directing and advising and lecturing me, or even planning too -closely in any way about my actions. He might be the wisest of -men, or the most powerful--I should equally rebel and resent his -interference I imagine this is a stronger feeling in the North of -England that in the South.' - -'I beg your pardon, but is not that because there has been none -of the equality of friendship between the adviser and advised -classes? Because every man has had to stand in an unchristian and -isolated position, apart from and jealous of his brother-man: -constantly afraid of his rights being trenched upon?' - -'I only state the fact. I am sorry to say, I have an appointment -at eight o'clock, and I must just take facts as I find them -to-night, without trying to account for them; which, indeed, -would make no difference in determining how to act as things -stand--the facts must be granted.' - -'But,' said Margaret in a low voice, 'it seems to me that it -makes all the difference in the world--.' Her father made a sign -to her to be silent, and allow Mr. Thornton to finish what he had -to say. He was already standing up and preparing to go. - -'You must grant me this one point. Given a strong feeling of -independence in every Darkshire man, have I any right to obtrude -my views, of the manner in which he shall act, upon another -(hating it as I should do most vehemently myself), merely because -he has labour to sell and I capital to buy?' - -'Not in the least,' said Margaret, determined just to say this -one thing; 'not in the least because of your labour and capital -positions, whatever they are, but because you are a man, dealing -with a set of men over whom you have, whether you reject the use -of it or not, immense power, just because your lives and your -welfare are so constantly and intimately interwoven. God has made -us so that we must be mutually dependent. We may ignore our own -dependence, or refuse to acknowledge that others depend upon us -in more respects than the payment of weekly wages; but the thing -must be, nevertheless. Neither you nor any other master can help -yourselves. The most proudly independent man depends on those -around him for their insensible influence on his character--his -life. And the most isolated of all your Darkshire Egos has -dependants clinging to him on all sides; he cannot shake them -off, any more than the great rock he resembles can shake off--' - -'Pray don't go into similes, Margaret; you have led us off once -already,' said her father, smiling, yet uneasy at the thought -that they were detaining Mr. Thornton against his will, which was -a mistake; for he rather liked it, as long as Margaret would -talk, although what she said only irritated him. - -'Just tell me, Miss Hale, are you yourself ever influenced--no, -that is not a fair way of putting it;--but if you are ever -conscious of being influenced by others, and not by -circumstances, have those others been working directly or -indirectly? Have they been labouring to exhort, to enjoin, to act -rightly for the sake of example, or have they been simple, true -men, taking up their duty, and doing it unflinchingly, without a -thought of how their actions were to make this man industrious, -that man saving? Why, if I were a workman, I should be twenty -times more impressed by the knowledge that my master, was honest, -punctual, quick, resolute in all his doings (and hands are keener -spies even than valets), than by any amount of interference, -however kindly meant, with my ways of going on out of work-hours. -I do not choose to think too closely on what I am myself; but, I -believe, I rely on the straightforward honesty of my hands, and -the open nature of their opposition, in contra-distinction to the -way in which the turnout will be managed in some mills, just -because they know I scorn to take a single dishonourable -advantage, or do an underhand thing myself It goes farther than a -whole course of lectures on "Honesty is the Best Policy"--life -diluted into words. No, no! What the master is, that will the men -be, without over-much taking thought on his part.' - -'That is a great admission,' said Margaret, laughing. 'When I see -men violent and obstinate in pursuit of their rights, I may -safely infer that the master is the same that he is a little -ignorant of that spirit which suffereth long, and is kind, and -seeketh not her own.' - -'You are just like all strangers who don't understand the working -of our system, Miss Hale,' said he, hastily. 'You suppose that -our men are puppets of dough, ready to be moulded into any -amiable form we please. You forget we have only to do with them -for less than a third of their lives; and you seem not to -perceive that the duties of a manufacturer are far larger and -wider than those merely of an employer of labour: we have a wide -commercial character to maintain, which makes us into the great -pioneers of civilisation.' - -'It strikes me,' said Mr. Hale, smiling, 'that you might pioneer -a little at home. They are a rough, heathenish set of fellows, -these Milton men of yours.' - -'They are that,' replied Mr. Thornton. 'Rosewater surgery won't -do for them. Cromwell would have made a capital mill-owner, Miss -Hale. I wish we had him to put down this strike for us.' - -'Cromwell is no hero of mine,' said she, coldly. 'But I am trying -to reconcile your admiration of despotism with your respect for -other men's independence of character.' - -He reddened at her tone. 'I choose to be the unquestioned and -irresponsible master of my hands, during the hours that they -labour for me. But those hours past, our relation ceases; and -then comes in the same respect for their independence that I -myself exact.' - -He did not speak again for a minute, he was too much vexed. But -he shook it off, and bade Mr. and Mrs. Hale good night. Then, -drawing near to Margaret, he said in a lower voice-- - -'I spoke hastily to you once this evening, and I am afraid, -rather rudely. But you know I am but an uncouth Milton -manufacturer; will you forgive me?' - -'Certainly,' said she, smiling up in his face, the expression of -which was somewhat anxious and oppressed, and hardly cleared away -as he met her sweet sunny countenance, out of which all the -north-wind effect of their discussion had entirely vanished. But -she did not put out her hand to him, and again he felt the -omission, and set it down to pride. - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -THE SHADOW OF DEATH - -'Trust in that veiled hand, which leads -None by the path that he would go; -And always be for change prepared, -For the world's law is ebb and flow.' -FROM THE ARABIC. - -The next afternoon Dr. Donaldson came to pay his first visit to -Mrs. Hale. The mystery that Margaret hoped their late habits of -intimacy had broken through, was resumed. She was excluded from -the room, while Dixon was admitted. Margaret was not a ready -lover, but where she loved she loved passionately, and with no -small degree of jealousy. - -She went into her mother's bed-room, just behind the -drawing-room, and paced it up and down, while awaiting the -doctor's coming out. Every now and then she stopped to listen; -she fancied she heard a moan. She clenched her hands tight, and -held her breath. She was sure she heard a moan. Then all was -still for a few minutes more; and then there was the moving of -chairs, the raised voices, all the little disturbances of -leave-taking. - -When she heard the door open, she went quickly out of the -bed-room. - -'My father is from home, Dr. Donaldson; he has to attend a pupil -at this hour. May I trouble you to come into his room down -stairs?' - -She saw, and triumphed over all the obstacles which Dixon threw -in her way; assuming her rightful position as daughter of the -house in something of the spirit of the Elder Brother, which -quelled the old servant's officiousness very effectually. -Margaret's conscious assumption of this unusual dignity of -demeanour towards Dixon, gave her an instant's amusement in the -midst of her anxiety. She knew, from the surprised expression on -Dixon's face, how ridiculously grand she herself must be looking; -and the idea carried her down stairs into the room; it gave her -that length of oblivion from the keen sharpness of the -recollection of the actual business in hand. Now, that came back, -and seemed to take away her breath. It was a moment or two before -she could utter a word. - -But she spoke with an air of command, as she asked:--' - -'What is the matter with mamma? You will oblige me by telling the -simple truth.' Then, seeing a slight hesitation on the doctor's -part, she added-- - -'I am the only child she has--here, I mean. My father is not -sufficiently alarmed, I fear; and, therefore, if there is any -serious apprehension, it must be broken to him gently. I can do -this. I can nurse my mother. Pray, speak, sir; to see your face, -and not be able to read it, gives me a worse dread than I trust -any words of yours will justify.' - -'My dear young lady, your mother seems to have a most attentive -and efficient servant, who is more like her friend--' - -'I am her daughter, sir.' - -'But when I tell you she expressly desired that you might not be -told--' - -'I am not good or patient enough to submit to the prohibition. -Besides, I am sure you are too wise--too experienced to have -promised to keep the secret.' - -'Well,' said he, half-smiling, though sadly enough, 'there you -are right. I did not promise. In fact, I fear, the secret will be -known soon enough without my revealing it.' - -He paused. Margaret went very white, and compressed her lips a -little more. Otherwise not a feature moved. With the quick -insight into character, without which no medical man can rise to -the eminence of Dr. Donaldson, he saw that she would exact the -full truth; that she would know if one iota was withheld; and -that the withholding would be torture more acute than the -knowledge of it. He spoke two short sentences in a low voice, -watching her all the time; for the pupils of her eyes dilated -into a black horror and the whiteness of her complexion became -livid. He ceased speaking. He waited for that look to go -off,--for her gasping breath to come. Then she said:-- - -'I thank you most truly, sir, for your confidence. That dread has -haunted me for many weeks. It is a true, real agony. My poor, -poor mother!' her lips began to quiver, and he let her have the -relief of tears, sure of her power of self-control to check them. - -A few tears--those were all she shed, before she recollected the -many questions she longed to ask. - -'Will there be much suffering?' - -He shook his head. 'That we cannot tell. It depends on -constitution; on a thousand things. But the late discoveries of -medical science have given us large power of alleviation.' - -'My father!' said Margaret, trembling all over. - -'I do not know Mr. Hale. I mean, it is difficult to give advice. -But I should say, bear on, with the knowledge you have forced me -to give you so abruptly, till the fact which I could not -with-hold has become in some degree familiar to you, so that you -may, without too great an effort, be able to give what comfort -you can to your father. Before then,--my visits, which, of -course, I shall repeat from time to time, although I fear I can -do nothing but alleviate,--a thousand little circumstances will -have occurred to awaken his alarm, to deepen it--so that he will -be all the better prepared.--Nay, my dear young lady--nay, my -dear--I saw Mr. Thornton, and I honour your father for the -sacrifice he has made, however mistaken I may believe him to -be.--Well, this once, if it will please you, my dear. Only -remember, when I come again, I come as a friend. And you must -learn to look upon me as such, because seeing each other--getting -to know each other at such times as these, is worth years of -morning calls.' Margaret could not speak for crying: but she -wrung his hand at parting. - -'That's what I call a fine girl!' thought Dr. Donaldson, when he -was seated in his carriage, and had time to examine his ringed -hand, which had slightly suffered from her pressure. 'Who would -have thought that little hand could have given such a squeeze? -But the bones were well put together, and that gives immense -power. What a queen she is! With her head thrown back at first, -to force me into speaking the truth; and then bent so eagerly -forward to listen. Poor thing! I must see she does not overstrain -herself. Though it's astonishing how much those thorough-bred -creatures can do and suffer. That girl's game to the back-bone. -Another, who had gone that deadly colour, could never have come -round without either fainting or hysterics. But she wouldn't do -either--not she! And the very force of her will brought her -round. Such a girl as that would win my heart, if I were thirty -years younger. It's too late now. Ah! here we are at the -Archers'.' So out he jumped, with thought, wisdom, experience, -sympathy, and ready to attend to the calls made upon them by this -family, just as if there were none other in the world. - -Meanwhile, Margaret had returned into her father's study for a -moment, to recover strength before going upstairs into her -mother's presence. - -'Oh, my God, my God! but this is terrible. How shall I bear it? -Such a deadly disease! no hope! Oh, mamma, mamma, I wish I had -never gone to aunt Shaw's, and been all those precious years away -from you! Poor mamma! how much she must have borne! Oh, I pray -thee, my God, that her sufferings may not be too acute, too -dreadful. How shall I bear to see them? How can I bear papa's -agony? He must not be told yet; not all at once. It would kill -him. But I won't lose another moment of my own dear, precious -mother.' - -She ran upstairs. Dixon was not in the room. Mrs. Hale lay back -in an easy chair, with a soft white shawl wrapped around her, and -a becoming cap put on, in expectation of the doctor's visit. Her -face had a little faint colour in it, and the very exhaustion -after the examination gave it a peaceful look. Margaret was -surprised to see her look so calm. - -'Why, Margaret, how strange you look! What is the matter?' And -then, as the idea stole into her mind of what was indeed the real -state of the case, she added, as if a little displeased: 'you -have not been seeing Dr. Donaldson, and asking him any -questions--have you, child?' Margaret did not reply--only looked -wistfully towards her. Mrs. Hale became more displeased. 'He -would not, surely, break his word to me, and'-- - -'Oh yes, mamma, he did. I made him. It was I--blame me.' She knelt -down by her mother's side, and caught her hand--she would not let -it go, though Mrs. Hale tried to pull it away. She kept kissing -it, and the hot tears she shed bathed it. - -'Margaret, it was very wrong of you. You knew I did not wish you -to know.' But, as if tired with the contest, she left her hand in -Margaret's clasp, and by-and-by she returned the pressure -faintly. That encouraged Margaret to speak. - -'Oh, mamma! let me be your nurse. I will learn anything Dixon can -teach me. But you know I am your child, and I do think I have a -right to do everything for you.' - -'You don't know what you are asking,' said Mrs. Hale, with a -shudder. - -'Yes, I do. I know a great deal more than you are aware of Let me -be your nurse. Let me try, at any rate. No one has ever shall -ever try so hard as I will do. It will be such a comfort, mamma.' - -'My poor child! Well, you shall try. Do you know, Margaret, Dixon -and I thought you would quite shrink from me if you knew--' - -'Dixon thought!' said Margaret, her lip curling. 'Dixon could not -give me credit for enough true love--for as much as herself! She -thought, I suppose, that I was one of those poor sickly women who -like to lie on rose leaves, and be fanned all day; Don't let -Dixon's fancies come any more between you and me, mamma. Don't, -please!' implored she. - -'Don't be angry with Dixon,' said Mrs. Hale, anxiously. Margaret -recovered herself. - -'No! I won't. I will try and be humble, and learn her ways, if -you will only let me do all I can for you. Let me be in the first -place, mother--I am greedy of that. I used to fancy you would -forget me while I was away at aunt Shaw's, and cry myself to -sleep at nights with that notion in my head.' - -'And I used to think, how will Margaret bear our makeshift -poverty after the thorough comfort and luxury in Harley Street, -till I have many a time been more ashamed of your seeing our -contrivances at Helstone than of any stranger finding them out.' - -'Oh, mamma! and I did so enjoy them. They were so much more -amusing than all the jog-trot Harley Street ways. The wardrobe -shelf with handles, that served as a supper-tray on grand -occasions! And the old tea-chests stuffed and covered for -ottomans! I think what you call the makeshift contrivances at -dear Helstone were a charming part of the life there.' - -'I shall never see Helstone again, Margaret,' said Mrs. Hale, the -tears welling up into her eyes. Margaret could not reply. Mrs. -Hale went on. 'While I was there, I was for ever wanting to leave -it. Every place seemed pleasanter. And now I shall die far away -from it. I am rightly punished.' - -'You must not talk so,' said Margaret, impatiently. 'He said you -might live for years. Oh, mother! we will have you back at -Helstone yet.' - -'No never! That I must take as a just penance. But, -Margaret--Frederick!' At the mention of that one word, she -suddenly cried out loud, as in some sharp agony. It seemed as if -the thought of him upset all her composure, destroyed the calm, -overcame the exhaustion. Wild passionate cry succeeded to -cry--'Frederick! Frederick! Come to me. I am dying. Little -first-born child, come to me once again!' - -She was in violent hysterics. Margaret went and called Dixon in -terror. Dixon came in a huff, and accused Margaret of having -over-excited her mother. Margaret bore all meekly, only trusting -that her father might not return. In spite of her alarm, which -was even greater than the occasion warranted, she obeyed all -Dixon's directions promptly and well, without a word of -self-justification. By so doing she mollified her accuser. They -put her mother to bed, and Margaret sate by her till she fell -asleep, and afterwards till Dixon beckoned her out of the room, -and, with a sour face, as if doing something against the grain, -she bade her drink a cup of coffee which she had prepared for her -in the drawing-room, and stood over her in a commanding attitude -as she did so. - -'You shouldn't have been so curious, Miss, and then you wouldn't -have needed to fret before your time. It would have come soon -enough. And now, I suppose, you'll tell master, and a pretty -household I shall have of you!' - -'No, Dixon,' said Margaret, sorrowfully, 'I will not tell papa. -He could not bear it as I can.' And by way of proving how well -she bore it, she burst into tears. - -'Ay! I knew how it would be. Now you'll waken your mamma, just -after she's gone to sleep so quietly. Miss Margaret my dear, I've -had to keep it down this many a week; and though I don't pretend -I can love her as you do, yet I loved her better than any other -man, woman, or child--no one but Master Frederick ever came near -her in my mind. Ever since Lady Beresford's maid first took me in -to see her dressed out in white crape, and corn-ears, and scarlet -poppies, and I ran a needle down into my finger, and broke it in, -and she tore up her worked pocket-handkerchief, after they'd cut -it out, and came in to wet the bandages again with lotion when -she returned from the ball--where she'd been the prettiest young -lady of all--I've never loved any one like her. I little thought -then that I should live to see her brought so low. I don't mean -no reproach to nobody. Many a one calls you pretty and handsome, -and what not. Even in this smoky place, enough to blind one's -eyes, the owls can see that. But you'll never be like your mother -for beauty--never; not if you live to be a hundred.' - -'Mamma is very pretty still. Poor mamma!' - -'Now don't ye set off again, or I shall give way at last' -(whimpering). 'You'll never stand master's coming home, and -questioning, at this rate. Go out and take a walk, and come in -something like. Many's the time I've longed to walk it off--the -thought of what was the matter with her, and how it must all -end.' - -'Oh, Dixon!' said Margaret, 'how often I've been cross with you, -not knowing what a terrible secret you had to bear!' - -'Bless you, child! I like to see you showing a bit of a spirit. -It's the good old Beresford blood. Why, the last Sir John but two -shot his steward down, there where he stood, for just telling him -that he'd racked the tenants, and he'd racked the tenants till he -could get no more money off them than he could get skin off a -flint.' - -'Well, Dixon, I won't shoot you, and I'll try not to be cross -again.' - -'You never have. If I've said it at times, it has always been to -myself, just in private, by way of making a little agreeable -conversation, for there's no one here fit to talk to. And when -you fire up, you're the very image of Master Frederick. I could -find in my heart to put you in a passion any day, just to see his -stormy look coming like a great cloud over your face. But now you -go out, Miss. I'll watch over missus; and as for master, his -books are company enough for him, if he should come in.' - -'I will go,' said Margaret. She hung about Dixon for a minute or -so, as if afraid and irresolute; then suddenly kissing her, she -went quickly out of the room. - -'Bless her!' said Dixon. 'She's as sweet as a nut. There are -three people I love: it's missus, Master Frederick, and her. Just -them three. That's all. The rest be hanged, for I don't know what -they're in the world for. Master was born, I suppose, for to -marry missus. If I thought he loved her properly, I might get to -love him in time. But he should ha' made a deal more on her, and -not been always reading, reading, thinking, thinking. See what it -has brought him to! Many a one who never reads nor thinks either, -gets to be Rector, and Dean, and what not; and I dare say master -might, if he'd just minded missus, and let the weary reading and -thinking alone.--There she goes' (looking out of the window as -she heard the front door shut). 'Poor young lady! her clothes -look shabby to what they did when she came to Helstone a year -ago. Then she hadn't so much as a darned stocking or a cleaned -pair of gloves in all her wardrobe. And now--!' - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -WHAT IS A STRIKE? - -'There are briars besetting every path, -Which call for patient care; -There is a cross in every lot, -And an earnest need for prayer.' -ANON. - -Margaret went out heavily and unwillingly enough. But the length -of a street--yes, the air of a Milton Street--cheered her young -blood before she reached her first turning. Her step grew -lighter, her lip redder. She began to take notice, instead of -having her thoughts turned so exclusively inward. She saw unusual -loiterers in the streets: men with their hands in their pockets -sauntering along; loud-laughing and loud-spoken girls clustered -together, apparently excited to high spirits, and a boisterous -independence of temper and behaviour. The more ill-looking of the -men--the discreditable minority--hung about on the steps of the -beer-houses and gin-shops, smoking, and commenting pretty freely -on every passer-by. Margaret disliked the prospect of the long -walk through these streets, before she came to the fields which -she had planned to reach. Instead, she would go and see Bessy -Higgins. It would not be so refreshing as a quiet country walk, -but still it would perhaps be doing the kinder thing. - -Nicholas Higgins was sitting by the fire smoking, as she went in. -Bessy was rocking herself on the other side. - -Nicholas took the pipe out of his mouth, and standing up, pushed -his chair towards Margaret; he leant against the chimney piece in -a lounging attitude, while she asked Bessy how she was. - -'Hoo's rather down i' th' mouth in regard to spirits, but hoo's -better in health. Hoo doesn't like this strike. Hoo's a deal too -much set on peace and quietness at any price.' - -'This is th' third strike I've seen,' said she, sighing, as if -that was answer and explanation enough. - -'Well, third time pays for all. See if we don't dang th' masters -this time. See if they don't come, and beg us to come back at our -own price. That's all. We've missed it afore time, I grant yo'; -but this time we'n laid our plans desperate deep.' - -'Why do you strike?' asked Margaret. 'Striking is leaving off -work till you get your own rate of wages, is it not? You must not -wonder at my ignorance; where I come from I never heard of a -strike.' - -'I wish I were there,' said Bessy, wearily. 'But it's not for me -to get sick and tired o' strikes. This is the last I'll see. -Before it's ended I shall be in the Great City--the Holy -Jerusalem.' - -'Hoo's so full of th' life to come, hoo cannot think of th' -present. Now I, yo' see, am bound to do the best I can here. I -think a bird i' th' hand is worth two i' th' bush. So them's the -different views we take on th' strike question.' - -'But,' said Margaret, 'if the people struck, as you call it, -where I come from, as they are mostly all field labourers, the -seed would not be sown, the hay got in, the corn reaped.' - -'Well?' said he. He had resumed his pipe, and put his 'well' in -the form of an interrogation. - -'Why,' she went on, 'what would become of the farmers.' - -He puffed away. 'I reckon they'd have either to give up their -farms, or to give fair rate of wage.' - -'Suppose they could not, or would not do the last; they could not -give up their farms all in a minute, however much they might wish -to do so; but they would have no hay, nor corn to sell that year; -and where would the money come from to pay the labourers' wages -the next?' - -Still puffing away. At last he said: - -'I know nought of your ways down South. I have heerd they're a -pack of spiritless, down-trodden men; welly clemmed to death; too -much dazed wi' clemming to know when they're put upon. Now, it's -not so here. We known when we're put upon; and we'en too much -blood in us to stand it. We just take our hands fro' our looms, -and say, "Yo' may clem us, but yo'll not put upon us, my -masters!" And be danged to 'em, they shan't this time!' - -'I wish I lived down South,' said Bessy. - -'There's a deal to bear there,' said Margaret. 'There are sorrows -to bear everywhere. There is very hard bodily labour to be gone -through, with very little food to give strength.' - -'But it's out of doors,' said Bessy. 'And away from the endless, -endless noise, and sickening heat.' - -'It's sometimes in heavy rain, and sometimes in bitter cold. A -young person can stand it; but an old man gets racked with -rheumatism, and bent and withered before his time; yet he must -just work on the same, or else go to the workhouse.' - -'I thought yo' were so taken wi' the ways of the South country.' - -'So I am,' said Margaret, smiling a little, as she found herself -thus caught. 'I only mean, Bessy, there's good and bad in -everything in this world; and as you felt the bad up here, I -thought it was but fair you should know the bad down there.' - -'And yo' say they never strike down there?' asked Nicholas, -abruptly. - -'No!' said Margaret; 'I think they have too much sense.' - -'An' I think,' replied he, dashing the ashes out of his pipe with -so much vehemence that it broke, 'it's not that they've too much -sense, but that they've too little spirit.' - -'O, father!' said Bessy, 'what have ye gained by striking? Think -of that first strike when mother died--how we all had to -clem--you the worst of all; and yet many a one went in every week -at the same wage, till all were gone in that there was work for; -and some went beggars all their lives at after.' - -'Ay,' said he. 'That there strike was badly managed. Folk got -into th' management of it, as were either fools or not true men. -Yo'll see, it'll be different this time.' - -'But all this time you've not told me what you're striking for,' -said Margaret, again. - -'Why, yo' see, there's five or six masters who have set -themselves again paying the wages they've been paying these two -years past, and flourishing upon, and getting richer upon. And -now they come to us, and say we're to take less. And we won't. -We'll just clem them to death first; and see who'll work for 'em -then. They'll have killed the goose that laid 'em the golden -eggs, I reckon.' - -'And so you plan dying, in order to be revenged upon them!' - -'No,' said he, 'I dunnot. I just look forward to the chance of -dying at my post sooner than yield. That's what folk call fine -and honourable in a soldier, and why not in a poor weaver-chap?' - -'But,' said Margaret, 'a soldier dies in the cause of the -Nation--in the cause of others.' - -He laughed grimly. 'My lass,' said he, 'yo're but a young wench, -but don't yo' think I can keep three people--that's Bessy, and -Mary, and me--on sixteen shilling a week? Dun yo' think it's for -mysel' I'm striking work at this time? It's just as much in the -cause of others as yon soldier--only m'appen, the cause he dies -for is just that of somebody he never clapt eyes on, nor heerd on -all his born days, while I take up John Boucher's cause, as lives -next door but one, wi' a sickly wife, and eight childer, none on -'em factory age; and I don't take up his cause only, though he's -a poor good-for-nought, as can only manage two looms at a time, -but I take up th' cause o' justice. Why are we to have less wage -now, I ask, than two year ago?' - -'Don't ask me,' said Margaret; 'I am very ignorant. Ask some of -your masters. Surely they will give you a reason for it. It is -not merely an arbitrary decision of theirs, come to without -reason.' - -'Yo're just a foreigner, and nothing more,' said he, -contemptuously. 'Much yo' know about it. Ask th' masters! They'd -tell us to mind our own business, and they'd mind theirs. Our -business being, yo' understand, to take the bated' wage, and be -thankful, and their business to bate us down to clemming point, -to swell their profits. That's what it is.' - -'But said Margaret, determined not to give way, although she saw -she was irritating him, 'the state of trade may be such as not to -enable them to give you the same remuneration. - -'State o' trade! That's just a piece o' masters' humbug. It's -rate o' wages I was talking of. Th' masters keep th' state o' -trade in their own hands; and just walk it forward like a black -bug-a-boo, to frighten naughty children with into being good. -I'll tell yo' it's their part,--their cue, as some folks call -it,--to beat us down, to swell their fortunes; and it's ours to -stand up and fight hard,--not for ourselves alone, but for them -round about us--for justice and fair play. We help to make their -profits, and we ought to help spend 'em. It's not that we want -their brass so much this time, as we've done many a time afore. -We'n getten money laid by; and we're resolved to stand and fall -together; not a man on us will go in for less wage than th' Union -says is our due. So I say, "hooray for the strike," and let -Thornton, and Slickson, and Hamper, and their set look to it!' - -'Thornton!' said Margaret. 'Mr. Thornton of Marlborough Street?' - -'Aye! Thornton o' Marlborough Mill, as we call him.' - -'He is one of the masters you are striving with, is he not? What -sort of a master is he?' - -'Did yo' ever see a bulldog? Set a bulldog on hind legs, and -dress him up in coat and breeches, and yo'n just getten John -Thornton.' - -'Nay,' said Margaret, laughing, 'I deny that. Mr. Thornton is -plain enough, but he's not like a bulldog, with its short broad -nose, and snarling upper lip.' - -'No! not in look, I grant yo'. But let John Thornton get hold on -a notion, and he'll stick to it like a bulldog; yo' might pull -him away wi' a pitch-fork ere he'd leave go. He's worth fighting -wi', is John Thornton. As for Slickson, I take it, some o' these -days he'll wheedle his men back wi' fair promises; that they'll -just get cheated out of as soon as they're in his power again. -He'll work his fines well out on 'em, I'll warrant. He's as -slippery as an eel, he is. He's like a cat,--as sleek, and -cunning, and fierce. It'll never be an honest up and down fight -wi' him, as it will be wi' Thornton. Thornton's as dour as a -door-nail; an obstinate chap, every inch on him,--th' oud -bulldog!' - -'Poor Bessy!' said Margaret, turning round to her. 'You sigh over -it all. You don't like struggling and fighting as your father -does, do you?' - -'No!' said she, heavily. 'I'm sick on it. I could have wished to -have had other talk about me in my latter days, than just the -clashing and clanging and clattering that has wearied a' my life -long, about work and wages, and masters, and hands, and -knobsticks.' - -'Poor wench! latter days be farred! Thou'rt looking a sight -better already for a little stir and change. Beside, I shall be a -deal here to make it more lively for thee.' - -'Tobacco-smoke chokes me!' said she, querulously. - -'Then I'll never smoke no more i' th' house!' he replied, -tenderly. 'But why didst thou not tell me afore, thou foolish -wench?' - -She did not speak for a while, and then so low that only Margaret -heard her: - -'I reckon, he'll want a' the comfort he can get out o' either -pipe or drink afore he's done.' - -Her father went out of doors, evidently to finish his pipe. - -Bessy said passionately, - -'Now am not I a fool,--am I not, Miss?--there, I knew I ought for -to keep father at home, and away fro' the folk that are always -ready for to tempt a man, in time o' strike, to go drink,--and -there my tongue must needs quarrel with this pipe o' his'n,--and -he'll go off, I know he will,--as often as he wants to smoke--and -nobody knows where it'll end. I wish I'd letten myself be choked -first.' - -'But does your father drink?' asked Margaret. - -'No--not to say drink,' replied she, still in the same wild -excited tone. 'But what win ye have? There are days wi' you, as -wi' other folk, I suppose, when yo' get up and go through th' -hours, just longing for a bit of a change--a bit of a fillip, as -it were. I know I ha' gone and bought a four-pounder out o' -another baker's shop to common on such days, just because I -sickened at the thought of going on for ever wi' the same sight -in my eyes, and the same sound in my ears, and the same taste i' -my mouth, and the same thought (or no thought, for that matter) -in my head, day after day, for ever. I've longed for to be a man -to go spreeing, even it were only a tramp to some new place in -search o' work. And father--all men--have it stronger in 'em than -me to get tired o' sameness and work for ever. And what is 'em to -do? It's little blame to them if they do go into th' gin-shop for -to make their blood flow quicker, and more lively, and see things -they never see at no other time--pictures, and looking-glass, and -such like. But father never was a drunkard, though maybe, he's -got worse for drink, now and then. Only yo' see,' and now her -voice took a mournful, pleading tone, 'at times o' strike -there's much to knock a man down, for all they start so -hopefully; and where's the comfort to come fro'? He'll get angry -and mad--they all do--and then they get tired out wi' being angry -and mad, and maybe ha' done things in their passion they'd be -glad to forget. Bless yo'r sweet pitiful face! but yo' dunnot -know what a strike is yet.' - -'Come, Bessy,' said Margaret, 'I won't say you're exaggerating, -because I don't know enough about it: but, perhaps, as you're not -well, you're only looking on one side, and there is another and a -brighter to be looked to.' - -'It's all well enough for yo' to say so, who have lived in -pleasant green places all your life long, and never known want or -care, or wickedness either, for that matter.' - -'Take care,' said Margaret, her cheek flushing, and her eye -lightening, 'how you judge, Bessy. I shall go home to my mother, -who is so ill--so ill, Bessy, that there's no outlet but death -for her out of the prison of her great suffering; and yet I must -speak cheerfully to my father, who has no notion of her real -state, and to whom the knowledge must come gradually. The only -person--the only one who could sympathise with me and help -me--whose presence could comfort my mother more than any other -earthly thing--is falsely accused--would run the risk of death if -he came to see his dying mother. This I tell you--only you, -Bessy. You must not mention it. No other person in Milton--hardly -any other person in England knows. Have I not care? Do I not know -anxiety, though I go about well-dressed, and have food enough? -Oh, Bessy, God is just, and our lots are well portioned out by -Him, although none but He knows the bitterness of our souls.' - -'I ask your pardon,' replied Bessy, humbly. 'Sometimes, when I've -thought o' my life, and the little pleasure I've had in it, I've -believed that, maybe, I was one of those doomed to die by the -falling of a star from heaven; "And the name of the star is -called Wormwood;' and the third part of the waters became -wormwood; and men died of the waters, because they were made -bitter." One can bear pain and sorrow better if one thinks it has -been prophesied long before for one: somehow, then it seems as if -my pain was needed for the fulfilment; otherways it seems all -sent for nothing.' - -'Nay, Bessy--think!' said Margaret. 'God does not willingly -afflict. Don't dwell so much on the prophecies, but read the -clearer parts of the Bible.' - -'I dare say it would be wiser; but where would I hear such grand -words of promise--hear tell o' anything so far different fro' -this dreary world, and this town above a', as in Revelations? -Many's the time I've repeated the verses in the seventh chapter -to myself, just for the sound. It's as good as an organ, and as -different from every day, too. No, I cannot give up Revelations. -It gives me more comfort than any other book i' the Bible.' - -'Let me come and read you some of my favourite chapters.' - -'Ay,' said she, greedily, 'come. Father will maybe hear yo'. He's -deaved wi' my talking; he says it's all nought to do with the -things o' to-day, and that's his business.' - -'Where is your sister?' - -'Gone fustian-cutting. I were loth to let her go; but somehow we -must live; and th' Union can't afford us much.' - -'Now I must go. You have done me good, Bessy.' - -'I done you good!' - -'Yes. I came here very sad, and rather too apt to think my own -cause for grief was the only one in the world. And now I hear how -you have had to bear for years, and that makes me stronger.' - -'Bless yo'! I thought a' the good-doing was on the side of gentle -folk. I shall get proud if I think I can do good to yo'.' - -'You won't do it if you think about it. But you'll only puzzle -yourself if you do, that's one comfort.' - -'Yo're not like no one I ever seed. I dunno what to make of yo'.' - -'Nor I of myself. Good-bye!' - -Bessy stilled her rocking to gaze after her. - -'I wonder if there are many folk like her down South. She's like -a breath of country air, somehow. She freshens me up above a bit. -Who'd ha' thought that face--as bright and as strong as the angel -I dream of--could have known the sorrow she speaks on? I wonder -how she'll sin. All on us must sin. I think a deal on her, for -sure. But father does the like, I see. And Mary even. It's not -often hoo's stirred up to notice much.' - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -LIKES AND DISLIKES - -'My heart revolts within me, and two voices -Make themselves audible within my bosom.' -WALLENSTEIN. - -On Margaret's return home she found two letters on the table: one -was a note for her mother,--the other, which had come by the -post, was evidently from her Aunt Shaw--covered with foreign -post-marks--thin, silvery, and rustling. She took up the other, -and was examining it, when her father came in suddenly: - -'So your mother is tired, and gone to bed early! I'm afraid, such -a thundery day was not the best in the world for the doctor to -see her. What did he say? Dixon tells me he spoke to you about -her.' - -Margaret hesitated. Her father's looks became more grave and -anxious: - -'He does not think her seriously ill?' - -'Not at present; she needs care, he says; he was very kind, and -said he would call again, and see how his medicines worked.' - -'Only care--he did not recommend change of air?--he did not say -this smoky town was doing her any harm, did he, Margaret?' - -'No! not a word,' she replied, gravely. 'He was anxious, I -think.' - -'Doctors have that anxious manner; it's professional,' said he. - -Margaret saw, in her father's nervous ways, that the first -impression of possible danger was made upon his mind, in spite of -all his making light of what she told him. He could not forget -the subject,--could not pass from it to other things; he kept -recurring to it through the evening, with an unwillingness to -receive even the slightest unfavourable idea, which made Margaret -inexpressibly sad. - -'This letter is from Aunt Shaw, papa. She has got to Naples, and -finds it too hot, so she has taken apartments at Sorrento. But I -don't think she likes Italy.' - -'He did not say anything about diet, did he?' - -'It was to be nourishing, and digestible. Mamma's appetite is -pretty good, I think.' - -'Yes! and that makes it all the more strange he should have -thought of speaking about diet.' - -'I asked him, papa.' Another pause. Then Margaret went on: 'Aunt -Shaw says, she has sent me some coral ornaments, papa; but,' -added Margaret, half smiling, 'she's afraid the Milton Dissenters -won't appreciate them. She has got all her ideas of Dissenters -from the Quakers, has not she?' - -'If ever you hear or notice that your mother wishes for anything, -be sure you let me know. I am so afraid she does not tell me -always what she would like. Pray, see after that girl Mrs. -Thornton named. If we had a good, efficient house-servant, Dixon -could be constantly with her, and I'd answer for it we'd soon set -her up amongst us, if care will do it. She's been very much tired -of late, with the hot weather, and the difficulty of getting a -servant. A little rest will put her quite to rights--eh, -Margaret?' - -'I hope so,' said Margaret,--but so sadly, that her father took -notice of it. He pinched her cheek. - -'Come; if you look so pale as this, I must rouge you up a little. -Take care of yourself, child, or you'll be wanting the doctor -next.' - -But he could not settle to anything that evening. He was -continually going backwards and forwards, on laborious tiptoe, to -see if his wife was still asleep. Margaret's heart ached at his -restlessness--his trying to stifle and strangle the hideous fear -that was looming out of the dark places of his heart. He came -back at last, somewhat comforted. - -'She's awake now, Margaret. She quite smiled as she saw me -standing by her. Just her old smile. And she says she feels -refreshed, and ready for tea. Where's the note for her? She wants -to see it. I'll read it to her while you make tea.' - -The note proved to be a formal invitation from Mrs. Thornton, to -Mr., Mrs., and Miss Hale to dinner, on the twenty-first instant. -Margaret was surprised to find an acceptance contemplated, after -all she had learnt of sad probabilities during the day. But so it -was. The idea of her husband's and daughter's going to this -dinner had quite captivated Mrs. Hale's fancy, even before -Margaret had heard the contents of the note. It was an event to -diversify the monotony of the invalid's life; and she clung to -the idea of their going, with even fretful pertinacity when -Margaret objected. - -'Nay, Margaret? if she wishes it, I'm sure we'll both go -willingly. She never would wish it unless she felt herself really -stronger--really better than we thought she was, eh, Margaret?' -said Mr. Hale, anxiously, as she prepared to write the note of -acceptance, the next day. - -'Eh! Margaret?' questioned he, with a nervous motion of his -hands. It seemed cruel to refuse him the comfort he craved for. -And besides, his passionate refusal to admit the existence of -fear, almost inspired Margaret herself with hope. - -'I do think she is better since last night,' said she. 'Her eyes -look brighter, and her complexion clearer.' - -'God bless you,' said her father, earnestly. 'But is it true? -Yesterday was so sultry every one felt ill. It was a most unlucky -day for Mr. Donaldson to see her on.' - -So he went away to his day's duties, now increased by the -preparation of some lectures he had promised to deliver to the -working people at a neighbouring Lyceum. He had chosen -Ecclesiastical Architecture as his subject, rather more in -accordance with his own taste and knowledge than as falling in -with the character of the place or the desire for particular -kinds of information among those to whom he was to lecture. And -the institution itself, being in debt, was only too glad to get a -gratis course from an educated and accomplished man like Mr. -Hale, let the subject be what it might. - -'Well, mother,' asked Mr. Thornton that night, 'who have accepted -your invitations for the twenty-first?' - -'Fanny, where are the notes? The Slicksons accept, Collingbrooks -accept, Stephenses accept, Browns decline. Hales--father and -daughter come,--mother too great an invalid--Macphersons come, -and Mr. Horsfall, and Mr. Young. I was thinking of asking the -Porters, as the Browns can't come.' - -'Very good. Do you know, I'm really afraid Mrs. Hale is very far -from well, from what Dr. Donaldson says.' - -'It's strange of them to accept a dinner-invitation if she's very -ill,' said Fanny. - -'I didn't say very ill,' said her brother, rather sharply. 'I -only said very far from well. They may not know it either.' And -then he suddenly remembered that, from what Dr. Donaldson had -told him, Margaret, at any rate, must be aware of the exact state -of the case. - -'Very probably they are quite aware of what you said yesterday, -John--of the great advantage it would be to them--to Mr. Hale, I -mean, to be introduced to such people as the Stephenses and the -Collingbrooks.' - -'I'm sure that motive would not influence them. No! I think I -understand how it is.' - -'John!' said Fanny, laughing in her little, weak, nervous way. -'How you profess to understand these Hales, and how you never -will allow that we can know anything about them. Are they really -so very different to most people one meets with?' - -She did not mean to vex him; but if she had intended it, she -could not have done it more thoroughly. He chafed in silence, -however, not deigning to reply to her question. - -'They do not seem to me out of the common way,' said Mrs. -Thornton. 'He appears a worthy kind of man enough; rather too -simple for trade--so it's perhaps as well he should have been a -clergyman first, and now a teacher. She's a bit of a fine lady, -with her invalidism; and as for the girl--she's the only one who -puzzles me when I think about her,--which I don't often do. She -seems to have a great notion of giving herself airs; and I can't -make out why. I could almost fancy she thinks herself too good -for her company at times. And yet they're not rich, from all I -can hear they never have been.' - -'And she's not accomplished, mamma. She can't play.' - -'Go on, Fanny. What else does she want to bring her up to your -standard?' - -'Nay! John,' said his mother, 'that speech of Fanny's did no -harm. I myself heard Miss Hale say she could not play. If you -would let us alone, we could perhaps like her, and see her -merits.' - -'I'm sure I never could!' murmured Fanny, protected by her -mother. Mr. Thornton heard, but did not care to reply. He was -walking up and down the dining-room, wishing that his mother -would order candles, and allow him to set to work at either -reading or writing, and so put a stop to the conversation. But he -never thought of interfering in any of the small domestic -regulations that Mrs. Thornton observed, in habitual remembrance -of her old economies. - -'Mother,' said he, stopping, and bravely speaking out the truth, -'I wish you would like Miss Hale.' - -'Why?' asked she, startled by his earnest, yet tender manner. -'You're never thinking of marrying her?--a girl without a penny.' - -'She would never have me,' said he, with a short laugh. - -'No, I don't think she would,' answered his mother. 'She laughed -in my face, when I praised her for speaking out something Mr. -Bell had said in your favour. I liked the girl for doing it so -frankly, for it made me sure she had no thought of you; and the -next minute she vexed me so by seeming to think----Well, never -mind! Only you're right in saying she's too good an opinion of -herself to think of you. The saucy jade! I should like to know -where she'd find a better!' If these words hurt her son, the -dusky light prevented him from betraying any emotion. In a minute -he came up quite cheerfully to his mother, and putting one hand -lightly on her shoulder, said: - -'Well, as I'm just as much convinced of the truth of what you -have been saying as you can be; and as I have no thought or -expectation of ever asking her to be my wife, you'll believe me -for the future that I'm quite disinterested in speaking about -her. I foresee trouble for that girl--perhaps want of motherly -care--and I only wish you to be ready to be a friend to her, in -case she needs one. Now, Fanny,' said he, 'I trust you have -delicacy enough to understand, that it is as great an injury to -Miss Hale as to me--in fact, she would think it a greater--to -suppose that I have any reason, more than I now give, for begging -you and my mother to show her every kindly attention.' - -'I cannot forgive her her pride,' said his mother; 'I will -befriend her, if there is need, for your asking, John. I would -befriend Jezebel herself if you asked me. But this girl, who -turns up her nose at us all--who turns up her nose at you----' - -'Nay, mother; I have never yet put myself, and I mean never to -put myself, within reach of her contempt.' - -'Contempt, indeed!'--(One of Mrs. Thornton's expressive -snorts.)--'Don't go on speaking of Miss Hale, John, if I've to be -kind to her. When I'm with her, I don't know if I like or dislike -her most; but when I think of her, and hear you talk of her, I -hate her. I can see she's given herself airs to you as well as if -you'd told me out.' - -'And if she has,' said he--and then he paused for a moment--then -went on: 'I'm not a lad, to be cowed by a proud look from a -woman, or to care for her misunderstanding me and my position. I -can laugh at it!' - -'To be sure! and at her too, with her fine notions and haughty -tosses!' - -'I only wonder why you talk so much about her, then,' said Fanny. -'I'm sure, I'm tired enough of the subject.' - -'Well!' said her brother, with a shade of bitterness. 'Suppose we -find some more agreeable subject. What do you say to a strike, by -way of something pleasant to talk about?' - -'Have the hands actually turned out?' asked Mrs. Thornton, with -vivid interest. - -'Hamper's men are actually out. Mine are working out their week, -through fear of being prosecuted for breach of contract I'd have -had every one of them up and punished for it, that left his work -before his time was out.' - -'The law expenses would have been more than the hands them selves -were worth--a set of ungrateful naughts!' said his mother. - -'To be sure. But I'd have shown them how I keep my word, and how -I mean them to keep theirs. They know me by this time. Slickson's -men are off--pretty certain he won't spend money in getting them -punished. We're in for a turn-out, mother.' - -'I hope there are not many orders in hand?' - -'Of course there are. They know that well enough. But they don't -quite understand all, though they think they do.' - -'What do you mean, John?' - -Candles had been brought, and Fanny had taken up her interminable -piece of worsted-work, over which she was yawning; throwing -herself back in her chair, from time to time, to gaze at vacancy, -and think of nothing at her ease. - -'Why,' said he, 'the Americans are getting their yarns so into -the general market, that our only chance is producing them at a -lower rate. If we can't, we may shut up shop at once, and hands -and masters go alike on tramp. Yet these fools go back to the -prices paid three years ago--nay, some of their leaders quote -Dickinson's prices now--though they know as well as we do that, -what with fines pressed out of their wages as no honourable man -would extort them, and other ways which I for one would scorn to -use, the real rate of wage paid at Dickinson's is less than at -ours. Upon my word, mother, I wish the old combination-laws were -in force. It is too bad to find out that fools--ignorant wayward -men like these--just by uniting their weak silly heads, are to -rule over the fortunes of those who bring all the wisdom that -knowledge and experience, and often painful thought and anxiety, -can give. The next thing will be--indeed, we're all but come to -it now--that we shall have to go and ask--stand hat in hand--and -humbly ask the secretary of the Spinner' Union to be so kind as -to furnish us with labour at their own price. That's what they -want--they, who haven't the sense to see that, if we don't get a -fair share of the profits to compensate us for our wear and tear -here in England, we can move off to some other country; and that, -what with home and foreign competition, we are none of us likely -to make above a fair share, and may be thankful enough if we can -get that, in an average number of years.' - -'Can't you get hands from Ireland? I wouldn't keep these fellows -a day. I'd teach them that I was master, and could employ what -servants I liked.' - -'Yes! to be sure, I can; and I will, too, if they go on long. It -will be trouble and expense, and I fear there will be some -danger; but I will do it, rather than give in.' - -'If there is to be all this extra expense, I'm sorry we're giving -a dinner just now.' - -'So am I,--not because of the expense, but because I shall have -much to think about, and many unexpected calls on my time. But we -must have had Mr. Horsfall, and he does not stay in Milton long. -And as for the others, we owe them dinners, and it's all one -trouble.' - -He kept on with his restless walk--not speaking any more, but -drawing a deep breath from time to time, as if endeavouring to -throw off some annoying thought. Fanny asked her mother numerous -small questions, all having nothing to do with the subject, which -a wiser person would have perceived was occupying her attention. -Consequently, she received many short answers. She was not sorry -when, at ten o'clock, the servants filed in to prayers. These her -mother always read,--first reading a chapter. They were now -working steadily through the Old Testament. When prayers were -ended, and his mother had wished him goodnight, with that long -steady look of hers which conveyed no expression of the -tenderness that was in her heart, but yet had the intensity of a -blessing, Mr. Thornton continued his walk. All his business plans -had received a check, a sudden pull-up, from this approaching -turn-out. The forethought of many anxious hours was thrown away, -utterly wasted by their insane folly, which would injure -themselves even more than him, though no one could set any limit -to the mischief they were doing. And these were the men who -thought themselves fitted to direct the masters in the disposal -of their capital! Hamper had said, only this very day, that if he -were ruined by the strike, he would start life again, comforted -by the conviction that those who brought it on were in a worse -predicament than he himself,--for he had head as well as hands, -while they had only hands; and if they drove away their market, -they could not follow it, nor turn to anything else. But this -thought was no consolation to Mr. Thornton. It might be that -revenge gave him no pleasure; it might be that he valued the -position he had earned with the sweat of his brow, so much that -he keenly felt its being endangered by the ignorance or folly of -others,--so keenly that he had no thoughts to spare for what -would be the consequences of their conduct to themselves. He -paced up and down, setting his teeth a little now and then. At -last it struck two. The candles were flickering in their sockets. -He lighted his own, muttering to himself: - -'Once for all, they shall know whom they have got to deal with. I -can give them a fortnight,--no more. If they don't see their -madness before the end of that time, I must have hands from -Ireland. I believe it's Slickson's doing,--confound him and his -dodges! He thought he was overstocked; so he seemed to yield at -first, when the deputation came to him,--and of course, he only -confirmed them in their folly, as he meant to do. That's where it -spread from.' - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -ANGEL VISITS - -'As angels in some brighter dreams -Call to the soul when man doth sleep, -So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, -And into glory peep.' -HENRY VAUGHAN. - -Mrs. Hale was curiously amused and interested by the idea of the -Thornton dinner party. She kept wondering about the details, with -something of the simplicity of a little child, who wants to have -all its anticipated pleasures described beforehand. But the -monotonous life led by invalids often makes them like children, -inasmuch as they have neither of them any sense of proportion in -events, and seem each to believe that the walls and curtains -which shut in their world, and shut out everything else, must of -necessity be larger than anything hidden beyond. Besides, Mrs. -Hale had had her vanities as a girl; had perhaps unduly felt -their mortification when she became a poor clergyman's -wife;--they had been smothered and kept down; but they were not -extinct; and she liked to think of seeing Margaret dressed for a -party, and discussed what she should wear, with an unsettled -anxiety that amused Margaret, who had been more accustomed to -society in her one in Harley Street than her mother in five and -twenty years of Helstone. - -'Then you think you shall wear your white silk. Are you sure it -will fit? It's nearly a year since Edith was married!' - -'Oh yes, mamma! Mrs. Murray made it, and it's sure to be right; -it may be a straw's breadth shorter or longer-waisted, according -to my having grown fat or thin. But I don't think I've altered in -the least.' - -'Hadn't you better let Dixon see it? It may have gone yellow with -lying by.' - -'If you like, mamma. But if the worst comes to the worst, I've a -very nice pink gauze which aunt Shaw gave me, only two or three -months before Edith was married. That can't have gone yellow.' - -'No! but it may have faded.' - -'Well! then I've a green silk. I feel more as if it was the -embarrassment of riches.' - -'I wish I knew what you ought to wear,' said Mrs. Hale, -nervously. Margaret's manner changed instantly. 'Shall I go and -put them on one after another, mamma, and then you could see -which you liked best?' - -'But--yes! perhaps that will be best.' - -So off Margaret went. She was very much inclined to play some -pranks when she was dressed up at such an unusual hour; to make -her rich white silk balloon out into a cheese, to retreat -backwards from her mother as if she were the queen; but when she -found that these freaks of hers were regarded as interruptions to -the serious business, and as such annoyed her mother, she became -grave and sedate. What had possessed the world (her world) to -fidget so about her dress, she could not understand; but that -very after noon, on naming her engagement to Bessy Higgins -(apropos of the servant that Mrs. Thornton had promised to -inquire about), Bessy quite roused up at the intelligence. - -'Dear! and are you going to dine at Thornton's at Marlborough -Mills?' - -'Yes, Bessy. Why are you so surprised?' - -'Oh, I dunno. But they visit wi' a' th' first folk in Milton.' - -'And you don't think we're quite the first folk in Milton, eh, -Bessy?' Bessy's cheeks flushed a little at her thought being thus -easily read. - -'Well,' said she, 'yo' see, they thinken a deal o' money here and -I reckon yo've not getten much.' - -'No,' said Margaret, 'that's very true. But we are educated -people, and have lived amongst educated people. Is there anything -so wonderful, in our being asked out to dinner by a man who owns -himself inferior to my father by coming to him to be instructed? -I don't mean to blame Mr. Thornton. Few drapers' assistants, as -he was once, could have made themselves what he is.' - -'But can yo' give dinners back, in yo'r small house? Thornton's -house is three times as big.' - -'Well, I think we could manage to give Mr. Thornton a dinner -back, as you call it. Perhaps not in such a large room, nor with -so many people. But I don't think we've thought about it at all -in that way.' - -'I never thought yo'd be dining with Thorntons,' repeated I -Bessy. 'Why, the mayor hissel' dines there; and the members of -Parliament and all.' - -'I think I could support the honour of meeting the mayor of -Milton. - -'But them ladies dress so grand!' said Bessy, with an anxious -look at Margaret's print gown, which her Milton eyes appraised at -sevenpence a yard. Margaret's face dimpled up into a merry laugh. -'Thank You, Bessy, for thinking so kindly about my looking nice -among all the smart people. But I've plenty of grand gowns,--a -week ago, I should have said they were far too grand for anything -I should ever want again. But as I'm to dine at Mr. Thornton's, -and perhaps to meet the mayor, I shall put on my very best gown, -you may be sure.' - -'What win yo' wear?' asked Bessy, somewhat relieved. - -'White silk,' said Margaret. 'A gown I had for a cousin's -wedding, a year ago. - -'That'll do!' said Bessy, falling back in her chair. 'I should be -loth to have yo' looked down upon. - -'Oh! I'll be fine enough, if that will save me from being looked -down upon in Milton.' - -'I wish I could see you dressed up,' said Bessy. 'I reckon, yo're -not what folk would ca' pretty; yo've not red and white enough -for that. But dun yo' know, I ha' dreamt of yo', long afore ever -I seed yo'.' - -'Nonsense, Bessy!' - -'Ay, but I did. Yo'r very face,--looking wi' yo'r clear steadfast -eyes out o' th' darkness, wi' yo'r hair blown off from yo'r brow, -and going out like rays round yo'r forehead, which was just as -smooth and as straight as it is now,--and yo' always came to give -me strength, which I seemed to gather out o' yo'r deep comforting -eyes,--and yo' were drest in shining raiment--just as yo'r going -to be drest. So, yo' see, it was yo'!' - -'Nay, Bessy,' said Margaret, gently, 'it was but a dream.' - -'And why might na I dream a dream in my affliction as well as -others? Did not many a one i' the Bible? Ay, and see visions too! -Why, even my father thinks a deal o' dreams! I tell yo' again, I -saw yo' as plainly, coming swiftly towards me, wi' yo'r hair -blown back wi' the very swiftness o' the motion, just like the -way it grows, a little standing off like; and the white shining -dress on yo've getten to wear. Let me come and see yo' in it. I -want to see yo' and touch yo' as in very deed yo' were in my -dream.' - -'My dear Bessy, it is quite a fancy of yours.' - -'Fancy or no fancy,--yo've come, as I knew yo' would, when I saw -yo'r movement in my dream,--and when yo're here about me, I -reckon I feel easier in my mind, and comforted, just as a fire -comforts one on a dree day. Yo' said it were on th' twenty-first; -please God, I'll come and see yo'.' - -'Oh Bessy! you may come and welcome; but don't talk so--it really -makes me sorry. It does indeed.' - -'Then I'll keep it to mysel', if I bite my tongue out. Not but -what it's true for all that.' - -Margaret was silent. At last she said, - -'Let us talk about it sometimes, if you think it true. But not -now. Tell me, has your father turned out?' - -'Ay!' said Bessy, heavily--in a manner very different from that -she had spoken in but a minute or two before. 'He and many -another,--all Hamper's men,--and many a one besides. Th' women -are as bad as th' men, in their savageness, this time. Food is -high,--and they mun have food for their childer, I reckon. -Suppose Thorntons sent 'em their dinner out,--th' same money, -spent on potatoes and meal, would keep many a crying babby quiet, -and hush up its mother's heart for a bit!' - -'Don't speak so!' said Margaret. 'You'll make me feel wicked and -guilty in going to this dinner.' - -'No!' said Bessy. 'Some's pre-elected to sumptuous feasts, and -purple and fine linen,--may be yo're one on 'em. Others toil and -moil all their lives long--and the very dogs are not pitiful in -our days, as they were in the days of Lazarus. But if yo' ask me -to cool yo'r tongue wi' th' tip of my finger, I'll come across -the great gulf to yo' just for th' thought o' what yo've been to -me here.' - -'Bessy! you're very feverish! I can tell it in the touch of your -hand, as well as in what you're saying. It won't be division -enough, in that awful day, that some of us have been beggars -here, and some of us have been rich,--we shall not be judged by -that poor accident, but by our faithful following of Christ.' -Margaret got up, and found some water and soaking her -pocket-handkerchief in it, she laid the cool wetness on Bessy's -forehead, and began to chafe the stone-cold feet. Bessy shut her -eyes, and allowed herself to be soothed. At last she said, - -'Yo'd ha' been deaved out o' yo'r five wits, as well as me, if -yo'd had one body after another coming in to ask for father, and -staying to tell me each one their tale. Some spoke o' deadly -hatred, and made my blood run cold wi' the terrible things they -said o' th' masters,--but more, being women, kept plaining, -plaining (wi' the tears running down their cheeks, and never -wiped away, nor heeded), of the price o' meat, and how their -childer could na sleep at nights for th' hunger.' - -'And do they think the strike will mend this?' asked Margaret. - -'They say so,' replied Bessy. 'They do say trade has been good -for long, and the masters has made no end o' money; how much -father doesn't know, but, in course, th' Union does; and, as is -natural, they wanten their share o' th' profits, now that food is -getting dear; and th' Union says they'll not be doing their duty -if they don't make the masters give 'em their share. But masters -has getten th' upper hand somehow; and I'm feared they'll keep it -now and evermore. It's like th' great battle o' Armageddon, the -way they keep on, grinning and fighting at each other, till even -while they fight, they are picked off into the pit.' Just then, -Nicholas Higgins came in. He caught his daughter's last words. - -'Ay! and I'll fight on too; and I'll get it this time. It'll not -take long for to make 'em give in, for they've getten a pretty -lot of orders, all under contract; and they'll soon find out -they'd better give us our five per cent than lose the profit -they'll gain; let alone the fine for not fulfilling the contract. -Aha, my masters! I know who'll win.' - -Margaret fancied from his manner that he must have been drinking, -not so much from what he said, as from the excited way in which -he spoke; and she was rather confirmed in this idea by the -evident anxiety Bessy showed to hasten her departure. Bessy said -to her,-- - -'The twenty-first--that's Thursday week. I may come and see yo' -dressed for Thornton's, I reckon. What time is yo'r dinner?' - -Before Margaret could answer, Higgins broke out, - -'Thornton's! Ar' t' going to dine at Thornton's? Ask him to give -yo' a bumper to the success of his orders. By th' twenty-first, I -reckon, he'll be pottered in his brains how to get 'em done in -time. Tell him, there's seven hundred'll come marching into -Marlborough Mills, the morning after he gives the five per cent, -and will help him through his contract in no time. You'll have -'em all there. My master, Hamper. He's one o' th' oud-fashioned -sort. Ne'er meets a man bout an oath or a curse; I should think -he were going to die if he spoke me civil; but arter all, his -bark's waur than his bite, and yo' may tell him one o' his -turn-outs said so, if yo' like. Eh! but yo'll have a lot of prize -mill-owners at Thornton's! I should like to get speech o' them, -when they're a bit inclined to sit still after dinner, and could -na run for the life on 'em. I'd tell 'em my mind. I'd speak up -again th' hard way they're driving on us!' - -'Good-bye!' said Margaret, hastily. 'Good-bye, Bessy! I shall -look to see you on the twenty-first, if you're well enough.' - -The medicines and treatment which Dr. Donaldson had ordered for -Mrs. Hale, did her so much good at first that not only she -herself, but Margaret, began to hope that he might have been -mistaken, and that she could recover permanently. As for Mr. -Hale, although he had never had an idea of the serious nature of -their apprehensions, he triumphed over their fears with an -evident relief, which proved how much his glimpse into the nature -of them had affected him. Only Dixon croaked for ever into -Margaret's ear. However, Margaret defied the raven, and would -hope. - -They needed this gleam of brightness in-doors, for out-of-doors, -even to their uninstructed eyes, there was a gloomy brooding -appearance of discontent. Mr. Hale had his own acquaintances -among the working men, and was depressed with their earnestly -told tales of suffering and long-endurance. They would have -scorned to speak of what they had to bear to any one who might, -from his position, have understood it without their words. But -here was this man, from a distant county, who was perplexed by -the workings of the system into the midst of which he was thrown, -and each was eager to make him a judge, and to bring witness of -his own causes for irritation. Then Mr. Hale brought all his -budget of grievances, and laid it before Mr. Thornton, for him, -with his experience as a master, to arrange them, and explain -their origin; which he always did, on sound economical -principles; showing that, as trade was conducted, there must -always be a waxing and waning of commercial prosperity; and that -in the waning a certain number of masters, as well as of men, -must go down into ruin, and be no more seen among the ranks of -the happy and prosperous. He spoke as if this consequence were so -entirely logical, that neither employers nor employed had any -right to complain if it became their fate: the employer to turn -aside from the race he could no longer run, with a bitter sense -of incompetency and failure--wounded in the struggle--trampled -down by his fellows in their haste to get rich--slighted where he -once was honoured--humbly asking for, instead of bestowing, -employment with a lordly hand. Of course, speaking so of the fate -that, as a master, might be his own in the fluctuations of -commerce, he was not likely to have more sympathy with that of -the workmen, who were passed by in the swift merciless -improvement or alteration who would fain lie down and quietly die -out of the world that needed them not, but felt as if they could -never rest in their graves for the clinging cries of the beloved -and helpless they would leave behind; who envied the power of the -wild bird, that can feed her young with her very heart's blood. -Margaret's whole soul rose up against him while he reasoned in -this way--as if commerce were everything and humanity nothing. -She could hardly, thank him for the individual kindness, which -brought him that very evening to offer her--for the delicacy -which made him understand that he must offer her privately--every -convenience for illness that his own wealth or his mother's -foresight had caused them to accumulate in their household, and -which, as he learnt from Dr. Donaldson, Mrs. Hale might possibly -require. His presence, after the way he had spoken--his bringing -before her the doom, which she was vainly trying to persuade -herself might yet be averted from her mother--all conspired to -set Margaret's teeth on edge, as she looked at him, and listened -to him. What business had he to be the only person, except Dr. -Donaldson and Dixon, admitted to the awful secret, which she held -shut up in the most dark and sacred recess of her heart--not -daring to look at it, unless she invoked heavenly strength to -bear the sight--that, some day soon, she should cry aloud for her -mother, and no answer would come out of the blank, dumb darkness? -Yet he knew all. She saw it in his pitying eyes. She heard it in -his grave and tremulous voice. How reconcile those eyes, that -voice, with the hard-reasoning, dry, merciless way in which he -laid down axioms of trade, and serenely followed them out to -their full consequences? The discord jarred upon her -inexpressibly. The more because of the gathering woe of which she -heard from Bessy. To be sure, Nicholas Higgins, the father, spoke -differently. He had been appointed a committee-man, and said that -he knew secrets of which the exoteric knew nothing. He said this -more expressly and particularly, on the very day before Mrs. -Thornton's dinner-party, when Margaret, going in to speak to -Bessy, found him arguing the point with Boucher, the neighbour of -whom she had frequently heard mention, as by turns exciting -Higgins's compassion, as an unskilful workman with a large family -depending upon him for support, and at other times enraging his -more energetic and sanguine neighbour by his want of what the -latter called spirit. It was very evident that Higgins was in a -passion when Margaret entered. Boucher stood, with both hands on -the rather high mantel-piece, swaying himself a little on the -support which his arms, thus placed, gave him, and looking wildly -into the fire, with a kind of despair that irritated Higgins, -even while it went to his heart. Bessy was rocking herself -violently backwards and forwards, as was her wont (Margaret knew -by this time) when she was agitated, Her sister Mary was tying on -her bonnet (in great clumsy bows, as suited her great clumsy -fingers), to go to her fustian-cutting, blubbering out loud the -while, and evidently longing to be away from a scene that -distressed her. Margaret came in upon this scene. She stood for a -moment at the door--then, her finger on her lips, she stole to a -seat on the squab near Bessy. Nicholas saw her come in, and -greeted her with a gruff, but not unfriendly nod. Mary hurried -out of the house catching gladly at the open door, and crying -aloud when she got away from her father's presence. It was only -John Boucher that took no notice whatever who came in and who -went out. - -'It's no use, Higgins. Hoo cannot live long a' this'n. Hoo's just -sinking away--not for want o' meat hersel'--but because hoo -cannot stand th' sight o' the little ones clemming. Ay, clemming! -Five shilling a week may do well enough for thee, wi' but two -mouths to fill, and one on 'em a wench who can welly earn her own -meat. But it's clemming to us. An' I tell thee plain--if hoo dies -as I'm 'feard hoo will afore we've getten th' five per cent, I'll -fling th' money back i' th' master's face, and say, "Be domned to -yo'; be domned to th' whole cruel world o' yo'; that could na -leave me th' best wife that ever bore childer to a man!" An' look -thee, lad, I'll hate thee, and th' whole pack o' th' Union. Ay, -an' chase yo' through heaven wi' my hatred,--I will, lad! I -will,--if yo're leading me astray i' this matter. Thou saidst, -Nicholas, on Wednesday sennight--and it's now Tuesday i' th' -second week--that afore a fortnight we'd ha' the masters coming -a-begging to us to take back our' work, at our own wage--and -time's nearly up,--and there's our lile Jack lying a-bed, too -weak to cry, but just every now and then sobbing up his heart for -want o' food,--our lile Jack, I tell thee, lad! Hoo's never -looked up sin' he were born, and hoo loves him as if he were her -very life,--as he is,--for I reckon he'll ha' cost me that -precious price,--our lile Jack, who wakened me each morn wi' -putting his sweet little lips to my great rough fou' face, -a-seeking a smooth place to kiss,--an' he lies clemming.' Here -the deep sobs choked the poor man, and Nicholas looked up, with -eyes brimful of tears, to Margaret, before he could gain courage -to speak. - -'Hou'd up, man. Thy lile Jack shall na' clem. I ha' getten brass, -and we'll go buy the chap a sup o' milk an' a good four-pounder -this very minute. What's mine's thine, sure enough, i' thou'st i' -want. Only, dunnot lose heart, man!' continued he, as he fumbled -in a tea-pot for what money he had. 'I lay yo' my heart and soul -we'll win for a' this: it's but bearing on one more week, and yo -just see th' way th' masters 'll come round, praying on us to -come back to our mills. An' th' Union,--that's to say, I--will -take care yo've enough for th' childer and th' missus. So dunnot -turn faint-heart, and go to th' tyrants a-seeking work.' - -The man turned round at these words,--turned round a face so -white, and gaunt, and tear-furrowed, and hopeless, that its very -calm forced Margaret to weep. 'Yo' know well, that a worser -tyrant than e'er th' masters were says "Clem to death, and see -'em a' clem to death, ere yo' dare go again th' Union." Yo' know -it well, Nicholas, for a' yo're one on 'em. Yo' may be kind -hearts, each separate; but once banded together, yo've no more -pity for a man than a wild hunger-maddened wolf.' - -Nicholas had his hand on the lock of the door--he stopped and -turned round on Boucher, close following: - -'So help me God! man alive--if I think not I'm doing best for -thee, and for all on us. If I'm going wrong when I think I'm -going right, it's their sin, who ha' left me where I am, in my -ignorance. I ha' thought till my brains ached,--Beli' me, John, I -have. An' I say again, there's no help for us but having faith i' -th' Union. They'll win the day, see if they dunnot!' - -Not one word had Margaret or Bessy spoken. They had hardly -uttered the sighing, that the eyes of each called to the other to -bring up from the depths of her heart. At last Bessy said, - -'I never thought to hear father call on God again. But yo' heard -him say, "So help me God!"' - -'Yes!' said Margaret. 'Let me bring you what money I can -spare,--let me bring you a little food for that poor man's -children. Don't let them know it comes from any one but your -father. It will be but little.' - -Bessy lay back without taking any notice of what Margaret said. -She did not cry--she only quivered up her breath, - -'My heart's drained dry o' tears,' she said. 'Boucher's been in -these days past, a telling me of his fears and his troubles. He's -but a weak kind o' chap, I know, but he's a man for a' that; and -tho' I've been angry, many a time afore now, wi' him an' his -wife, as knew no more nor him how to manage, yet, yo' see, all -folks isn't wise, yet God lets 'em live--ay, an' gives 'em some -one to love, and be loved by, just as good as Solomon. An', if -sorrow comes to them they love, it hurts 'em as sore as e'er it -did Solomon. I can't make it out. Perhaps it's as well such a one -as Boucher has th' Union to see after him. But I'd just like for -to see th' mean as make th' Union, and put 'em one by one face to -face wi' Boucher. I reckon, if they heard him, they'd tell him -(if I cotched 'em one by one), he might go back and get what he -could for his work, even if it weren't so much as they ordered.' - -Margaret sat utterly silent. How was she ever to go away into -comfort and forget that man's voice, with the tone of unutterable -agony, telling more by far than his words of what he had to -suffer? She took out her purse; she had not much in it of what -she could call her own, but what she had she put into Bessy's -hand without speaking. - -'Thank yo'. There's many on 'em gets no more, and is not so bad -off,--leastways does not show it as he does. But father won't let -'em want, now he knows. Yo' see, Boucher's been pulled down wi' -his childer,--and her being so cranky, and a' they could pawn has -gone this last twelvemonth. Yo're not to think we'd ha' letten -'em clem, for all we're a bit pressed oursel'; if neighbours -doesn't see after neighbours, I dunno who will.' Bessy seemed -almost afraid lest Margaret should think they had not the will, -and, to a certain degree, the power of helping one whom she -evidently regarded as having a claim upon them. 'Besides,' she -went on, 'father is sure and positive the masters must give in -within these next few days,--that they canna hould on much -longer. But I thank yo' all the same,--I thank yo' for mysel', as -much as for Boucher, for it just makes my heart warm to yo' more -and more.' - -Bessy seemed much quieter to-day, but fearfully languid a -exhausted. As she finished speaking, she looked so faint and -weary that Margaret became alarmed. - -'It's nout,' said Bessy. 'It's not death yet. I had a fearfu' -night wi' dreams--or somewhat like dreams, for I were wide -awake--and I'm all in a swounding daze to-day,--only yon poor -chap made me alive again. No! it's not death yet, but death is -not far off. Ay! Cover me up, and I'll may be sleep, if th' cough -will let me. Good night--good afternoon, m'appen I should -say--but th' light is dim an' misty to-day.' - - -CHAPTER XX - - -MEN AND GENTLEMEN - -'Old and young, boy, let 'em all eat, I have it; -Let 'em have ten tire of teeth a-piece, I care not.' -ROLLO, DUKE OF NORMANDY. - -Margaret went home so painfully occupied with what she had heard -and seen that she hardly knew how to rouse herself up to the -duties which awaited her; the necessity for keeping up a constant -flow of cheerful conversation for her mother, who, now that she -was unable to go out, always looked to Margaret's return from the -shortest walk as bringing in some news. - -'And can your factory friend come on Thursday to see you -dressed?' - -'She was so ill I never thought of asking her,' said Margaret, -dolefully. - -'Dear! Everybody is ill now, I think,' said Mrs. Hale, with a -little of the jealousy which one invalid is apt to feel of -another. 'But it must be very sad to be ill in one of those -little back streets.' (Her kindly nature prevailing, and the old -Helstone habits of thought returning.) 'It's bad enough here. -What could you do for her, Margaret? Mr. Thornton has sent me -some of his old port wine since you went out. Would a bottle of -that do her good, think you?' - -'No, mamma! I don't believe they are very poor,--at least, they -don't speak as if they were; and, at any rate, Bessy's illness is -consumption--she won't want wine. Perhaps, I might take her a -little preserve, made of our dear Helstone fruit. No! there's -another family to whom I should like to give--Oh mamma, mamma! -how am I to dress up in my finery, and go off and away to smart -parties, after the sorrow I have seen to-day?' exclaimed -Margaret, bursting the bounds she had preordained for herself -before she came in, and telling her mother of what she had seen -and heard at Higgins's cottage. - -It distressed Mrs. Hale excessively. It made her restlessly -irritated till she could do something. She directed Margaret to -pack up a basket in the very drawing-room, to be sent there and -then to the family; and was almost angry with her for saying, -that it would not signify if it did not go till morning, as she -knew Higgins had provided for their immediate wants, and she -herself had left money with Bessy. Mrs. Hale called her unfeeling -for saying this; and never gave herself breathing-time till the -basket was sent out of the house. Then she said: - -'After all, we may have been doing wrong. It was only the last -time Mr. Thornton was here that he said, those were no true -friends who helped to prolong the struggle by assisting the turn -outs. And this Boucher-man was a turn-out, was he not?' - -The question was referred to Mr. Hale by his wife, when he came -up-stairs, fresh from giving a lesson to Mr. Thornton, which had -ended in conversation, as was their wont. Margaret did not care -if their gifts had prolonged the strike; she did not think far -enough for that, in her present excited state. - -Mr. Hale listened, and tried to be as calm as a judge; he -recalled all that had seemed so clear not half-an-hour before, as -it came out of Mr. Thornton's lips; and then he made an -unsatisfactory compromise. His wife and daughter had not only -done quite right in this instance, but he did not see for a -moment how they could have done otherwise. Nevertheless, as a -general rule, it was very true what Mr. Thornton said, that as -the strike, if prolonged, must end in the masters' bringing hands -from a distance (if, indeed, the final result were not, as it had -often been before, the invention of some machine which would -diminish the need of hands at all), why, it was clear enough that -the kindest thing was to refuse all help which might bolster them -up in their folly. But, as to this Boucher, he would go and see -him the first thing in the morning, and try and find out what -could be done for him. - -Mr. Hale went the next morning, as he proposed. He did not find -Boucher at home, but he had a long talk with his wife; promised -to ask for an Infirmary order for her; and, seeing the plenty -provided by Mrs. Hale, and somewhat lavishly used by the -children, who were masters down-stairs in their father's absence, -he came back with a more consoling and cheerful account than -Margaret had dared to hope for; indeed, what she had said the -night before had prepared her father for so much worse a state of -things that, by a reaction of his imagination, he described all -as better than it really was. - -'But I will go again, and see the man himself,' said Mr. Hale. 'I -hardly know as yet how to compare one of these houses with our -Helstone cottages. I see furniture here which our labourers would -never have thought of buying, and food commonly used which they -would consider luxuries; yet for these very families there seems -no other resource, now that their weekly wages are stopped, but -the pawn-shop. One had need to learn a different language, and -measure by a different standard, up here in Milton.' - -Bessy, too, was rather better this day. Still she was so weak -that she seemed to have entirely forgotten her wish to see -Margaret dressed--if, indeed, that had not been the feverish -desire of a half-delirious state. - -Margaret could not help comparing this strange dressing of hers, -to go where she did not care to be--her heart heavy with various -anxieties--with the old, merry, girlish toilettes that she and -Edith had performed scarcely more than a year ago. Her only -pleasure now in decking herself out was in thinking that her -mother would take delight in seeing her dressed. She blushed when -Dixon, throwing the drawing-room door open, made an appeal for -admiration. - -'Miss Hale looks well, ma'am,--doesn't she? Mrs. Shaw's coral -couldn't have come in better. It just gives the right touch of -colour, ma'am. Otherwise, Miss Margaret, you would have been too -pale.' - -Margaret's black hair was too thick to be plaited; it needed -rather to be twisted round and round, and have its fine silkiness -compressed into massive coils, that encircled her head like a -crown, and then were gathered into a large spiral knot behind. -She kept its weight together by two large coral pins, like small -arrows for length. Her white silk sleeves were looped up with -strings of the same material, and on her neck, just below the -base of her curved and milk-white throat, there lay heavy coral -beads. - -'Oh, Margaret! how I should like to be going with you to one of -the old Barrington assemblies,--taking you as Lady Beresford used -to take me.' Margaret kissed her mother for this little burst of -maternal vanity; but she could hardly smile at it, she felt so -much out of spirits. - -'I would rather stay at home with you,--much rather, mamma.' - -'Nonsense, darling! Be sure you notice the dinner well. I shall -like to hear how they manage these things in Milton. Particularly -the second course, dear. Look what they have instead of game.' - -Mrs. Hale would have been more than interested,--she would have -been astonished, if she had seen the sumptuousness of the -dinner-table and its appointments. Margaret, with her London -cultivated taste, felt the number of delicacies to be oppressive -one half of the quantity would have been enough, and the effect -lighter and more elegant. But it was one of Mrs. Thornton's -rigorous laws of hospitality, that of each separate dainty enough -should be provided for all the guests to partake, if they felt -inclined. Careless to abstemiousness in her daily habits, it was -part of her pride to set a feast before such of her guests as -cared for it. Her son shared this feeling. He had never -known--though he might have imagined, and had the capability to -relish--any kind of society but that which depended on an -exchange of superb meals and even now, though he was denying -himself the personal expenditure of an unnecessary sixpence, and -had more than once regretted that the invitations for this dinner -had been sent out, still, as it was to be, he was glad to see the -old magnificence of preparation. Margaret and her father were the -first to arrive. Mr. Hale was anxiously punctual to the time -specified. There was no one up-stairs in the drawing-room but -Mrs. Thornton and Fanny. Every cover was taken off, and the -apartment blazed forth in yellow silk damask and a -brilliantly-flowered carpet. Every corner seemed filled up with -ornament, until it became a weariness to the eye, and presented a -strange contrast to the bald ugliness of the look-out into the -great mill-yard, where wide folding gates were thrown open for -the admission of carriages. The mill loomed high on the left-hand -side of the windows, casting a shadow down from its many stories, -which darkened the summer evening before its time. - -'My son was engaged up to the last moment on business. He will be -here directly, Mr. Hale. May I beg you to take a seat?' - -Mr. Hale was standing at one of the windows as Mrs. Thornton -spoke. He turned away, saying, - -'Don't you find such close neighbourhood to the mill rather -unpleasant at times?' - -She drew herself up: - -'Never. I am not become so fine as to desire to forget the source -of my son's wealth and power. Besides, there is not such another -factory in Milton. One room alone is two hundred and twenty -square yards.' - -'I meant that the smoke and the noise--the constant going out and -coming in of the work-people, might be annoying!' - -'I agree with you, Mr. Hale!' said Fanny. 'There is a continual -smell of steam, and oily machinery--and the noise is perfectly -deafening.' - -'I have heard noise that was called music far more deafening. The -engine-room is at the street-end of the factory; we hardly hear -it, except in summer weather, when all the windows are open; and -as for the continual murmur of the work-people, it disturbs me no -more than the humming of a hive of bees. If I think of it at all, -I connect it with my son, and feel how all belongs to him, and -that his is the head that directs it. Just now, there are no -sounds to come from the mill; the hands have been ungrateful -enough to turn out, as perhaps you have heard. But the very -business (of which I spoke, when you entered), had reference to -the steps he is going to take to make them learn their place.' -The expression on her face, always stern, deepened into dark -anger, as she said this. Nor did it clear away when Mr. Thornton -entered the room; for she saw, in an instant, the weight of care -and anxiety which he could not shake off, although his guests -received from him a greeting that appeared both cheerful and -cordial. He shook hands with Margaret. He knew it was the first -time their hands had met, though she was perfectly unconscious of -the fact. He inquired after Mrs. Hale, and heard Mr. Hale's -sanguine, hopeful account; and glancing at Margaret, to -understand how far she agreed with her father, he saw that no -dissenting shadow crossed her face. And as he looked with this -intention, he was struck anew with her great beauty. He had never -seen her in such dress before and yet now it appeared as if such -elegance of attire was so befitting her noble figure and lofty -serenity of countenance, that she ought to go always thus -apparelled. She was talking to Fanny; about what, he could not -hear; but he saw his sister's restless way of continually -arranging some part of her gown, her wandering eyes, now glancing -here, now there, but without any purpose in her observation; and -he contrasted them uneasily with the large soft eyes that looked -forth steadily at one object, as if from out their light beamed -some gentle influence of repose: the curving lines of the red -lips, just parted in the interest of listening to what her -companion said--the head a little bent forwards, so as to make a -long sweeping line from the summit, where the light caught on the -glossy raven hair, to the smooth ivory tip of the shoulder; the -round white arms, and taper hands, laid lightly across each -other, but perfectly motionless in their pretty attitude. Mr. -Thornton sighed as he took in all this with one of his sudden -comprehensive glances. And then he turned his back to the young -ladies, and threw himself, with an effort, but with all his heart -and soul, into a conversation with Mr. Hale. - -More people came--more and more. Fanny left Margaret's side, and -helped her mother to receive her guests. Mr. Thornton felt that -in this influx no one was speaking to Margaret, and was restless -under this apparent neglect. But he never went near her himself; -he did not look at her. Only, he knew what she was doing--or not -doing--better than he knew the movements of any one else in the -room. Margaret was so unconscious of herself, and so much amused -by watching other people, that she never thought whether she was -left unnoticed or not. Somebody took her down to dinner; she did -not catch the name; nor did he seem much inclined to talk to her. -There was a very animated conversation going on among the -gentlemen; the ladies, for the most part, were silent, employing -themselves in taking notes of the dinner and criticising each -other's dresses. Margaret caught the clue to the general -conversation, grew interested and listened attentively. Mr. -Horsfall, the stranger, whose visit to the town was the original -germ of the party, was asking questions relative to the trade and -manufactures of the place; and the rest of the gentlemen--all -Milton men,--were giving him answers and explanations. Some -dispute arose, which was warmly contested; it was referred to Mr. -Thornton, who had hardly spoken before; but who now gave an -opinion, the grounds of which were so clearly stated that even -the opponents yielded. Margaret's attention was thus called to -her host; his whole manner as master of the house, and -entertainer of his friends, was so straightforward, yet simple -and modest, as to be thoroughly dignified. Margaret thought she -had never seen him to so much advantage. When he had come to -their house, there had been always something, either of -over-eagerness or of that kind of vexed annoyance which seemed -ready to pre-suppose that he was unjustly judged, and yet felt -too proud to try and make himself better understood. But now, -among his fellows, there was no uncertainty as to his position. -He was regarded by them as a man of great force of character; of -power in many ways. There was no need to struggle for their -respect. He had it, and he knew it; and the security of this gave -a fine grand quietness to his voice and ways, which Margaret had -missed before. - -He was not in the habit of talking to ladies; and what he did say -was a little formal. To Margaret herself he hardly spoke at all. -She was surprised to think how much she enjoyed this dinner. She -knew enough now to understand many local interests--nay, even -some of the technical words employed by the eager mill-owners. -She silently took a very decided part in the question they were -discussing. At any rate, they talked in desperate earnest,--not -in the used-up style that wearied her so in the old London -parties. She wondered that with all this dwelling on the -manufactures and trade of the place, no allusion was made to the -strike then pending. She did not yet know how coolly such things -were taken by the masters, as having only one possible end. To be -sure, the men were cutting their own throats, as they had done -many a time before; but if they would be fools, and put -themselves into the hands of a rascally set of paid delegates,' -they must take the consequence. One or two thought Thornton -looked out of spirits; and, of course, he must lose by this -turn-out. But it was an accident that might happen to themselves -any day; and Thornton was as good to manage a strike as any one; -for he was as iron a chap as any in Milton. The hands had -mistaken their man in trying that dodge on him. And they chuckled -inwardly at the idea of the workmen's discomfiture and defeat, in -their attempt to alter one iota of what Thornton had decreed. It -was rather dull for Margaret after dinner. She was glad when the -gentlemen came, not merely because she caught her father's eye to -brighten her sleepiness up; but because she could listen to -something larger and grander than the petty interests which the -ladies had been talking about. She liked the exultation in the -sense of power which these Milton men had. It might be rather -rampant in its display, and savour of boasting; but still they -seemed to defy the old limits of possibility, in a kind of fine -intoxication, caused by the recollection of what had been -achieved, and what yet should be. If in her cooler moments she -might not approve of their spirit in all things, still there was -much to admire in their forgetfulness of themselves and the -present, in their anticipated triumphs over all inanimate matter -at some future time which none of them should live to see. She -was rather startled when Mr. Thornton spoke to her, close at her -elbow: - -'I could see you were on our side in our discussion at -dinner,--were you not, Miss Hale?' - -'Certainly. But then I know so little about it. I was surprised, -however, to find from what Mr. Horsfall said, that there were -others who thought in so diametrically opposite a manner, as the -Mr. Morison he spoke about. He cannot be a gentleman--is he?' - -'I am not quite the person to decide on another's -gentlemanliness, Miss Hale. I mean, I don't quite understand your -application of the word. But I should say that this Morison is no -true man. I don't know who he is; I merely judge him from Mr. -Horsfall's account.' - -'I suspect my "gentleman" includes your "true man."' - -'And a great deal more, you would imply. I differ from you. A man -is to me a higher and a completer being than a gentleman.' - -'What do you mean?' asked Margaret. 'We must understand the words -differently.' - -'I take it that "gentleman" is a term that only describes a -person in his relation to others; but when we speak of him as "a -man," we consider him not merely with regard to his fellow-men, -but in relation to himself,--to life--to time--to eternity. A -cast-away lonely as Robinson Crusoe--a prisoner immured in a -dungeon for life--nay, even a saint in Patmos, has his endurance, -his strength, his faith, best described by being spoken of as "a -man." I am rather weary of this word "gentlemanly," which seems -to me to be often inappropriately used, and often, too, with such -exaggerated distortion of meaning, while the full simplicity of -the noun "man," and the adjective "manly" are -unacknowledged--that I am induced to class it with the cant of -the day.' - -Margaret thought a moment,--but before she could speak her slow -conviction, he was called away by some of the eager -manufacturers, whose speeches she could not hear, though she -could guess at their import by the short clear answers Mr. -Thornton gave, which came steady and firm as the boom of a -distant minute gun. They were evidently talking of the turn-out, -and suggesting what course had best be pursued. She heard Mr. -Thornton say: - -'That has been done.' Then came a hurried murmur, in which two or -three joined. - -'All those arrangements have been made.' - -Some doubts were implied, some difficulties named by Mr. -Slickson, who took hold of Mr. Thornton's arm, the better to -impress his words. Mr. Thornton moved slightly away, lifted his -eyebrows a very little, and then replied: - -'I take the risk. You need not join in it unless you choose.' -Still some more fears were urged. - -'I'm not afraid of anything so dastardly as incendiarism. We are -open enemies; and I can protect myself from any violence that I -apprehend. And I will assuredly protect all others who come to me -for work. They know my determination by this time, as well and as -fully as you do.' - -Mr. Horsfall took him a little on one side, as Margaret -conjectured, to ask him some other question about the strike; -but, in truth, it was to inquire who she herself was--so quiet, -so stately, and so beautiful. - -'A Milton lady?' asked he, as the name was given. - -'No! from the south of England--Hampshire, I believe,' was the -cold, indifferent answer. - -Mrs. Slickson was catechising Fanny on the same subject. - -'Who is that fine distinguished-looking girl? a sister of Mr. -Horsfall's?' - -'Oh dear, no! That is Mr. Hale, her father, talking now to Mr. -Stephens. He gives lessons; that is to say, he reads with young -men. My brother John goes to him twice a week, and so he begged -mamma to ask them here, in hopes of getting him known. I believe, -we have some of their prospectuses, if you would like to have -one.' - -'Mr. Thornton! Does he really find time to read with a tutor, in -the midst of all his business,--and this abominable strike in -hand as well?' - -Fanny was not sure, from Mrs. Slickson's manner, whether she -ought to be proud or ashamed of her brother's conduct; and, like -all people who try and take other people's 'ought' for the rule -of their feelings, she was inclined to blush for any singularity -of action. Her shame was interrupted by the dispersion of the -guests. - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -THE DARK NIGHT - -'On earth is known to none -The smile that is not sister to a tear.' -ELLIOTT. - -Margaret and her father walked home. The night was fine, the -streets clean, and with her pretty white silk, like Leezie -Lindsay's gown o' green satin, in the ballad, 'kilted up to her -knee,' she was off with her father--ready to dance along with the -excitement of the cool, fresh night air. - -'I rather think Thornton is not quite easy in his mind about this -strike. He seemed very anxious to-night.' - -'I should wonder if he were not. But he spoke with his usual -coolness to the others, when they suggested different things, -just before we came away.' - -'So he did after dinner as well. It would take a good deal to -stir him from his cool manner of speaking; but his face strikes -me as anxious.' - -'I should be, if I were he. He must know of the growing anger and -hardly smothered hatred of his workpeople, who all look upon him -as what the Bible calls a "hard man,"--not so much unjust as -unfeeling; clear in judgment, standing upon his "rights" as no -human being ought to stand, considering what we and all our petty -rights are in the sight of the Almighty. I am glad you think he -looks anxious. When I remember Boucher's half mad words and ways, -I cannot bear to think how coolly Mr. Thornton spoke.' - -'In the first place, I am not so convinced as you are about that -man Boucher's utter distress; for the moment, he was badly off, I -don't doubt. But there is always a mysterious supply of money -from these Unions; and, from what you said, it was evident the -man was of a passionate, demonstrative nature, and gave strong -expression to all he felt.' - -'Oh, papa!' - -'Well! I only want you to do justice to Mr. Thornton, who is, I -suspect, of an exactly opposite nature,--a man who is far too -proud to show his feelings. Just the character I should have -thought beforehand, you would have admired, Margaret.' - -'So I do,--so I should; but I don't feel quite so sure as you do -of the existence of those feelings. He is a man of great strength -of character,--of unusual intellect, considering the few -advantages he has had.' - -'Not so few. He has led a practical life from a very early age; -has been called upon to exercise judgment and self-control. All -that developes one part of the intellect. To be sure, he needs -some of the knowledge of the past, which gives the truest basis -for conjecture as to the future; but he knows this need,--he -perceives it, and that is something. You are quite prejudiced -against Mr. Thornton, Margaret.' - -'He is the first specimen of a manufacturer--of a person engaged -in trade--that I had ever the opportunity of studying, papa. He -is my first olive: let me make a face while I swallow it. I know -he is good of his kind, and by and by I shall like the kind. I -rather think I am already beginning to do so. I was very much -interested by what the gentlemen were talking about, although I -did not understand half of it. I was quite sorry when Miss -Thornton came to take me to the other end of the room, saying she -was sure I should be uncomfortable at being the only lady among -so many gentlemen. I had never thought about it, I was so busy -listening; and the ladies were so dull, papa--oh, so dull! Yet I -think it was clever too. It reminded me of our old game of having -each so many nouns to introduce into a sentence.' - -'What do you mean, child?' asked Mr. Hale. - -'Why, they took nouns that were signs of things which gave -evidence of wealth,--housekeepers, under-gardeners, extent of -glass, valuable lace, diamonds, and all such things; and each one -formed her speech so as to bring them all in, in the prettiest -accidental manner possible.' - -'You will be as proud of your one servant when you get her, if -all is true about her that Mrs. Thornton says.' - -'To be sure, I shall. I felt like a great hypocrite to-night, -sitting there in my white silk gown, with my idle hands before -me, when I remembered all the good, thorough, house-work they had -done to-day. They took me for a fine lady, I'm sure.' - -'Even I was mistaken enough to think you looked like a lady my -dear,' said Mr. Hale, quietly smiling. - -But smiles were changed to white and trembling looks, when they -saw Dixon's face, as she opened the door. - -'Oh, master!--Oh, Miss Margaret! Thank God you are come! Dr. -Donaldson is here. The servant next door went for him, for the -charwoman is gone home. She's better now; but, oh, sir! I thought -she'd have died an hour ago.' - -Mr. Hale caught Margaret's arm to steady himself from falling. He -looked at her face, and saw an expression upon it of surprise and -extremest sorrow, but not the agony of terror that contracted his -own unprepared heart. She knew more than he did, and yet she -listened with that hopeless expression of awed apprehension. - -'Oh! I should not have left her--wicked daughter that I am!' -moaned forth Margaret, as she supported her trembling father's -hasty steps up-stairs. Dr. Donaldson met them on the landing. - -'She is better now,' he whispered. 'The opiate has taken effect. -The spasms were very bad: no wonder they frightened your maid; -but she'll rally this time.' - -'This time! Let me go to her!' Half an hour ago, Mr. Hale was a -middle-aged man; now his sight was dim, his senses wavering, his -walk tottering, as if he were seventy years of age. - -Dr. Donaldson took his arm, and led him into the bedroom. -Margaret followed close. There lay her mother, with an -unmistakable look on her face. She might be better now; she was -sleeping, but Death had signed her for his own, and it was clear -that ere long he would return to take possession. Mr. Hale looked -at her for some time without a word. Then he began to shake all -over, and, turning away from Dr. Donaldson's anxious care, he -groped to find the door; he could not see it, although several -candles, brought in the sudden affright, were burning and flaring -there. He staggered into the drawing-room, and felt about for a -chair. Dr. Donaldson wheeled one to him, and placed him in it. He -felt his pulse. - -'Speak to him, Miss Hale. We must rouse him.' - -'Papa!' said Margaret, with a crying voice that was wild with -pain. 'Papa! Speak to me!' The speculation came again into his -eyes, and he made a great effort. - -'Margaret, did you know of this? Oh, it was cruel of you!' - -'No, sir, it was not cruel!' replied Dr. Donaldson, with quick -decision. 'Miss Hale acted under my directions. There may have -been a mistake, but it was not cruel. Your wife will be a -different creature to-morrow, I trust. She has had spasms, as I -anticipated, though I did not tell Miss Hale of my apprehensions. -She has taken the opiate I brought with me; she will have a good -long sleep; and to-morrow, that look which has alarmed you so -much will have passed away.' - -'But not the disease?' - -Dr. Donaldson glanced at Margaret. Her bent head, her face raised -with no appeal for a temporary reprieve, showed that quick -observer of human nature that she thought it better that the -whole truth should be told. - -'Not the disease. We cannot touch the disease, with all our poor -vaunted skill. We can only delay its progress--alleviate the pain -it causes. Be a man, sir--a Christian. Have faith in the -immortality of the soul, which no pain, no mortal disease, can -assail or touch!' - -But all the reply he got, was in the choked words, 'You have -never been married, Dr. Donaldson; you do not know what it is,' -and in the deep, manly sobs, which went through the stillness of -the night like heavy pulses of agony. Margaret knelt by him, -caressing him with tearful caresses. No one, not even Dr. -Donaldson, knew how the time went by. Mr. Hale was the first to -dare to speak of the necessities of the present moment. - -'What must we do?' asked he. 'Tell us both. Margaret is my -staff--my right hand.' - -Dr. Donaldson gave his clear, sensible directions. No fear for -to-night--nay, even peace for to-morrow, and for many days yet. -But no enduring hope of recovery. He advised Mr. Hale to go to -bed, and leave only one to watch the slumber, which he hoped -would be undisturbed. He promised to come again early in the -morning. And with a warm and kindly shake of the hand, he left -them. They spoke but few words; they were too much exhausted by -their terror to do more than decide upon the immediate course of -action. Mr. Hale was resolved to sit up through the night, and -all that Margaret could do was to prevail upon him to rest on the -drawing-room sofa. Dixon stoutly and bluntly refused to go to -bed; and, as for Margaret, it was simply impossible that she -should leave her mother, let all the doctors in the world speak -of 'husbanding resources,' and 'one watcher only being required.' -So, Dixon sat, and stared, and winked, and drooped, and picked -herself up again with a jerk, and finally gave up the battle, and -fairly snored. Margaret had taken off her gown and tossed it -aside with a sort of impatient disgust, and put on her -dressing-gown. She felt as if she never could sleep again; as if -her whole senses were acutely vital, and all endued with double -keenness, for the purposes of watching. Every sight and -sound--nay, even every thought, touched some nerve to the very -quick. For more than two hours, she heard her father's restless -movements in the next room. He came perpetually to the door of -her mother's chamber, pausing there to listen, till she, not -hearing his close unseen presence, went and opened it to tell him -how all went on, in reply to the questions his baked lips could -hardly form. At last he, too, fell asleep, and all the house was -still. Margaret sate behind the curtain thinking. Far away in -time, far away in space, seemed all the interests of past days. -Not more than thirty-six hours ago, she cared for Bessy Higgins -and her father, and her heart was wrung for Boucher; now, that -was all like a dreaming memory of some former life;--everything -that had passed out of doors seemed dissevered from her mother, -and therefore unreal. Even Harley Street appeared more distinct; -there she remembered, as if it were yesterday, how she had -pleased herself with tracing out her mother's features in her -Aunt Shaw's face,--and how letters had come, making her dwell on -the thoughts of home with all the longing of love. Helstone, -itself, was in the dim past. The dull gray days of the preceding -winter and spring, so uneventless and monotonous, seemed more -associated with what she cared for now above all price. She would -fain have caught at the skirts of that departing time, and prayed -it to return, and give her back what she had too little valued -while it was yet in her possession. What a vain show Life seemed! -How unsubstantial, and flickering, and flitting! It was as if -from some aerial belfry, high up above the stir and jar of the -earth, there was a bell continually tolling, 'All are -shadows!--all are passing!--all is past!' And when the morning -dawned, cool and gray, like many a happier morning before--when -Margaret looked one by one at the sleepers, it seemed as if the -terrible night were unreal as a dream; it, too, was a shadow. It, -too, was past. - -Mrs. Hale herself was not aware when she awoke, how ill she had -been the night before. She was rather surprised at Dr. -Donaldson's early visit, and perplexed by the anxious faces of -husband and child. She consented to remain in bed that day, -saying she certainly was tired; but, the next, she insisted on -getting up; and Dr. Donaldson gave his consent to her returning -into the drawing-room. She was restless and uncomfortable in -every position, and before night she became very feverish. Mr. -Hale was utterly listless, and incapable of deciding on anything. - -'What can we do to spare mamma such another night?' asked -Margaret on the third day. - -'It is, to a certain degree, the reaction after the powerful -opiates I have been obliged to use. It is more painful for you to -see than for her to bear, I believe. But, I think, if we could -get a water-bed it might be a good thing. Not but what she will -be better to-morrow; pretty much like herself as she was before -this attack. Still, I should like her to have a water-bed. Mrs. -Thornton has one, I know. I'll try and call there this afternoon. -Stay,' said he, his eye catching on Margaret's face, blanched -with watching in a sick room, 'I'm not sure whether I can go; -I've a long round to take. It would do you no harm to have a -brisk walk to Marlborough Street, and ask Mrs. Thornton if she -can spare it.' - -'Certainly,' said Margaret. 'I could go while mamma is asleep -this afternoon. I'm sure Mrs. Thornton would lend it to us.' - -Dr. Donaldson's experience told them rightly. Mrs. Hale seemed to -shake off the consequences of her attack, and looked brighter and -better this afternoon than Margaret had ever hoped to see her -again. Her daughter left her after dinner, sitting in her easy -chair, with her hand lying in her husband's, who looked more worn -and suffering than she by far. Still, he could smile now-rather -slowly, rather faintly, it is true; but a day or two before, -Margaret never thought to see him smile again. - -It was about two miles from their house in Crampton Crescent to -Marlborough Street. It was too hot to walk very quickly. An -August sun beat straight down into the street at three o'clock in -the afternoon. Margaret went along, without noticing anything -very different from usual in the first mile and a half of her -journey; she was absorbed in her own thoughts, and had learnt by -this time to thread her way through the irregular stream of human -beings that flowed through Milton streets. But, by and by, she -was struck with an unusual heaving among the mass of people in -the crowded road on which she was entering. They did not appear -to be moving on, so much as talking, and listening, and buzzing -with excitement, without much stirring from the spot where they -might happen to be. Still, as they made way for her, and, wrapt -up in the purpose of her errand, and the necessities that -suggested it, she was less quick of observation than she might -have been, if her mind had been at ease, she had got into -Marlborough Street before the full conviction forced itself upon -her, that there was a restless, oppressive sense of irritation -abroad among the people; a thunderous atmosphere, morally as well -as physically, around her. From every narrow lane opening out on -Marlborough Street came up a low distant roar, as of myriads of -fierce indignant voices. The inhabitants of each poor squalid -dwelling were gathered round the doors and windows, if indeed -they were not actually standing in the middle of the narrow -ways--all with looks intent towards one point. Marlborough Street -itself was the focus of all those human eyes, that betrayed -intensest interest of various kinds; some fierce with anger, some -lowering with relentless threats, some dilated with fear, or -imploring entreaty; and, as Margaret reached the small -side-entrance by the folding doors, in the great dead wall of -Marlborough mill-yard and waited the porter's answer to the bell, -she looked round and heard the first long far-off roll of the -tempest;--saw the first slow-surging wave of the dark crowd come, -with its threatening crest, tumble over, and retreat, at the far -end of the street, which a moment ago, seemed so full of -repressed noise, but which now was ominously still; all these -circumstances forced themselves on Margaret's notice, but did not -sink down into her pre-occupied heart. She did not know what they -meant--what was their deep significance; while she did know, did -feel the keen sharp pressure of the knife that was soon to stab -her through and through by leaving her motherless. She was trying -to realise that, in order that, when it came, she might be ready -to comfort her father. - -The porter opened the door cautiously, not nearly wide enough to -admit her. - -'It's you, is it, ma'am?' said he, drawing a long breath, and -widening the entrance, but still not opening it fully. Margaret -went in. He hastily bolted it behind her. - -'Th' folk are all coming up here I reckon?' asked he. - -'I don't know. Something unusual seemed going on; but this street -is quite empty, I think.' - -She went across the yard and up the steps to the house door. -There was no near sound,--no steam-engine at work with beat and -pant,--no click of machinery, or mingling and clashing of many -sharp voices; but far away, the ominous gathering roar, -deep-clamouring. - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -A BLOW AND ITS CONSEQUENCES - -'But work grew scarce, while bread grew dear, -And wages lessened, too; -For Irish hordes were bidders here, -Our half-paid work to do.' -CORN LAW RHYMES. - -Margaret was shown into the drawing-room. It had returned into -its normal state of bag and covering. The windows were half open -because of the heat, and the Venetian blinds covered the -glass,--so that a gray grim light, reflected from the pavement -below, threw all the shadows wrong, and combined with the -green-tinged upper light to make even Margaret's own face, as she -caught it in the mirrors, look ghastly and wan. She sat and -waited; no one came. Every now and then, the wind seemed to bear -the distant multitudinous sound nearer; and yet there was no -wind! It died away into profound stillness between whiles. - -Fanny came in at last. - -'Mamma will come directly, Miss Hale. She desired me to apologise -to you as it is. Perhaps you know my brother has imported hands -from Ireland, and it has irritated the Milton people -excessively--as if he hadn't a right to get labour where he -could; and the stupid wretches here wouldn't work for him; and -now they've frightened these poor Irish starvelings so with their -threats, that we daren't let them out. You may see them huddled -in that top room in the mill,--and they're to sleep there, to -keep them safe from those brutes, who will neither work nor let -them work. And mamma is seeing about their food, and John is -speaking to them, for some of the women are crying to go back. -Ah! here's mamma!' - -Mrs. Thornton came in with a look of black sternness on her face, -which made Margaret feel she had arrived at a bad time to trouble -her with her request. However, it was only in compliance with -Mrs. Thornton's expressed desire, that she would ask for whatever -they might want in the progress of her mother's illness. Mrs. -Thornton's brow contracted, and her mouth grew set, while -Margaret spoke with gentle modesty of her mother's restlessness, -and Dr. Donaldson's wish that she should have the relief of a -water-bed. She ceased. Mrs. Thornton did not reply immediately. -Then she started up and exclaimed-- - -'They're at the gates! Call John, Fanny,--call him in from the -mill! They're at the gates! They'll batter them in! Call John, I -say!' - -And simultaneously, the gathering tramp--to which she had been -listening, instead of heeding Margaret's words--was heard just -right outside the wall, and an increasing din of angry voices -raged behind the wooden barrier, which shook as if the unseen -maddened crowd made battering-rams of their bodies, and retreated -a short space only to come with more united steady impetus -against it, till their great beats made the strong gates quiver, -like reeds before the wind. The women gathered round the windows, -fascinated to look on the scene which terrified them. Mrs. -Thornton, the women-servants, Margaret,--all were there. Fanny -had returned, screaming up-stairs as if pursued at every step, -and had thrown herself in hysterical sobbing on the sofa. Mrs. -Thornton watched for her son, who was still in the mill. He came -out, looked up at them--the pale cluster of faces--and smiled -good courage to them, before he locked the factory-door. Then he -called to one of the women to come down and undo his own door, -which Fanny had fastened behind her in her mad flight. Mrs. -Thornton herself went. And the sound of his well-known and -commanding voice, seemed to have been like the taste of blood to -the infuriated multitude outside. Hitherto they had been -voiceless, wordless, needing all their breath for their -hard-labouring efforts to break down the gates. But now, hearing -him speak inside, they set up such a fierce unearthly groan, that -even Mrs. Thornton was white with fear as she preceded him into -the room. He came in a little flushed, but his eyes gleaming, as -in answer to the trumpet-call of danger, and with a proud look of -defiance on his face, that made him a noble, if not a handsome -man. Margaret had always dreaded lest her courage should fail her -in any emergency, and she should be proved to be, what she -dreaded lest she was--a coward. But now, in this real great time -of reasonable fear and nearness of terror, she forgot herself, -and felt only an intense sympathy--intense to painfulness--in the -interests of the moment. - -Mr. Thornton came frankly forwards: - -'I'm sorry, Miss Hale, you have visited us at this unfortunate -moment, when, I fear, you may be involved in whatever risk we -have to bear. Mother! hadn't you better go into the back rooms? -I'm not sure whether they may not have made their way from -Pinner's Lane into the stable-yard; but if not, you will be safer -there than here. Go Jane!' continued he, addressing the -upper-servant. And she went, followed by the others. - -'I stop here!' said his mother. 'Where you are, there I stay.' -And indeed, retreat into the back rooms was of no avail; the -crowd had surrounded the outbuildings at the rear, and were -sending forth their awful threatening roar behind. The servants -retreated into the garrets, with many a cry and shriek. Mr. -Thornton smiled scornfully as he heard them. He glanced at -Margaret, standing all by herself at the window nearest the -factory. Her eyes glittered, her colour was deepened on cheek and -lip. As if she felt his look, she turned to him and asked a -question that had been for some time in her mind: - -'Where are the poor imported work-people? In the factory there?' - -'Yes! I left them cowered up in a small room, at the head of a -back flight of stairs; bidding them run all risks, and escape -down there, if they heard any attack made on the mill-doors. But -it is not them--it is me they want.' - -'When can the soldiers be here?' asked his mother, in a low but -not unsteady voice. - -He took out his watch with the same measured composure with which -he did everything. He made some little calculation: - -'Supposing Williams got straight off when I told him, and hadn't -to dodge about amongst them--it must be twenty minutes yet.' - -'Twenty minutes!' said his mother, for the first time showing her -terror in the tones of her voice. - -'Shut down the windows instantly, mother,' exclaimed he: 'the -gates won't bear such another shock. Shut down that window, Miss -Hale.' - -Margaret shut down her window, and then went to assist Mrs. -Thornton's trembling fingers. - -From some cause or other, there was a pause of several minutes in -the unseen street. Mrs. Thornton looked with wild anxiety at her -son's countenance, as if to gain the interpretation of the sudden -stillness from him. His face was set into rigid lines of -contemptuous defiance; neither hope nor fear could be read there. - -Fanny raised herself up: - -'Are they gone?' asked she, in a whisper. - -'Gone!' replied he. 'Listen!' - -She did listen; they all could hear the one great straining -breath; the creak of wood slowly yielding; the wrench of iron; -the mighty fall of the ponderous gates. Fanny stood up -tottering--made a step or two towards her mother, and fell -forwards into her arms in a fainting fit. Mrs. Thornton lifted -her up with a strength that was as much that of the will as of -the body, and carried her away. - -'Thank God!' said Mr. Thornton, as he watched her out. 'Had you -not better go upstairs, Miss Hale?' - -Margaret's lips formed a 'No!'--but he could not hear her speak, -for the tramp of innumerable steps right under the very wall of -the house, and the fierce growl of low deep angry voices that had -a ferocious murmur of satisfaction in them, more dreadful than -their baffled cries not many minutes before. - -'Never mind!' said he, thinking to encourage her. 'I am very -sorry you should have been entrapped into all this alarm; but it -cannot last long now; a few minutes more, and the soldiers will -be here.' - -'Oh, God!' cried Margaret, suddenly; 'there is Boucher. I know -his face, though he is livid with rage,--he is fighting to get to -the front--look! look!' - -'Who is Boucher?' asked Mr. Thornton, coolly, and coming close to -the window to discover the man in whom Margaret took such an -interest. As soon as they saw Mr. Thornton, they set up a -yell,--to call it not human is nothing,--it was as the demoniac -desire of some terrible wild beast for the food that is withheld -from his ravening. Even he drew hack for a moment, dismayed at -the intensity of hatred he had provoked. - -'Let them yell!' said he. 'In five minutes more--. I only hope my -poor Irishmen are not terrified out of their wits by such a -fiendlike noise. Keep up your courage for five minutes, Miss -Hale.' - -'Don't be afraid for me,' she said hastily. 'But what in five -minutes? Can you do nothing to soothe these poor creatures? It is -awful to see them.' - -'The soldiers will be here directly, and that will bring them to -reason.' - -'To reason!' said Margaret, quickly. 'What kind of reason?' - -'The only reason that does with men that make themselves into -wild beasts. By heaven! they've turned to the mill-door!' - -'Mr. Thornton,' said Margaret, shaking all over with her passion, -'go down this instant, if you are not a coward. Go down and face -them like a man. Save these poor strangers, whom you have decoyed -here. Speak to your workmen as if they were human beings. Speak -to them kindly. Don't let the soldiers come in and cut down -poor-creatures who are driven mad. I see one there who is. If you -have any courage or noble quality in you, go out and speak to -them, man to man.' - -He turned and looked at her while she spoke. A dark cloud came -over his face while he listened. He set his teeth as he heard her -words. - -'I will go. Perhaps I may ask you to accompany me downstairs, and -bar the door behind me; my mother and sister will need that -protection.' - -'Oh! Mr. Thornton! I do not know--I may be wrong--only--' - -But he was gone; he was downstairs in the hall; he had unbarred -the front door; all she could do, was to follow him quickly, and -fasten it behind him, and clamber up the stairs again with a sick -heart and a dizzy head. Again she took her place by the farthest -window. He was on the steps below; she saw that by the direction -of a thousand angry eyes; but she could neither see nor hear -any-thing save the savage satisfaction of the rolling angry -murmur. She threw the window wide open. Many in the crowd were -mere boys; cruel and thoughtless,--cruel because they were -thoughtless; some were men, gaunt as wolves, and mad for prey. -She knew how it was; they were like Boucher, with starving -children at home--relying on ultimate success in their efforts to -get higher wages, and enraged beyond measure at discovering that -Irishmen were to be brought in to rob their little ones of bread. -Margaret knew it all; she read it in Boucher's face, forlornly -desperate and livid with rage. If Mr. Thornton would but say -something to them--let them hear his voice only--it seemed as if -it would be better than this wild beating and raging against the -stony silence that vouchsafed them no word, even of anger or -reproach. But perhaps he was speaking now; there was a momentary -hush of their noise, inarticulate as that of a troop of animals. -She tore her bonnet off; and bent forwards to hear. She could -only see; for if Mr. Thornton had indeed made the attempt to -speak, the momentary instinct to listen to him was past and gone, -and the people were raging worse than ever. He stood with his -arms folded; still as a statue; his face pale with repressed -excitement. They were trying to intimidate him--to make him -flinch; each was urging the other on to some immediate act of -personal violence. Margaret felt intuitively, that in an instant -all would be uproar; the first touch would cause an explosion, in -which, among such hundreds of infuriated men and reckless boys, -even Mr. Thornton's life would be unsafe,--that in another -instant the stormy passions would have passed their bounds, and -swept away all barriers of reason, or apprehension of -consequence. Even while she looked, she saw lads in the -back-ground stooping to take off their heavy wooden clogs--the -readiest missile they could find; she saw it was the spark to the -gunpowder, and, with a cry, which no one heard, she rushed out of -the room, down stairs,--she had lifted the great iron bar of the -door with an imperious force--had thrown the door open wide--and -was there, in face of that angry sea of men, her eyes smiting -them with flaming arrows of reproach. The clogs were arrested in -the hands that held them--the countenances, so fell not a moment -before, now looked irresolute, and as if asking what this meant. -For she stood between them and their enemy. She could not speak, -but held out her arms towards them till she could recover breath. - -'Oh, do not use violence! He is one man, and you are many; but -her words died away, for there was no tone in her voice; it was -but a hoarse whisper. Mr. Thornton stood a little on one side; he -had moved away from behind her, as if jealous of anything that -should come between him and danger. - -'Go!' said she, once more (and now her voice was like a cry). -'The soldiers are sent for--are coming. Go peaceably. Go away. -You shall have relief from your complaints, whatever they are.' - -'Shall them Irish blackguards be packed back again?' asked one -from out the crowd, with fierce threatening in his voice. - -'Never, for your bidding!' exclaimed Mr. Thornton. And instantly -the storm broke. The hootings rose and filled the air,--but -Margaret did not hear them. Her eye was on the group of lads who -had armed themselves with their clogs some time before. She saw -their gesture--she knew its meaning,--she read their aim. Another -moment, and Mr. Thornton might be smitten down,--he whom she had -urged and goaded to come to this perilous place. She only thought -how she could save him. She threw her arms around him; she made -her body into a shield from the fierce people beyond. Still, with -his arms folded, he shook her off. - -'Go away,' said he, in his deep voice. 'This is no place for -you.' - -'It is!' said she. 'You did not see what I saw.' If she thought -her sex would be a protection,--if, with shrinking eyes she had -turned away from the terrible anger of these men, in any hope -that ere she looked again they would have paused and reflected, -and slunk away, and vanished,--she was wrong. Their reckless -passion had carried them too far to stop--at least had carried -some of them too far; for it is always the savage lads, with -their love of cruel excitement, who head the riot--reckless to -what bloodshed it may lead. A clog whizzed through the air. -Margaret's fascinated eyes watched its progress; it missed its -aim, and she turned sick with affright, but changed not her -position, only hid her face on Mr. Thornton s arm. Then she -turned and spoke again:' - -'For God's sake! do not damage your cause by this violence. You -do not know what you are doing.' She strove to make her words -distinct. - -A sharp pebble flew by her, grazing forehead and cheek, and -drawing a blinding sheet of light before her eyes. She lay like -one dead on Mr. Thornton's shoulder. Then he unfolded his arms, -and held her encircled in one for an instant: - -'You do well!' said he. 'You come to oust the innocent stranger -You fall--you hundreds--on one man; and when a woman comes before -you, to ask you for your own sakes to be reasonable creatures, -your cowardly wrath falls upon her! You do well!' They were -silent while he spoke. They were watching, open-eyed and -open-mouthed, the thread of dark-red blood which wakened them up -from their trance of passion. Those nearest the gate stole out -ashamed; there was a movement through all the crowd--a retreating -movement. Only one voice cried out: - -'Th' stone were meant for thee; but thou wert sheltered behind a -woman!' - -Mr. Thornton quivered with rage. The blood-flowing had made -Margaret conscious--dimly, vaguely conscious. He placed her -gently on the door-step, her head leaning against the frame. - -'Can you rest there?' he asked. But without waiting for her -answer, he went slowly down the steps right into the middle of -the crowd. 'Now kill me, if it is your brutal will. There is no -woman to shield me here. You may beat me to death--you will never -move me from what I have determined upon--not you!' He stood -amongst them, with his arms folded, in precisely the same -attitude as he had been in on the steps. - -But the retrograde movement towards the gate had begun--as -unreasoningly, perhaps as blindly, as the simultaneous anger. Or, -perhaps, the idea of the approach of the soldiers, and the sight -of that pale, upturned face, with closed eyes, still and sad as -marble, though the tears welled out of the long entanglement of -eyelashes and dropped down; and, heavier, slower plash than even -tears, came the drip of blood from her wound. Even the most -desperate--Boucher himself--drew back, faltered away, scowled, -and finally went off, muttering curses on the master, who stood -in his unchanging attitude, looking after their retreat with -defiant eyes. The moment that retreat had changed into a flight -(as it was sure from its very character to do), he darted up the -steps to Margaret. She tried to rise without his help. - -'It is nothing,' she said, with a sickly smile. 'The skin is -grazed, and I was stunned at the moment. Oh, I am so thankful -they are gone!' And she cried without restraint. - -He could not sympathise with her. His anger had not abated; it -was rather rising the more as his sense of immediate danger was -passing away. The distant clank of the soldiers was heard just -five minutes too late to make this vanished mob feel the power of -authority and order. He hoped they would see the troops, and be -quelled by the thought of their narrow escape. While these -thoughts crossed his mind, Margaret clung to the doorpost to -steady herself: but a film came over her eyes--he was only just -in time to catch her. 'Mother--mother!' cried he; 'Come -down--they are gone, and Miss Hale is hurt!' He bore her into the -dining-room, and laid her on the sofa there; laid her down -softly, and looking on her pure white face, the sense of what she -was to him came upon him so keenly that he spoke it out in his -pain: - -'Oh, my Margaret--my Margaret! no one can tell what you are to -me! Dead--cold as you lie there, you are the only woman I ever -loved! Oh, Margaret--Margaret!' Inarticulately as he spoke, -kneeling by her, and rather moaning than saying the words, he -started up, ashamed of himself, as his mother came in. She saw -nothing, but her son a little paler, a little sterner than usual. - -'Miss Hale is hurt, mother. A stone has grazed her temple. She -has lost a good deal of blood, I'm afraid.' - -'She looks very seriously hurt,--I could almost fancy her dead,' -said Mrs. Thornton, a good deal alarmed. - -'It is only a fainting-fit. She has spoken to me since.' But all -the blood in his body seemed to rush inwards to his heart as he -spoke, and he absolutely trembled. - -'Go and call Jane,--she can find me the things I want; and do you -go to your Irish people, who are crying and shouting as if they -were mad with fright.' He went. He went away as if weights were -tied to every limb that bore him from her. He called Jane; he -called his sister. She should have all womanly care, all gentle -tendance. But every pulse beat in him as he remembered how she -had come down and placed herself in foremost danger,--could it be -to save him? At the time, he had pushed her aside, and spoken -gruffly; he had seen nothing but the unnecessary danger she had -placed herself in. He went to his Irish people, with every nerve -in his body thrilling at the thought of her, and found it -difficult to understand enough of what they were saying to soothe -and comfort away their fears. There, they declared, they would -not stop; they claimed to be sent back. And so he had to think, -and talk, and reason. - -Mrs. Thornton bathed Margaret's temples with eau de Cologne. As -the spirit touched the wound, which till then neither Mrs. -Thornton nor Jane had perceived, Margaret opened her eyes; but it -was evident she did not know where she was, nor who they were. -The dark circles deepened, the lips quivered and contracted, and -she became insensible once more. - -'She has had a terrible blow,' said Mrs. Thornton. 'Is there any -one who will go for a doctor?' - -'Not me, ma'am, if you please,' said Jane, shrinking back. 'Them -rabble may be all about; I don't think the cut is so deep, ma'am, -as it looks.' - -'I will not run the chance. She was hurt in our house. If you are -a coward, Jane, I am not. I will go.' - -'Pray, ma'am, let me send one of the police. There's ever so many -come up, and soldiers too.' - -'And yet you're afraid to go! I will not have their time taken up -with our errands. They'll have enough to do to catch some of the -mob. You will not be afraid to stop in this house,' she asked -contemptuously, 'and go on bathing Miss Hale's forehead, shall -you? I shall not be ten minutes away.' - -'Couldn't Hannah go, ma'am?' - -'Why Hannah? Why any but you? No, Jane, if you don't go, I do.' - -Mrs. Thornton went first to the room in which she had left Fanny -stretched on the bed. She started up as her mother entered. - -'Oh, mamma, how you terrified me! I thought you were a man that -had got into the house.' - -'Nonsense! The men are all gone away. There are soldiers all -round the place, seeking for their work now it is too late. Miss -Hale is lying on the dining-room sofa badly hurt. I am going for -the doctor.' - -'Oh! don't, mamma! they'll murder you.' She clung to her mother's -gown. Mrs. Thornton wrenched it away with no gentle hand. - -'Find me some one else to go but that girl must not bleed to -death.' - -'Bleed! oh, how horrid! How has she got hurt?' - -'I don't know,--I have no time to ask. Go down to her, Fanny, and -do try to make yourself of use. Jane is with her; and I trust it -looks worse than it is. Jane has refused to leave the house, -cowardly woman! And I won't put myself in the way of any more -refusals from my servants, so I am going myself.' - -'Oh, dear, dear!' said Fanny, crying, and preparing to go down -rather than be left alone, with the thought of wounds and -bloodshed in the very house. - -'Oh, Jane!' said she, creeping into the dining-room, 'what is the -matter? How white she looks! How did she get hurt? Did they throw -stones into the drawing-room?' - -Margaret did indeed look white and wan, although her senses were -beginning to return to her. But the sickly daze of the swoon made -her still miserably faint. She was conscious of movement around -her, and of refreshment from the eau de Cologne, and a craving -for the bathing to go on without intermission; but when they -stopped to talk, she could no more have opened her eyes, or -spoken to ask for more bathing, than the people who lie in -death-like trance can move, or utter sound, to arrest the awful -preparations for their burial, while they are yet fully aware, -not merely of the actions of those around them, but of the idea -that is the motive for such actions. - -Jane paused in her bathing, to reply to Miss Thornton's question. - -'She'd have been safe enough, miss, if she'd stayed in the -drawing-room, or come up to us; we were in the front garret, and -could see it all, out of harm's way.' - -'Where was she, then?' said Fanny, drawing nearer by slow -degrees, as she became accustomed to the sight of Margaret's pale -face. - -'Just before the front door--with master!' said Jane, -significantly. - -'With John! with my brother! How did she get there?' - -'Nay, miss, that's not for me to say,' answered Jane, with a -slight toss of her head. 'Sarah did'---- - -'Sarah what?' said Fanny, with impatient curiosity. - -Jane resumed her bathing, as if what Sarah did or said was not -exactly the thing she liked to repeat. - -'Sarah what?' asked Fanny, sharply. 'Don't speak in these half -sentences, or I can't understand you.' - -'Well, miss, since you will have it--Sarah, you see, was in the -best place for seeing, being at the right-hand window; and she -says, and said at the very time too, that she saw Miss Hale with -her arms about master's neck, hugging him before all the people.' - -'I don't believe it,' said Fanny. 'I know she cares for my -brother; any one can see that; and I dare say, she'd give her -eyes if he'd marry her,--which he never will, I can tell her. But -I don't believe she'd be so bold and forward as to put her arms -round his neck.' - -'Poor young lady! she's paid for it dearly if she did. It's my -belief, that the blow has given her such an ascendency of blood -to the head as she'll never get the better from. She looks like a -corpse now.' - -'Oh, I wish mamma would come!' said Fanny, wringing her hands. 'I -never was in the room with a dead person before.' - -'Stay, miss! She's not dead: her eye-lids are quivering, and -here's wet tears a-coming down her cheeks. Speak to her, Miss -Fanny!' - -'Are you better now?' asked Fanny, in a quavering voice. - -No answer; no sign of recognition; but a faint pink colour -returned to her lips, although the rest of her face was ashen -pale. - -Mrs. Thornton came hurriedly in, with the nearest surgeon she -could find. 'How is she? Are you better, my dear?' as Margaret -opened her filmy eyes, and gazed dreamily at her. 'Here is Mr. -Lowe come to see you.' - -Mrs. Thornton spoke loudly and distinctly, as to a deaf person. -Margaret tried to rise, and drew her ruffled, luxuriant hair -instinctly over the cut. 'I am better now,' said she, in a very -low, faint voice. I was a little sick.' She let him take her hand -and feel her pulse. The bright colour came for a moment into her -face, when he asked to examine the wound in her forehead; and she -glanced up at Jane, as if shrinking from her inspection more than -from the doctor's. - -'It is not much, I think. I am better now. I must go home.' - -'Not until I have applied some strips of plaster; and you have -rested a little.' - -She sat down hastily, without another word, and allowed it to be -bound up. - -'Now, if you please,' said she, 'I must go. Mamma will not see -it, I think. It is under the hair, is it not?' - -'Quite; no one could tell.' - -'But you must not go,' said Mrs. Thornton, impatiently. 'You are -not fit to go. - -'I must,' said Margaret, decidedly. 'Think of mamma. If they -should hear----Besides, I must go,' said she, vehemently. 'I -cannot stay here. May I ask for a cab?' - -'You are quite flushed and feverish,' observed Mr. Lowe. - -'It is only with being here, when I do so want to go. The -air--getting away, would do me more good than anything,' pleaded -she. - -'I really believe it is as she says,' Mr. Lowe replied. 'If her -mother is so ill as you told me on the way here, it may be very -serious if she hears of this riot, and does not see her daughter -back at the time she expects. The injury is not deep. I will -fetch a cab, if your servants are still afraid to go out.' - -'Oh, thank you!' said Margaret. 'It will do me more good than -anything. It is the air of this room that makes me feel so -miserable.' - -She leant back on the sofa, and closed her eyes. Fanny beckoned -her mother out of the room, and told her something that made her -equally anxious with Margaret for the departure of the latter. -Not that she fully believed Fanny's statement; but she credited -enough to make her manner to Margaret appear very much -constrained, at wishing her good-bye. - -Mr. Lowe returned in the cab. - -'If you will allow me, I will see you home, Miss Hale. The -streets are not very quiet yet.' - -Margaret's thoughts were quite alive enough to the present to -make her desirous of getting rid of both Mr. Lowe and the cab -before she reached Crampton Crescent, for fear of alarming her -father and mother. Beyond that one aim she would not look. That -ugly dream of insolent words spoken about herself, could never be -forgotten--but could be put aside till she was stronger--for, oh! -she was very weak; and her mind sought for some present fact to -steady itself upon, and keep it from utterly losing consciousness -in another hideous, sickly swoon. - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -MISTAKES - -'Which when his mother saw, she in her mind -Was troubled sore, ne wist well what to ween.' -SPENSER. - -Margaret had not been gone five minutes when Mr. Thornton came -in, his face all a-glow. - -'I could not come sooner: the superintendent would----Where is -she?' He looked round the dining-room, and then almost fiercely -at his mother, who was quietly re-arranging the disturbed -furniture, and did not instantly reply. 'Where is Miss Hale?' -asked he again. - -'Gone home,' said she, rather shortly. - -'Gone home!' - -'Yes. She was a great deal better. Indeed, I don't believe it was -so very much of a hurt; only some people faint at the least -thing.' - -'I am sorry she is gone home,' said he, walking uneasily about. -'She could not have been fit for it.' - -'She said she was; and Mr. Lowe said she was. I went for him -myself.' - -'Thank you, mother.' He stopped, and partly held out his hand to -give her a grateful shake. But she did not notice the movement. - -'What have you done with your Irish people?' - -'Sent to the Dragon for a good meal for them, poor wretches. And -then, luckily, I caught Father Grady, and I've asked him in to -speak to them, and dissuade them from going off in a body. How -did Miss Hale go home? I'm sure she could not walk.' - -'She had a cab. Everything was done properly, even to the paying. -Let us talk of something else. She has caused disturbance -enough.' - -'I don't know where I should have been but for her.' - -'Are you become so helpless as to have to be defended by a girl?' -asked Mrs. Thornton, scornfully. - -He reddened. 'Not many girls would have taken the blows on -herself which were meant for me;--meant with right down -good-will, too.' - -'A girl in love will do a good deal,' replied Mrs. Thornton, -shortly. - -'Mother!' He made a step forwards; stood still; heaved with -passion. - -She was a little startled at the evident force he used to keep -himself calm. She was not sure of the nature of the emotions she -had provoked. It was only their violence that was clear. Was it -anger? His eyes glowed, his figure was dilated, his breath came -thick and fast. It was a mixture of joy, of anger, of pride, of -glad surprise, of panting doubt; but she could not read it. Still -it made her uneasy,--as the presence of all strong feeling, of -which the cause is not fully understood or sympathised in, always -has this effect. She went to the side-board, opened a drawer, and -took out a duster, which she kept there for any occasional -purpose. She had seen a drop of eau de Cologne on the polished -arm of the sofa, and instinctively sought to wipe it off. But she -kept her back turned to her son much longer than was necessary; -and when she spoke, her voice seemed unusual and constrained. - -'You have taken some steps about the rioters, I suppose? You -don't apprehend any more violence, do you? Where were the police? -Never at hand when they're wanted!' - -'On the contrary, I saw three or four of them, when the gates -gave way, struggling and beating about in fine fashion; and more -came running up just when the yard was clearing. I might have -given some of the fellows in charge then, if I had had my wits -about me. But there will be no difficulty, plenty of people can -Identify them.' - -'But won't they come back to-night?' - -'I'm going to see about a sufficient guard for the premises. I -have appointed to meet Captain Hanbury in half an hour at the -station.' - -'You must have some tea first.' - -'Tea! Yes, I suppose I must. It's half-past six, and I may be out -for some time. Don't sit up for me, mother.' - -'You expect me to go to bed before I have seen you safe, do you?' - -'Well, perhaps not.' He hesitated for a moment. 'But if I've -time, I shall go round by Crampton, after I've arranged with the -police and seen Hamper and Clarkson.' Their eyes met; they looked -at each other intently for a minute. Then she asked: - -'Why are you going round by Crampton?' - -'To ask after Miss Hale.' - -'I will send. Williams must take the water-bed she came to ask -for. He shall inquire how she is.' - -'I must go myself.' - -'Not merely to ask how Miss Hale is?' - -'No, not merely for that. I want to thank her for the way in -which she stood between me and the mob.' - -'What made you go down at all? It was putting your head into the -lion's mouth!' He glanced sharply at her; saw that she did not -know what had passed between him and Margaret in the -drawing-room; and replied by another question: - -'Shall you be afraid to be left without me, until I can get some -of the police; or had we better send Williams for them now, and -they could be here by the time we have done tea? There's no time -to be lost. I must be off in a quarter of an hour.' - -Mrs. Thornton left the room. Her servants wondered at her -directions, usually so sharply-cut and decided, now confused and -uncertain. Mr. Thornton remained in the dining-room, trying to -think of the business he had to do at the police-office, and in -reality thinking of Margaret. Everything seemed dim and vague -beyond--behind--besides the touch of her arms round his neck--the -soft clinging which made the dark colour come and go in his cheek -as he thought of it. - -The tea would have been very silent, but for Fanny's perpetual -description of her own feelings; how she had been alarmed--and -then thought they were gone--and then felt sick and faint and -trembling in every limb. - -'There, that's enough,' said her brother, rising from the table. -'The reality was enough for me.' He was going to leave the room, -when his mother stopped him with her hand upon his arm. - -'You will come back here before you go to the Hales', said she, -in a low, anxious voice. - -'I know what I know,' said Fanny to herself. - -'Why? Will it be too late to disturb them?' - -'John, come back to me for this one evening. It will be late for -Mrs. Hale. But that is not it. To-morrow, you will----Come back -to-night, John!' She had seldom pleaded with her son at all--she -was too proud for that: but she had never pleaded in vain. - -'I will return straight here after I have done my business You -will be sure to inquire after them?--after her?' - -Mrs. Thornton was by no means a talkative companion to Fanny, nor -yet a good listener while her son was absent. But on his return, -her eyes and ears were keen to see and to listen to all the -details which he could give, as to the steps he had taken to -secure himself, and those whom he chose to employ, from any -repetition of the day's outrages. He clearly saw his object. -Punishment and suffering, were the natural consequences to those -who had taken part in the riot. All that was necessary, in order -that property should be protected, and that the will of the -proprietor might cut to his end, clean and sharp as a sword. - -'Mother! You know what I have got to say to Miss Hale, -to-morrow?' The question came upon her suddenly, during a pause -in which she, at least, had forgotten Margaret. - -She looked up at him. - -'Yes! I do. You can hardly do otherwise.' - -'Do otherwise! I don't understand you.' - -'I mean that, after allowing her feelings so to overcome her, I -consider you bound in honour--' - -'Bound in honour,' said he, scornfully. 'I'm afraid honour has -nothing to do with it. "Her feelings overcome her!" What feelings -do you mean?' - -'Nay, John, there is no need to be angry. Did she not rush down, -and cling to you to save you from danger?' - -'She did!' said he. 'But, mother,' continued he, stopping short -in his walk right in front of her, 'I dare not hope. I never was -fainthearted before; but I cannot believe such a creature cares -for me.' - -'Don't be foolish, John. Such a creature! Why, she might be a -duke's daughter, to hear you speak. And what proof more would you -have, I wonder, of her caring for you? I can believe she has had -a struggle with her aristocratic way of viewing things; but I -like her the better for seeing clearly at last. It is a good deal -for me to say,' said Mrs. Thornton, smiling slowly, while the -tears stood in her eyes; 'for after to-night, I stand second. It -was to have you to myself, all to myself, a few hours longer, -that I begged you not to go till to-morrow!' - -'Dearest mother!' (Still love is selfish, and in an instant he -reverted to his own hopes and fears in a way that drew the cold -creeping shadow over Mrs. Thornton's heart.) 'But I know she does -not care for me. I shall put myself at her feet--I must. If it -were but one chance in a thousand--or a million--I should do it.' - -'Don't fear!' said his mother, crushing down her own personal -mortification at the little notice he had taken of the rare -ebullition of her maternal feelings--of the pang of jealousy that -betrayed the intensity of her disregarded love. 'Don't be -afraid,' she said, coldly. 'As far as love may go she may be -worthy of you. It must have taken a good deal to overcome her -pride. Don't be afraid, John,' said she, kissing him, as she -wished him good-night. And she went slowly and majestically out -of the room. But when she got into her own, she locked the door, -and sate down to cry unwonted tears. - -Margaret entered the room (where her father and mother still sat, -holding low conversation together), looking very pale and white. -She came close up to them before she could trust herself to -speak. - -'Mrs. Thornton will send the water-bed, mamma.' - -'Dear, how tired you look! Is it very hot, Margaret?' - -'Very hot, and the streets are rather rough with the strike.' - -Margaret's colour came back vivid and bright as ever; but it -faded away instantly. - -'Here has been a message from Bessy Higgins, asking you to go to -her,' said Mrs. Hale. 'But I'm sure you look too tired.' - -'Yes!' said Margaret. 'I am tired, I cannot go.' - -She was very silent and trembling while she made tea. She was -thankful to see her father so much occupied with her mother as -not to notice her looks. Even after her mother went to bed, he -was not content to be absent from her, but undertook to read her -to sleep. Margaret was alone. - -'Now I will think of it--now I will remember it all. I could not -before--I dared not.' She sat still in her chair, her hands -clasped on her knees, her lips compressed, her eyes fixed as one -who sees a vision. She drew a deep breath. - -'I, who hate scenes--I, who have despised people for showing -emotion--who have thought them wanting in self-control--I went -down and must needs throw myself into the melee, like a romantic -fool! Did I do any good? They would have gone away without me I -dare say.' But this was over-leaping the rational conclusion,--as -in an instant her well-poised judgment felt. 'No, perhaps they -would not. I did some good. But what possessed me to defend that -man as if he were a helpless child! Ah!' said she, clenching her -hands together, 'it is no wonder those people thought I was in -love with him, after disgracing myself in that way. I in -love--and with him too!' Her pale cheeks suddenly became one -flame of fire; and she covered her face with her hands. When she -took them away, her palms were wet with scalding tears. - -'Oh how low I am fallen that they should say that of me! I could -not have been so brave for any one else, just because he was so -utterly indifferent to me--if, indeed, I do not positively -dislike him. It made me the more anxious that there should be -fair play on each side; and I could see what fair play was. It -was not fair, said she, vehemently, 'that he should stand -there--sheltered, awaiting the soldiers, who might catch those -poor maddened creatures as in a trap--without an effort on his -part, to bring them to reason. And it was worse than unfair for -them to set on him as they threatened. I would do it again, let -who will say what they like of me. If I saved one blow, one -cruel, angry action that might otherwise have been committed, I -did a woman's work. Let them insult my maiden pride as they -will--I walk pure before God!' - -She looked up, and a noble peace seemed to descend and calm her -face, till it was 'stiller than chiselled marble.' - -Dixon came in: - -'If you please, Miss Margaret, here's the water-bed from Mrs. -Thornton's. It's too late for to-night, I'm afraid, for missus is -nearly asleep: but it will do nicely for to-morrow.' - -'Very,' said Margaret. 'You must send our best thanks.' - -Dixon left the room for a moment. - -'If you please, Miss Margaret, he says he's to ask particular how -you are. I think he must mean missus; but he says his last words -were, to ask how Miss Hale was.' - -'Me!' said Margaret, drawing herself up. 'I am quite well. Tell -him I am perfectly well.' But her complexion was as deadly white -as her handkerchief; and her head ached intensely. - -Mr. Hale now came in. He had left his sleeping wife; and wanted, -as Margaret saw, to be amused and interested by something that -she was to tell him. With sweet patience did she bear her pain, -without a word of complaint; and rummaged up numberless small -subjects for conversation--all except the riot, and that she -never named once. It turned her sick to think of it. - -'Good-night, Margaret. I have every chance of a good night -myself, and you are looking very pale with your watching. I shall -call Dixon if your mother needs anything. Do you go to bed and -sleep like a top; for I'm sure you need it, poor child!' - -'Good-night, papa.' - -She let her colour go--the forced smile fade away--the eyes grow -dull with heavy pain. She released her strong will from its -laborious task. Till morning she might feel ill and weary. - -She lay down and never stirred. To move hand or foot, or even so -much as one finger, would have been an exertion beyond the powers -of either volition or motion. She was so tired, so stunned, that -she thought she never slept at all; her feverish thoughts passed -and repassed the boundary between sleeping and waking, and kept -their own miserable identity. She could not be alone, prostrate, -powerless as she was,--a cloud of faces looked up at her, giving -her no idea of fierce vivid anger, or of personal danger, but a -deep sense of shame that she should thus be the object of -universal regard--a sense of shame so acute that it seemed as if -she would fain have burrowed into the earth to hide herself, and -yet she could not escape out of that unwinking glare of many -eyes. - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -MISTAKES CLEARED UP - -'Your beauty was the first that won the place, -And scal'd the walls of my undaunted heart, -Which, captive now, pines in a caitive case, -Unkindly met with rigour for desert;-- -Yet not the less your servant shall abide, -In spite of rude repulse or silent pride.' -WILLIAM FOWLER. - - -The next morning, Margaret dragged herself up, thankful that the -night was over,--unrefreshed, yet rested. All had gone well -through the house; her mother had only wakened once. A little -breeze was stirring in the hot air, and though there were no -trees to show the playful tossing movement caused by the wind -among the leaves, Margaret knew how, somewhere or another, by -way-side, in copses, or in thick green woods, there was a -pleasant, murmuring, dancing sound,--a rushing and falling noise, -the very thought of which was an echo of distant gladness in her -heart. - -She sat at her work in Mrs. Hale's room. As soon as that forenoon -slumber was over, she would help her mother to dress after -dinner, she would go and see Bessy Higgins. She would banish all -recollection of the Thornton family,--no need to think of them -till they absolutely stood before her in flesh and blood. But, of -course, the effort not to think of them brought them only the -more strongly before her; and from time to time, the hot flush -came over her pale face sweeping it into colour, as a sunbeam -from between watery clouds comes swiftly moving over the sea. - -Dixon opened the door very softly, and stole on tiptoe up to -Margaret, sitting by the shaded window. - -'Mr. Thornton, Miss Margaret. He is in the drawing-room.' - -Margaret dropped her sewing. - -'Did he ask for me? Isn't papa come in?' - -'He asked for you, miss; and master is out.' - -'Very well, I will come,' said Margaret, quietly. But she -lingered strangely. Mr. Thornton stood by one of the windows, -with his back to the door, apparently absorbed in watching -something in the street. But, in truth, he was afraid of himself. -His heart beat thick at the thought of her coming. He could not -forget the touch of her arms around his neck, impatiently felt as -it had been at the time; but now the recollection of her clinging -defence of him, seemed to thrill him through and through,--to -melt away every resolution, all power of self-control, as if it -were wax before a fire. He dreaded lest he should go forwards to -meet her, with his arms held out in mute entreaty that she would -come and nestle there, as she had done, all unheeded, the day -before, but never unheeded again. His heart throbbed loud and -quick Strong man as he was, he trembled at the anticipation of -what he had to say, and how it might be received. She might -droop, and flush, and flutter to his arms, as to her natural home -and resting-place. One moment, he glowed with impatience at the -thought that she might do this, the next, he feared a passionate -rejection, the very idea of which withered up his future with so -deadly a blight that he refused to think of it. He was startled -by the sense of the presence of some one else in the room. He -turned round. She had come in so gently, that he had never heard -her; the street noises had been more distinct to his inattentive -ear than her slow movements, in her soft muslin gown. - -She stood by the table, not offering to sit down. Her eyelids -were dropped half over her eyes; her teeth were shut, not -compressed; her lips were just parted over them, allowing the -white line to be seen between their curve. Her slow deep -breathings dilated her thin and beautiful nostrils; it was the -only motion visible on her countenance. The fine-grained skin, -the oval cheek, the rich outline of her mouth, its corners deep -set in dimples,--were all wan and pale to-day; the loss of their -usual natural healthy colour being made more evident by the heavy -shadow of the dark hair, brought down upon the temples, to hide -all sign of the blow she had received. Her head, for all its -drooping eyes, was thrown a little back, in the old proud -attitude. Her long arms hung motion-less by her sides. Altogether -she looked like some prisoner, falsely accused of a crime that -she loathed and despised, and from which she was too indignant to -justify herself. - -Mr. Thornton made a hasty step or two forwards; recovered -himself, and went with quiet firmness to the door (which she had -left open), and shut it. Then he came back, and stood opposite to -her for a moment, receiving the general impression of her -beautiful presence, before he dared to disturb it, perhaps to -repel it, by what he had to say. - -'Miss Hale, I was very ungrateful yesterday--' - -'You had nothing to be grateful for,' said she, raising her eyes, -and looking full and straight at him. 'You mean, I suppose, that -you believe you ought to thank me for what I did.' In spite of -herself--in defiance of her anger--the thick blushes came all -over her face, and burnt into her very eyes; which fell not -nevertheless from their grave and steady look. 'It was only a -natural instinct; any woman would have done just the same. We all -feel the sanctity of our sex as a high privilege when we see -danger. I ought rather,' said she, hastily, 'to apologise to you, -for having said thoughtless words which sent you down into the -danger.' - -'It was not your words; it was the truth they conveyed, -pun-gently as it was expressed. But you shall not drive me off -upon that, and so escape the expression of my deep gratitude, -my--' he was on the verge now; he would not speak in the haste of -his hot passion; he would weigh each word. He would; and his will -was triumphant. He stopped in mid career. - -'I do not try to escape from anything,' said she. 'I simply say, -that you owe me no gratitude; and I may add, that any expression -of it will be painful to me, because I do not feel that I deserve -it. Still, if it will relieve you from even a fancied obligation, -speak on.' - -'I do not want to be relieved from any obligation,' said he, -goaded by her calm manner. Fancied, or not fancied--I question -not myself to know which--I choose to believe that I owe my very -life to you--ay--smile, and think it an exaggeration if you will. -I believe it, because it adds a value to that life to think--oh, -Miss Hale!' continued he, lowering his voice to such a tender -intensity of passion that she shivered and trembled before him, -'to think circumstance so wrought, that whenever I exult in -existence henceforward, I may say to myself, "All this gladness -in life, all honest pride in doing my work in the world, all this -keen sense of being, I owe to her!" And it doubles the gladness, -it makes the pride glow, it sharpens the sense of existence till -I hardly know if it is pain or pleasure, to think that I owe it -to one--nay, you must, you shall hear'--said he, stepping -forwards with stern determination--'to one whom I love, as I do -not believe man ever loved woman before.' He held her hand tight -in his. He panted as he listened for what should come. He threw -the hand away with indignation, as he heard her icy tone; for icy -it was, though the words came faltering out, as if she knew not -where to find them. - -'Your way of speaking shocks me. It is blasphemous. I cannot help -it, if that is my first feeling. It might not be so, I dare say, -if I understood the kind of feeling you describe. I do not want -to vex you; and besides, we must speak gently, for mamma is -asleep; but your whole manner offends me--' - -'How!' exclaimed he. 'Offends you! I am indeed most unfortunate.' - -'Yes!' said she, with recovered dignity. 'I do feel offended; -and, I think, justly. You seem to fancy that my conduct of -yesterday'--again the deep carnation blush, but this time with -eyes kindling with indignation rather than shame--'was a personal -act between you and me; and that you may come and thank me for -it, instead of perceiving, as a gentleman would--yes! a -gentleman,' she repeated, in allusion to their former -conversation about that word, 'that any woman, worthy of the name -of woman, would come forward to shield, with her reverenced -helplessness, a man in danger from the violence of numbers.' - -'And the gentleman thus rescued is forbidden the relief of -thanks!' he broke in contemptuously. 'I am a man. I claim the -right of expressing my feelings.' - -'And I yielded to the right; simply saying that you gave me pain -by insisting upon it,' she replied, proudly. 'But you seem to -have imagined, that I was not merely guided by womanly instinct, -but'--and here the passionate tears (kept down for -long--struggled with vehemently) came up into her eyes, and -choked her voice--'but that I was prompted by some particular -feeling for you--you! Why, there was not a man--not a poor -desperate man in all that crowd--for whom I had not more -sympathy--for whom I should not have done what little I could -more heartily.' - -'You may speak on, Miss Hale. I am aware of all these misplaced -sympathies of yours. I now believe that it was only your innate -sense of oppression--(yes; I, though a master, may be -oppressed)--that made you act so nobly as you did. I know you -despise me; allow me to say, it is because you do not understand -me.' - -'I do not care to understand,' she replied, taking hold of the -table to steady herself; for she thought him cruel--as, indeed, -he was--and she was weak with her indignation. - -'No, I see you do not. You are unfair and unjust.' - -Margaret compressed her lips. She would not speak in answer to -such accusations. But, for all that--for all his savage words, he -could have thrown himself at her feet, and kissed the hem of her -wounded pride fell hot and fast. He waited awhile, longing for -garment. She did not speak; she did not move. The tears of her to -say something, even a taunt, to which he might reply. But she was -silent. He took up his hat. - -'One word more. You look as if you thought it tainted you to be -loved by me. You cannot avoid it. Nay, I, if I would, cannot -cleanse you from it. But I would not, if I could. I have never -loved any woman before: my life has been too busy, my thoughts -too much absorbed with other things. Now I love, and will love. -But do not be afraid of too much expression on my part.' - -'I am not afraid,' she replied, lifting herself straight up. 'No -one yet has ever dared to be impertinent to me, and no one ever -shall. But, Mr. Thornton, you have been very kind to my father,' -said she, changing her whole tone and bearing to a most womanly -softness. 'Don't let us go on making each other angry. Pray -don't!' He took no notice of her words: he occupied himself in -smoothing the nap of his hat with his coat-sleeve, for half a -minute or so; and then, rejecting her offered hand, and making as -if he did not see her grave look of regret, he turned abruptly -away, and left the room. Margaret caught one glance at his face -before he went. - -When he was gone, she thought she had seen the gleam of unshed -tears in his eyes; and that turned her proud dislike into -something different and kinder, if nearly as -painful--self-reproach for having caused such mortification to -any one. - -'But how could I help it?' asked she of herself. 'I never liked -him. I was civil; but I took no trouble to conceal my -indifference. Indeed, I never thought about myself or him, so my -manners must have shown the truth. All that yesterday, he might -mistake. But that is his fault, not mine. I would do it again, if -need were, though it does lead me into all this shame and -trouble.' - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -FREDERICK - -'Revenge may have her own; -Roused discipline aloud proclaims their cause, -And injured navies urge their broken laws.' -BYRON. - - -Margaret began to wonder whether all offers were as unexpected -beforehand,--as distressing at the time of their occurrence, as -the two she had had. An involuntary comparison between Mr. Lennox -and Mr. Thornton arose in her mind. She had been sorry, that an -expression of any other feeling than friendship had been lured -out by circumstances from Henry Lennox. That regret was the -predominant feeling, on the first occasion of her receiving a -proposal. She had not felt so stunned--so impressed as she did -now, when echoes of Mr. Thornton's voice yet lingered about the -room. In Lennox's case, he seemed for a moment to have slid over -the boundary between friendship and love; and the instant -afterwards, to regret it nearly as much as she did, although for -different reasons. In Mr. Thornton's case, as far as Margaret -knew, there was no intervening stage of friendship. Their -intercourse had been one continued series of opposition. Their -opinions clashed; and indeed, she had never perceived that he had -cared for her opinions, as belonging to her, the individual. As -far as they defied his rock-like power of character, his -passion-strength, he seemed to throw them off from him with -contempt, until she felt the weariness of the exertion of making -useless protests; and now, he had come, in this strange wild -passionate way, to make known his love For, although at first it -had struck her, that his offer was forced and goaded out of him -by sharp compassion for the exposure she had made of -herself,--which he, like others, might misunderstand--yet, even -before he left the room,--and certainly, not five minutes after, -the clear conviction dawned upon her, shined bright upon her, -that he did love her; that he had loved her; that he would love -her. And she shrank and shuddered as under the fascination of -some great power, repugnant to her whole previous life. She crept -away, and hid from his idea. But it was of no use. To parody a -line out of Fairfax's Tasso-- - -'His strong idea wandered through her thought.' - -She disliked him the more for having mastered her inner will. How -dared he say that he would love her still, even though she shook -him off with contempt? She wished she had spoken more--stronger. -Sharp, decisive speeches came thronging into her mind, now that -it was too late to utter them. The deep impression made by the -interview, was like that of a horror in a dream; that will not -leave the room although we waken up, and rub our eyes, and force -a stiff rigid smile upon our lips. It is there--there, cowering -and gibbering, with fixed ghastly eyes, in some corner of the -chamber, listening to hear whether we dare to breathe of its -presence to any one. And we dare not; poor cowards that we are! - -And so she shuddered away from the threat of his enduring love. -What did he mean? Had she not the power to daunt him? She would -see. It was more daring than became a man to threaten her so. Did -he ground it upon the miserable yesterday? If need were, she -would do the same to-morrow,--by a crippled beggar, willingly and -gladly,--but by him, she would do it, just as bravely, in spite -of his deductions, and the cold slime of women's impertinence. -She did it because it was right, and simple, and true to save -where she could save; even to try to save. 'Fais ce que dois, -advienne que pourra.' - -Hitherto she had not stirred from where he had left her; no -outward circumstances had roused her out of the trance of thought -in which she had been plunged by his last words, and by the look -of his deep intent passionate eyes, as their flames had made her -own fall before them. She went to the window, and threw it open, -to dispel the oppression which hung around her. Then she went and -opened the door, with a sort of impetuous wish to shake off the -recollection of the past hour in the company of others, or in -active exertion. But all was profoundly hushed in the noonday -stillness of a house, where an invalid catches the unrefreshing -sleep that is denied to the night-hours. Margaret would not be -alone. What should she do? 'Go and see Bessy Higgins, of course,' -thought she, as the recollection of the message sent the night -before flashed into her mind. - -And away she went. - -When she got there, she found Bessy lying on the settle, moved -close to the fire, though the day was sultry and oppressive. She -was laid down quite flat, as if resting languidly after some -paroxysm of pain. Margaret felt sure she ought to have the -greater freedom of breathing which a more sitting posture would -procure; and, without a word, she raised her up, and so arranged -the pillows, that Bessy was more at ease, though very languid. - -'I thought I should na' ha' seen yo' again,' said she, at last, -looking wistfully in Margaret's face. - -'I'm afraid you're much worse. But I could not have come -yesterday, my mother was so ill--for many reasons,' said -Margaret, colouring. - -'Yo'd m'appen think I went beyond my place in sending Mary for -yo'. But the wranglin' and the loud voices had just torn me to -pieces, and I thought when father left, oh! if I could just hear -her voice, reading me some words o' peace and promise, I could -die away into the silence and rest o' God, lust as a babby is -hushed up to sleep by its mother's lullaby.' - -'Shall I read you a chapter, now?' - -'Ay, do! M'appen I shan't listen to th' sense, at first; it will -seem far away--but when yo' come to words I like--to th' -comforting texts--it'll seem close in my ear, and going through -me as it were.' - -Margaret began. Bessy tossed to and fro. If, by an effort, she -attended for one moment, it seemed as though she were convulsed -into double restlessness the next. At last, she burst out 'Don't -go on reading. It's no use. I'm blaspheming all the time in my -mind, wi' thinking angrily on what canna be helped.--Yo'd hear of -th' riot, m'appen, yesterday at Marlborough Mills? Thornton's -factory, yo' know.' - -'Your father was not there, was he?' said Margaret, colouring -deep. - -'Not he. He'd ha' given his right hand if it had never come to -pass. It's that that's fretting me. He's fairly knocked down in -his mind by it. It's no use telling him, fools will always break -out o bounds. Yo' never saw a man so down-hearted as he is.' - -'But why?' asked Margaret. 'I don't understand.' - -'Why yo' see, he's a committee-man on this special strike'. Th' -Union appointed him because, though I say it as shouldn't say it, -he's reckoned a deep chap, and true to th' back-bone. And he and -t other committee-men laid their plans. They were to hou'd -together through thick and thin; what the major part thought, -t'others were to think, whether they would or no. And above all -there was to be no going again the law of the land. Folk would go -with them if they saw them striving and starving wi' dumb -patience; but if there was once any noise o' fighting and -struggling--even wi' knobsticks--all was up, as they knew by th' -experience of many, and many a time before. They would try and -get speech o' th' knobsticks, and coax 'em, and reason wi' 'em, -and m'appen warn 'em off; but whatever came, the Committee -charged all members o' th' Union to lie down and die, if need -were, without striking a blow; and then they reckoned they were -sure o' carrying th' public with them. And beside all that, -Committee knew they were right in their demand, and they didn't -want to have right all mixed up wi' wrong, till folk can't -separate it, no more nor I can th' physic-powder from th' jelly -yo' gave me to mix it in; jelly is much the biggest, but powder -tastes it all through. Well, I've told yo' at length about -this'n, but I'm tired out. Yo' just think for yo'rsel, what it -mun be for father to have a' his work undone, and by such a fool -as Boucher, who must needs go right again the orders of -Committee, and ruin th' strike, just as bad as if he meant to be -a Judas. Eh! but father giv'd it him last night! He went so far -as to say, he'd go and tell police where they might find th' -ringleader o' th' riot; he'd give him up to th' mill-owners to do -what they would wi' him. He'd show the world that th' real -leaders o' the strike were not such as Boucher, but steady -thoughtful men; good hands, and good citizens, who were friendly -to law and judgment, and would uphold order; who only wanted -their right wage, and wouldn't work, even though they starved, -till they got 'em; but who would ne'er injure property or life: -For,' dropping her voice, 'they do say, that Boucher threw a -stone at Thornton's sister, that welly killed her.' - -'That's not true,' said Margaret. 'It was not Boucher that threw -the stone'--she went first red, then white. - -'Yo'd be there then, were yo'?' asked Bessy languidly for indeed, -she had spoken with many pauses, as if speech was unusually -difficult to her. - -'Yes. Never mind. Go on. Only it was not Boucher that threw the -stone. But what did he answer to your father?' - -'He did na' speak words. He were all in such a tremble wi' spent -passion, I could na' bear to look at him. I heard his breath -coming quick, and at one time I thought he were sobbing. But when -father said he'd give him up to police, he gave a great cry, and -struck father on th' face wi' his closed fist, and be off like -lightning. Father were stunned wi' the blow at first, for all -Boucher were weak wi' passion and wi' clemming. He sat down a -bit, and put his hand afore his eyes; and then made for th' door. -I dunno' where I got strength, but I threw mysel' off th' settle -and clung to him. "Father, father!" said I. "Thou'll never go -peach on that poor clemmed man. I'll never leave go on thee, till -thou sayst thou wunnot." "Dunnot be a fool," says he, "words come -readier than deeds to most men. I never thought o' telling th' -police on him; though by G--, he deserves it, and I should na' -ha' minded if some one else had done the dirty work, and got him -clapped up. But now he has strucken me, I could do it less nor -ever, for it would be getting other men to take up my quarrel. -But if ever he gets well o'er this clemming, and is in good -condition, he and I'll have an up and down fight, purring an' a', -and I'll see what I can do for him." And so father shook me -off,--for indeed, I was low and faint enough, and his face was -all clay white, where it weren't bloody, and turned me sick to -look at. And I know not if I slept or waked, or were in a dead -swoon, till Mary come in; and I telled her to fetch yo' to me. -And now dunnot talk to me, but just read out th' chapter. I'm -easier in my mind for having spit it out; but I want some -thoughts of the world that's far away to take the weary taste of -it out o' my mouth. Read me--not a sermon chapter, but a story -chapter; they've pictures in them, which I see when my eyes are -shut. Read about the New Heavens, and the New Earth; and m'appen -I'll forget this.' - -Margaret read in her soft low voice. Though Bessy's eyes were -shut, she was listening for some time, for the moisture of tears -gathered heavy on her eyelashes. At last she slept; with many -starts, and muttered pleadings. Margaret covered her up, and left -her, for she had an uneasy consciousness that she might be wanted -at home, and yet, until now, it seemed cruel to leave the dying -girl. Mrs. Hale was in the drawing-room on her daughter's return. -It was one of her better days, and she was full of praises of the -water-bed. It had been more like the beds at Sir John Beresford's -than anything she had slept on since. She did not know how it -was, but people seemed to have lost the art of making the same -kind of beds as they used to do in her youth. One would think it -was easy enough; there was the same kind of feathers to be had, -and yet somehow, till this last night she did not know when she -had had a good sound resting sleep. Mr. Hale suggested, that -something of the merits of the featherbeds of former days might -be attributed to the activity of youth, which gave a relish to -rest; but this idea was not kindly received by his wife. - -'No, indeed, Mr. Hale, it was those beds at Sir John's. Now, -Margaret, you're young enough, and go about in the day; are the -beds comfortable? I appeal to you. Do they give you a feeling of -perfect repose when you lie down upon them; or rather, don't you -toss about, and try in vain to find an easy position, and waken -in the morning as tired as when you went to bed?' - -Margaret laughed. 'To tell the truth, mamma, I've never thought -about my bed at all, what kind it is. I'm so sleepy at night, -that if I only lie down anywhere, I nap off directly. So I don't -think I'm a competent witness. But then, you know, I never had -the opportunity of trying Sir John Beresford's beds. I never was -at Oxenham.' - -'Were not you? Oh, no! to be sure. It was poor darling Fred I -took with me, I remember. I only went to Oxenham once after I was -married,--to your Aunt Shaw's wedding; and poor little Fred was -the baby then. And I know Dixon did not like changing from lady's -maid to nurse, and I was afraid that if I took her near her old -home, and amongst her own people, she might want to leave me. But -poor baby was taken ill at Oxenham, with his teething; and, what -with my being a great deal with Anna just before her marriage, -and not being very strong myself, Dixon had more of the charge of -him than she ever had before; and it made her so fond of him, and -she was so proud when he would turn away from every one and cling -to her, that I don't believe she ever thought of leaving me -again; though it was very different from what she'd been -accustomed to. Poor Fred! Every body loved him. He was born with -the gift of winning hearts. It makes me think very badly of -Captain Reid when I know that he disliked my own dear boy. I -think it a certain proof he had a bad heart. Ah! Your poor -father, Margaret. He has left the room. He can't bear to hear -Fred spoken of.' - -'I love to hear about him, mamma. Tell me all you like; you never -can tell me too much. Tell me what he was like as a baby.' - -'Why, Margaret, you must not be hurt, but he was much prettier -than you were. I remember, when I first saw you in Dixon's arms, -I said, "Dear, what an ugly little thing!" And she said, "It's -not every child that's like Master Fred, bless him!" Dear! how -well I remember it. Then I could have had Fred in my arms every -minute of the day, and his cot was close by my bed; and now, -now--Margaret--I don't know where my boy is, and sometimes I -think I shall never see him again.' - -Margaret sat down by her mother's sofa on a little stool, and -softly took hold of her hand, caressing it and kissing it, as if -to comfort. Mrs. Hale cried without restraint. At last, she sat -straight, stiff up on the sofa, and turning round to her -daughter, she said with tearful, almost solemn earnestness, -'Margaret, if I can get better,--if God lets me have a chance of -recovery, it must be through seeing my son Frederick once more. -It will waken up all the poor springs of health left in me. - -She paused, and seemed to try and gather strength for something -more yet to be said. Her voice was choked as she went on--was -quavering as with the contemplation of some strange, yet -closely-present idea. - -'And, Margaret, if I am to die--if I am one of those appointed to -die before many weeks are over--I must see my child first. I -cannot think how it must be managed; but I charge you, Margaret, -as you yourself hope for comfort in your last illness, bring him -to me that I may bless him. Only for five minutes, Margaret. -There could be no danger in five minutes. Oh, Margaret, let me -see him before I die!' - -Margaret did not think of anything that might be utterly -unreasonable in this speech: we do not look for reason or logic -in the passionate entreaties of those who are sick unto death; we -are stung with the recollection of a thousand slighted -opportunities of fulfilling the wishes of those who will soon -pass away from among us: and do they ask us for the future -happiness of our lives, we lay it at their feet, and will it away -from us. But this wish of Mrs. Hale's was so natural, so just, so -right to both parties, that Margaret felt as if, on Frederick's -account as well as on her mother's, she ought to overlook all -intermediate chances of danger, and pledge herself to do -everything in her power for its realisation. The large, pleading, -dilated eyes were fixed upon her wistfully, steady in their gaze, -though the poor white lips quivered like those of a child. -Margaret gently rose up and stood opposite to her frail mother; -so that she might gather the secure fulfilment of her wish from -the calm steadiness of her daughter's face. - -'Mamma, I will write to-night, and tell Frederick what you say. I -am as sure that he will come directly to us, as I am sure of my -life. Be easy, mamma, you shall see him as far as anything -earthly can be promised.' - -'You will write to-night? Oh, Margaret! the post goes out at -five--you will write by it, won't you? I have so few hours -left--I feel, dear, as if I should not recover, though sometimes -your father over-persuades me into hoping; you will write -directly, won't you? Don't lose a single post; for just by that -very post I may miss him.' - -'But, mamma, papa is out.' - -'Papa is out! and what then? Do you mean that he would deny me -this last wish, Margaret? Why, I should not be ill--be dying--if -he had not taken me away from Helstone, to this unhealthy, smoky, -sunless place.' - -'Oh, mamma!' said Margaret. - -'Yes; it is so, indeed. He knows it himself; he has said so many -a time. He would do anything for me; you don't mean he would -refuse me this last wish--prayer, if you will. And, indeed, -Margaret, the longing to see Frederick stands between me and God. -I cannot pray till I have this one thing; indeed, I cannot. Don't -lose time, dear, dear Margaret. Write by this very next post. -Then he may be here--here in twenty-two days! For he is sure to -come. No cords or chains can keep him. In twenty-two days I shall -see my boy.' She fell back, and for a short time she took no -notice of the fact that Margaret sat motionless, her hand shading -her eyes. - -'You are not writing!' said her mother at last 'Bring me some -pens and paper; I will try and write myself.' She sat up, -trembling all over with feverish eagerness. Margaret took her -hand down and looked at her mother sadly. - -'Only wait till papa comes in. Let us ask him how best to do it.' - -'You promised, Margaret, not a quarter of an hour ago;--you said -he should come.' - -'And so he shall, mamma; don't cry, my own dear mother. I'll -write here, now,--you shall see me write,--and it shall go by -this very post; and if papa thinks fit, he can write again when -he comes in,--it is only a day's delay. Oh, mamma, don't cry so -pitifully,--it cuts me to the heart.' - -Mrs. Hale could not stop her tears; they came hysterically; and, -in truth, she made no effort to control them, but rather called -up all the pictures of the happy past, and the probable -future--painting the scene when she should lie a corpse, with the -son she had longed to see in life weeping over her, and she -unconscious of his presence--till she was melted by self-pity -into a state of sobbing and exhaustion that made Margaret's heart -ache. But at last she was calm, and greedily watched her -daughter, as she began her letter; wrote it with swift urgent -entreaty; sealed it up hurriedly, for fear her mother should ask -to see it: and then, to make security most sure, at Mrs. Hale's -own bidding, took it herself to the post-office. She was coming -home when her father overtook her. - -'And where have you been, my pretty maid?' asked he. - -'To the post-office,--with a letter; a letter to Frederick. Oh, -papa, perhaps I have done wrong: but mamma was seized with such a -passionate yearning to see him--she said it would make her well -again,--and then she said that she must see him before she -died,--I cannot tell you how urgent she was! Did I do wrong?' Mr. -Hale did not reply at first. Then he said: - -'You should have waited till I came in, Margaret.' - -'I tried to persuade her--' and then she was silent. - -'I don't know,' said Mr. Hale, after a pause. 'She ought to see -him if she wishes it so much, for I believe it would do her much -more good than all the doctor's medicine,--and, perhaps, set her -up altogether; but the danger to him, I'm afraid, is very great.' - -'All these years since the mutiny, papa?' - -'Yes; it is necessary, of course, for government to take very -stringent measures for the repression of offences against -authority, more particularly in the navy, where a commanding -officer needs to be surrounded in his men's eyes with a vivid -consciousness of all the power there is at home to back him, and -take up his cause, and avenge any injuries offered to him, if -need be. Ah! it's no matter to them how far their authorities -have tyrannised,--galled hasty tempers to madness,--or, if that -can be any excuse afterwards, it is never allowed for in the -first instance; they spare no expense, they send out ships,--they -scour the seas to lay hold of the offenders,--the lapse of years -does not wash out the memory of the offence,--it is a fresh and -vivid crime on the Admiralty books till it is blotted out by -blood.' - -'Oh, papa, what have I done! And yet it seemed so right at the -time. I'm sure Frederick himself, would run the risk.' - -'So he would; so he should! Nay, Margaret, I'm glad it is done, -though I durst not have done it myself. I'm thankful it is as it -is; I should have hesitated till, perhaps, it might have been too -late to do any good. Dear Margaret, you have done what is right -about it; and the end is beyond our control.' - -It was all very well; but her father's account of the relentless -manner in which mutinies were punished made Margaret shiver and -creep. If she had decoyed her brother home to blot out the memory -of his error by his blood! She saw her father's anxiety lay -deeper than the source of his latter cheering words. She took his -arm and walked home pensively and wearily by his side. - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -MOTHER AND SON - -'I have found that holy place of rest -Still changeless.' -MRS. HEMANS. - -When Mr. Thornton had left the house that morning he was almost -blinded by his baffled passion. He was as dizzy as if Margaret, -instead of looking, and speaking, and moving like a tender -graceful woman, had been a sturdy fish-wife, and given him a -sound blow with her fists. He had positive bodily pain,--a -violent headache, and a throbbing intermittent pulse. He could -not bear the noise, the garish light, the continued rumble and -movement of the street. He called himself a fool for suffering -so; and yet he could not, at the moment, recollect the cause of -his suffering, and whether it was adequate to the consequences it -had produced. It would have been a relief to him, if he could -have sat down and cried on a door-step by a little child, who was -raging and storming, through his passionate tears, at some injury -he had received. He said to himself, that he hated Margaret, but -a wild, sharp sensation of love cleft his dull, thunderous -feeling like lightning, even as he shaped the words expressive of -hatred. His greatest comfort was in hugging his torment; and in -feeling, as he had indeed said to her, that though she might -despise him, contemn him, treat him with her proud sovereign -indifference, he did not change one whit. She could not make him -change. He loved her, and would love her; and defy her, and this -miserable bodily pain. - -He stood still for a moment, to make this resolution firm and -clear. There was an omnibus passing--going into the country; the -conductor thought he was wishing for a place, and stopped near -the pavement. It was too much trouble to apologise and explain; -so he mounted upon it, and was borne away,--past long rows of -houses--then past detached villas with trim gardens, till they -came to real country hedge-rows, and, by-and-by, to a small -country town. Then every body got down; and so did Mr. Thornton, -and because they walked away he did so too. He went into the -fields, walking briskly, because the sharp motion relieved his -mind. He could remember all about it now; the pitiful figure he -must have cut; the absurd way in which he had gone and done the -very thing he had so often agreed with himself in thinking would -be the most foolish thing in the world; and had met with exactly -the consequences which, in these wise moods, he had always -fore-told were certain to follow, if he ever did make such a fool -of himself. Was he bewitched by those beautiful eyes, that soft, -half-open, sighing mouth which lay so close upon his shoulder -only yesterday? He could not even shake off the recollection that -she had been there; that her arms had been round him, once--if -never again. He only caught glimpses of her; he did not -understand her altogether. At one time she was so brave, and at -another so timid; now so tender, and then so haughty and -regal-proud. And then he thought over every time he had ever seen -her once again, by way of finally forgetting her. He saw her in -every dress, in every mood, and did not know which became her -best. Even this morning, how magnificent she had looked,--her -eyes flashing out upon him at the idea that, because she had -shared his danger yesterday, she had cared for him the least! - -If Mr. Thornton was a fool in the morning, as he assured himself -at least twenty times he was, he did not grow much wiser in the -afternoon. All that he gained in return for his sixpenny omnibus -ride, was a more vivid conviction that there never was, never -could be, any one like Margaret; that she did not love him and -never would; but that she--no! nor the whole world--should never -hinder him from loving her. And so he returned to the little -market-place, and remounted the omnibus to return to Milton. - -It was late in the afternoon when he was set down, near his -warehouse. The accustomed places brought back the accustomed -habits and trains of thought. He knew how much he had to do--more -than his usual work, owing to the commotion of the day before. He -had to see his brother magistrates; he had to complete the -arrangements, only half made in the morning, for the comfort and -safety of his newly imported Irish hands; he had to secure them -from all chance of communication with the discontented -work-people of Milton. Last of all, he had to go home and -encounter his mother. - -Mrs. Thornton had sat in the dining-room all day, every moment -expecting the news of her son's acceptance by Miss Hale. She had -braced herself up many and many a time, at some sudden noise in -the house; had caught up the half-dropped work, and begun to ply -her needle diligently, though through dimmed spectacles, and with -an unsteady hand! and many times had the door opened, and some -indifferent person entered on some insignificant errand. Then her -rigid face unstiffened from its gray frost-bound expression, and -the features dropped into the relaxed look of despondency, so -unusual to their sternness. She wrenched herself away from the -contemplation of all the dreary changes that would be brought -about to herself by her son's marriage; she forced her thoughts -into the accustomed household grooves. The newly-married -couple-to-be would need fresh household stocks of linen; and Mrs. -Thornton had clothes-basket upon clothes-basket, full of -table-cloths and napkins, brought in, and began to reckon up the -store. There was some confusion between what was hers, and -consequently marked G. H. T. (for George and Hannah Thornton), -and what was her son's--bought with his money, marked with his -initials. Some of those marked G. H. T. were Dutch damask of the -old kind, exquisitely fine; none were like them now. Mrs. -Thornton stood looking at them long,--they had been her pride -when she was first married. Then she knit her brows, and pinched -and compressed her lips tight, and carefully unpicked the G. H. -She went so far as to search for the Turkey-red marking-thread to -put in the new initials; but it was all used,--and she had no -heart to send for any more just yet. So she looked fixedly at -vacancy; a series of visions passing before her, in all of which -her son was the principal, the sole object,--her son, her pride, -her property. Still he did not come. Doubtless he was with Miss -Hale. The new love was displacing her already from her place as -first in his heart. A terrible pain--a pang of vain -jealousy--shot through her: she hardly knew whether it was more -physical or mental; but it forced her to sit down. In a moment, -she was up again as straight as ever,--a grim smile upon her face -for the first time that day, ready for the door opening, and the -rejoicing triumphant one, who should never know the sore regret -his mother felt at his marriage. In all this, there was little -thought enough of the future daughter-in-law as an individual. -She was to be John's wife. To take Mrs. Thornton's place as -mistress of the house, was only one of the rich consequences -which decked out the supreme glory; all household plenty and -comfort, all purple and fine linen, honour, love, obedience, -troops of friends, would all come as naturally as jewels on a -king's robe, and be as little thought of for their separate -value. To be chosen by John, would separate a kitchen-wench from -the rest of the world. And Miss Hale was not so bad. If she had -been a Milton lass, Mrs. Thornton would have positively liked -her. She was pungent, and had taste, and spirit, and flavour in -her. True, she was sadly prejudiced, and very ignorant; but that -was to be expected from her southern breeding. A strange sort of -mortified comparison of Fanny with her, went on in Mrs. -Thornton's mind; and for once she spoke harshly to her daughter; -abused her roundly; and then, as if by way of penance, she took -up Henry's Commentaries, and tried to fix her attention on it, -instead of pursuing the employment she took pride and pleasure -in, and continuing her inspection of the table-linen. - -_His_ step at last! She heard him, even while she thought she was -finishing a sentence; while her eye did pass over it, and her -memory could mechanically have repeated it word for word, she -heard him come in at the hall-door. Her quickened sense could -interpret every sound of motion: now he was at the hat-stand--now -at the very room-door. Why did he pause? Let her know the worst. - -Yet her head was down over the book; she did not look up. He came -close to the table, and stood still there, waiting till she -should have finished the paragraph which apparently absorbed her. -By an effort she looked up. Well, John?' - -He knew what that little speech meant. But he had steeled -himself. He longed to reply with a jest; the bitterness of his -heart could have uttered one, but his mother deserved better of -him. He came round behind her, so that she could not see his -looks, and, bending back her gray, stony face, he kissed it, -murmuring: - -'No one loves me,--no one cares for me, but you, mother.' - -He turned away and stood leaning his head against the -mantel-piece, tears forcing themselves into his manly eyes. She -stood up,--she tottered. For the first time in her life, the -strong woman tottered. She put her hands on his shoulders; she -was a tall woman. She looked into his face; she made him look at -her. - -'Mother's love is given by God, John. It holds fast for ever and -ever. A girl's love is like a puff of smoke,--it changes with -every wind. And she would not have you, my own lad, would not -she?' She set her teeth; she showed them like a dog for the whole -length of her mouth. He shook his head. - -'I am not fit for her, mother; I knew I was not.' - -She ground out words between her closed teeth. He could not hear -what she said; but the look in her eyes interpreted it to be a -curse,--if not as coarsely worded, as fell in intent as ever was -uttered. And yet her heart leapt up light, to know he was her own -again. - -'Mother!' said he, hurriedly, 'I cannot hear a word against her. -Spare me,--spare me! I am very weak in my sore heart;--I love her -yet; I love her more than ever.' - -'And I hate her,' said Mrs. Thornton, in a low fierce voice. 'I -tried not to hate her, when she stood between you and me, -because,--I said to myself,--she will make him happy; and I would -give my heart's blood to do that. But now, I hate her for your -misery's sake. Yes, John, it's no use hiding up your aching heart -from me. I am the mother that bore you, and your sorrow is my -agony; and if you don't hate her, I do.' - -'Then, mother, you make me love her more. She is unjustly treated -by you, and I must make the balance even. But why do we talk of -love or hatred? She does not care for me, and that is -enough,--too much. Let us never name the subject again. It is the -only thing you can do for me in the matter. Let us never name -her.' - -'With all my heart. I only wish that she, and all belonging to -her, were swept back to the place they came from.' - -He stood still, gazing into the fire for a minute or two longer. -Her dry dim eyes filled with unwonted tears as she looked at him; -but she seemed just as grim and quiet as usual when he next -spoke. - -'Warrants are out against three men for conspiracy, mother. The -riot yesterday helped to knock up the strike.' - -And Margaret's name was no more mentioned between Mrs. Thornton -and her son. They fell back into their usual mode of talk,--about -facts, not opinions, far less feelings. Their voices and tones -were calm and cold a stranger might have gone away and thought -that he had never seen such frigid indifference of demeanour -between such near relations. - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -FRUIT-PIECE - -'For never any thing can be amiss -When simpleness and duty tender it.' -MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. - -Mr. Thornton went straight and clear into all the interests of -the following day. There was a slight demand for finished goods; -and as it affected his branch of the trade, he took advantage of -it, and drove hard bargains. He was sharp to the hour at the -meeting of his brother magistrates,--giving them the best -assistance of his strong sense, and his power of seeing -consequences at a glance, and so coming to a rapid decision. -Older men, men of long standing in the town, men of far greater -wealth--realised and turned into land, while his was all floating -capital, engaged in his trade--looked to him for prompt, ready -wisdom. He was the one deputed to see and arrange with the -police--to lead in all the requisite steps. And he cared for -their unconscious deference no more than for the soft west wind, -that scarcely made the smoke from the great tall chimneys swerve -in its straight upward course. He was not aware of the silent -respect paid to him. If it had been otherwise, he would have felt -it as an obstacle in his progress to the object he had in view. -As it was, he looked to the speedy accomplishment of that alone. -It was his mother's greedy ears that sucked in, from the -women-kind of these magistrates and wealthy men, how highly Mr. -This or Mr. That thought of Mr. Thornton; that if he had not been -there, things would have gone on very differently,--very badly, -indeed. He swept off his business right and left that day. It -seemed as though his deep mortification of yesterday, and the -stunned purposeless course of the hours afterwards, had cleared -away all the mists from his intellect. He felt his power and -revelled in it. He could almost defy his heart. If he had known -it, he could have sang the song of the miller who lived by the -river Dee:-- - -'I care for nobody--Nobody cares for me.' - -The evidence against Boucher, and other ringleaders of the riot, -was taken before him; that against the three others, for -conspiracy, failed. But he sternly charged the police to be on -the watch; for the swift right arm of the law should be in -readiness to strike, as soon as they could prove a fault. And -then he left the hot reeking room in the borough court, and went -out into the fresher, but still sultry street. It seemed as -though he gave way all at once; he was so languid that he could -not control his thoughts; they would wander to her; they would -bring back the scene,--not of his repulse and rejection the day -before but the looks, the actions of the day before that. He went -along the crowded streets mechanically, winding in and out among -the people, but never seeing them,--almost sick with longing for -that one half-hour--that one brief space of time when she clung -to him, and her heart beat against his--to come once again. - -'Why, Mr. Thornton you're cutting me very coolly, I must say. And -how is Mrs. Thornton? Brave weather this! We doctors don't like -it, I can tell you!' - -'I beg your pardon, Dr. Donaldson. I really didn't see you. My -mother's quite well, thank you. It is a fine day, and good for -the harvest, I hope. If the wheat is well got in, we shall have a -brisk trade next year, whatever you doctors have.' - -'Ay, ay. Each man for himself Your bad weather, and your bad -times, are my good ones. When trade is bad, there's more -undermining of health, and preparation for death, going on among -you Milton men than you're aware of.' - -'Not with me, Doctor. I'm made of iron. The news of the worst bad -debt I ever had, never made my pulse vary. This strike, which -affects me more than any one else in Milton,--more than -Hamper,--never comes near my appetite. You must go elsewhere for -a patient, Doctor.' - -'By the way, you've recommended me a good patient, poor lady! Not -to go on talking in this heartless way, I seriously believe that -Mrs. Hale--that lady in Crampton, you know--hasn't many weeks to -live. I never had any hope of cure, as I think I told you; but -I've been seeing her to-day, and I think very badly of her.' - -Mr. Thornton was silent. The vaunted steadiness of pulse failed -him for an instant. - -'Can I do anything, Doctor?' he asked, in an altered voice. 'You -know--you would see, that money is not very plentiful; are there -any comforts or dainties she ought to have?' - -'No,' replied the Doctor, shaking his head. 'She craves for -fruit,--she has a constant fever on her; but jargonelle pears -will do as well as anything, and there are quantities of them in -the market.' - -'You will tell me, if there is anything I can do, I'm sure, -replied Mr. Thornton. 'I rely upon you.' - -'Oh! never fear! I'll not spare your purse,--I know it's deep -enough. I wish you'd give me carte-blanche for all my patients, -and all their wants.' - -But Mr. Thornton had no general benevolence,--no universal -philanthropy; few even would have given him credit for strong -affections. But he went straight to the first fruit-shop in -Milton, and chose out the bunch of purple grapes with the most -delicate bloom upon them,--the richest-coloured peaches,--the -freshest vine-leaves. They were packed into a basket, and the -shopman awaited the answer to his inquiry, 'Where shall we send -them to, sir?' - -There was no reply. 'To Marlborough Mills, I suppose, sir?' - -'No!' Mr. Thornton said. 'Give the basket to me,--I'll take it.' - -It took up both his hands to carry it; and he had to pass through -the busiest part of the town for feminine shopping. Many a young -lady of his acquaintance turned to look after him, and thought it -strange to see him occupied just like a porter or an errand-boy. - -He was thinking, 'I will not be daunted from doing as I choose by -the thought of her. I like to take this fruit to the poor mother, -and it is simply right that I should. She shall never scorn me -out of doing what I please. A pretty joke, indeed, if, for fear -of a haughty girl, I failed in doing a kindness to a man I liked -I do it for Mr. Hale; I do it in defiance of her.' - -He went at an unusual pace, and was soon at Crampton. He went -upstairs two steps at a time, and entered the drawing-room before -Dixon could announce him,--his face flushed, his eyes shining -with kindly earnestness. Mrs. Hale lay on the sofa, heated with -fever. Mr. Hale was reading aloud. Margaret was working on a low -stool by her mother's side. Her heart fluttered, if his did not, -at this interview. But he took no notice of her, hardly of Mr. -Hale himself; he went up straight with his basket to Mrs. Hale, -and said, in that subdued and gentle tone, which is so touching -when used by a robust man in full health, speaking to a feeble -invalid-- - -'I met Dr. Donaldson, ma'am, and as he said fruit would be good -for you, I have taken the liberty--the great liberty of bringing -you some that seemed to me fine.' Mrs. Hale was excessively -surprised; excessively pleased; quite in a tremble of eagerness. -Mr. Hale with fewer words expressed a deeper gratitude. - -'Fetch a plate, Margaret--a basket--anything.' Margaret stood up -by the table, half afraid of moving or making any noise to arouse -Mr. Thornton into a consciousness of her being in the room. She -thought it would be awkward for both to be brought into conscious -collision; and fancied that, from her being on a low seat at -first, and now standing behind her father, he had overlooked her -in his haste. As if he did not feel the consciousness of her -presence all over, though his eyes had never rested on her! - -'I must go,' said he, 'I cannot stay. If you will forgive this -liberty,--my rough ways,--too abrupt, I fear--but I will be more -gentle next time. You will allow me the pleasure of bringing you -some fruit again, if I should see any that is tempting. Good -afternoon, Mr. Hale. Good-bye, ma'am.' - -He was gone. Not one word: not one look to Margaret. She believed -that he had not seen her. She went for a plate in silence, and -lifted the fruit out tenderly, with the points of her delicate -taper fingers. It was good of him to bring it; and after -yesterday too! - -'Oh! it is so delicious!' said Mrs. Hale, in a feeble voice. 'How -kind of him to think of me! Margaret love, only taste these -grapes! Was it not good of him?' - -'Yes!' said Margaret, quietly. - -'Margaret!' said Mrs. Hale, rather querulously, 'you won't like -anything Mr. Thornton does. I never saw anybody so prejudiced.' - -Mr. Hale had been peeling a peach for his wife; and, cutting off -a small piece for himself, he said: - -'If I had any prejudices, the gift of such delicious fruit as -this would melt them all away. I have not tasted such fruit--no! -not even in Hampshire--since I was a boy; and to boys, I fancy, -all fruit is good. I remember eating sloes and crabs with a -relish. Do you remember the matted-up currant bushes, Margaret, -at the corner of the west-wall in the garden at home?' - -Did she not? Did she not remember every weather-stain on the old -stone wall; the gray and yellow lichens that marked it like a -map; the little crane's-bill that grew in the crevices? She had -been shaken by the events of the last two days; her whole life -just now was a strain upon her fortitude; and, somehow, these -careless words of her father's, touching on the remembrance of -the sunny times of old, made her start up, and, dropping her -sewing on the ground, she went hastily out of the room into her -own little chamber. She had hardly given way to the first choking -sob, when she became aware of Dixon standing at her drawers, and -evidently searching for something. - -'Bless me, miss! How you startled me! Missus is not worse, is -she? Is anything the matter?' - -'No, nothing. Only I'm silly, Dixon, and want a glass of water. -What are you looking for? I keep my muslins in that drawer.' - -Dixon did not speak, but went on rummaging. The scent of lavender -came out and perfumed the room. - -At last Dixon found what she wanted; what it was Margaret could -not see. Dixon faced round, and spoke to her: - -'Now I don't like telling you what I wanted, because you've -fretting enough to go through, and I know you'll fret about this. -I meant to have kept it from you till night, may be, or such -times as that.' - -'What is the matter? Pray, tell me, Dixon, at once.' - -'That young woman you go to see--Higgins, I mean.' - -'Well?' - -'Well! she died this morning, and her sister is here--come to beg -a strange thing. It seems, the young woman who died had a fancy -for being buried in something of yours, and so the sister's come -to ask for it,--and I was looking for a night-cap that wasn't too -good to give away.' - -'Oh! let me find one,' said Margaret, in the midst of her tears. -'Poor Bessy! I never thought I should not see her again.' - -'Why, that's another thing. This girl down-stairs wanted me to -ask you, if you would like to see her.' - -'But she's dead!' said Margaret, turning a little pale. 'I never -saw a dead person. No! I would rather not.' - -'I should never have asked you, if you hadn't come in. I told her -you wouldn't.' - -'I will go down and speak to her,' said Margaret, afraid lest -Dixon's harshness of manner might wound the poor girl. So, taking -the cap in her hand, she went to the kitchen. Mary's face was all -swollen with crying, and she burst out afresh when she saw -Margaret. - -'Oh, ma'am, she loved yo', she loved yo', she did indeed!' And -for a long time, Margaret could not get her to say anything more -than this. At last, her sympathy, and Dixon's scolding, forced -out a few facts. Nicholas Higgins had gone out in the morning, -leaving Bessy as well as on the day before. But in an hour she -was taken worse; some neighbour ran to the room where Mary was -working; they did not know where to find her father; Mary had -only come in a few minutes before she died. - -'It were a day or two ago she axed to be buried in somewhat o' -yourn. She were never tired o' talking o' yo'. She used to say -yo' were the prettiest thing she'd ever clapped eyes on. She -loved yo' dearly Her last words were, "Give her my affectionate -respects; and keep father fro' drink." Yo'll come and see her, -ma'am. She would ha' thought it a great compliment, I know.' - -Margaret shrank a little from answering. - -'Yes, perhaps I may. Yes, I will. I'll come before tea. But -where's your father, Mary?' - -Mary shook her head, and stood up to be going. - -'Miss Hale,' said Dixon, in a low voice, 'where's the use o' your -going to see the poor thing laid out? I'd never say a word -against it, if it could do the girl any good; and I wouldn't mind -a bit going myself, if that would satisfy her. They've just a -notion, these common folks, of its being a respect to the -departed. Here,' said she, turning sharply round, 'I'll come and -see your sister. Miss Hale is busy, and she can't come, or else -she would.' - -The girl looked wistfully at Margaret. Dixon's coming might be a -compliment, but it was not the same thing to the poor sister, who -had had her little pangs of jealousy, during Bessy's lifetime, at -the intimacy between her and the young lady. - -'No, Dixon!' said Margaret with decision. 'I will go. Mary, you -shall see me this afternoon.' And for fear of her own cowardice, -she went away, in order to take from herself any chance of -changing her determination. - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -COMFORT IN SORROW - - -'Through cross to crown!--And though thy spirit's life -Trials untold assail with giant strength, -Good cheer! good cheer! Soon ends the bitter strife, -And thou shalt reign in peace with Christ at length.' -KOSEGARTEN. - -'Ay sooth, we feel too strong in weal, to need Thee on that road; -But woe being come, the soul is dumb, that crieth not on "God."' -MRS. BROWNING. - -That afternoon she walked swiftly to the Higgins's house. Mary -was looking out for her, with a half-distrustful face. Margaret -smiled into her eyes to re-assure her. They passed quickly through -the house-place, upstairs, and into the quiet presence of the dead. -Then Margaret was glad that she had come. The face, often so weary -with pain, so restless with troublous thoughts, had now the faint -soft smile of eternal rest upon it. The slow tears gathered into -Margaret's eyes, but a deep calm entered into her soul. And that -was death! It looked more peaceful than life. All beautiful -scriptures came into her mind. 'They rest from their labours.' -'The weary are at rest.' 'He giveth His beloved sleep.' - -Slowly, slowly Margaret turned away from the bed. Mary was humbly -sobbing in the back-ground. They went down stairs without a word. - -Resting his hand upon the house-table, Nicholas Higgins stood in -the midst of the floor; his great eyes startled open by the news -he had heard, as he came along the court, from many busy tongues. -His eyes were dry and fierce; studying the reality of her death; -bringing himself to understand that her place should know her no -more. For she had been sickly, dying so long, that he had -persuaded himself she would not die; that she would 'pull -through.' - -Margaret felt as if she had no business to be there, familiarly -acquainting herself with the surroundings of death which he, the -father, had only just learnt. There had been a pause of an -instant on the steep crooked stair, when she first saw him; but -now she tried to steal past his abstracted gaze, and to leave him -in the solemn circle of his household misery. - -Mary sat down on the first chair she came to, and throwing her -apron over her head, began to cry. - -The noise appeared to rouse him. He took sudden hold of -Margaret's arm, and held her till he could gather words to speak -seemed dry; they came up thick, and choked, and hoarse: - -'Were yo' with her? Did yo' see her die?' - -'No!' replied Margaret, standing still with the utmost patience, -now she found herself perceived. It was some time before he spoke -again, but he kept his hold on her arm. - -'All men must die,' said he at last, with a strange sort of -gravity, which first suggested to Margaret the idea that he had -been drinking--not enough to intoxicate himself, but enough to -make his thoughts bewildered. 'But she were younger than me.' -Still he pondered over the event, not looking at Margaret, though -he grasped her tight. Suddenly, he looked up at her with a wild -searching inquiry in his glance. 'Yo're sure and certain she's -dead--not in a dwam, a faint?--she's been so before, often.' - -'She is dead,' replied Margaret. She felt no fear in speaking to -him, though he hurt her arm with his gripe, and wild gleams came -across the stupidity of his eyes. - -'She is dead!' she said. - -He looked at her still with that searching look, which seemed to -fade out of his eyes as he gazed. Then he suddenly let go his -hold of Margaret, and, throwing his body half across the table, -he shook it and every piece of furniture in the room, with his -violent sobs. Mary came trembling towards him. - -'Get thee gone!--get thee gone!' he cried, striking wildly and -blindly at her. 'What do I care for thee?' Margaret took her -hand, and held it softly in hers. He tore his hair, he beat his -head against the hard wood, then he lay exhausted and stupid. -Still his daughter and Margaret did not move. Mary trembled from -head to foot. - -At last--it might have been a quarter of an hour, it might have -been an hour--he lifted himself up. His eyes were swollen and -bloodshot, and he seemed to have forgotten that any one was by; -he scowled at the watchers when he saw them. He Shook himself -heavily, gave them one more sullen look, spoke never a word, but -made for the door. - -'Oh, father, father!' said Mary, throwing herself upon his -arm,--'not to-night! Any night but to-night. Oh, help me! he's -going out to drink again! Father, I'll not leave yo'. Yo' may -strike, but I'll not leave yo'. She told me last of all to keep -yo' fro' drink!' - -But Margaret stood in the doorway, silent yet commanding. He -looked up at her defyingly. - -'It's my own house. Stand out o' the way, wench, or I'll make -yo'!' He had shaken off Mary with violence; he looked ready to -strike Margaret. But she never moved a feature--never took her -deep, serious eyes off him. He stared back on her with gloomy -fierceness. If she had stirred hand or foot, he would have thrust -her aside with even more violence than he had used to his own -daughter, whose face was bleeding from her fall against a chair. - -'What are yo' looking at me in that way for?' asked he at last, -daunted and awed by her severe calm. 'If yo' think for to keep me -from going what gait I choose, because she loved yo'--and in my -own house, too, where I never asked yo' to come, yo're mista'en. -It's very hard upon a man that he can't go to the only comfort -left.' - -Margaret felt that he acknowledged her power. What could she do -next? He had seated himself on a chair, close to the door; -half-conquered, half-resenting; intending to go out as soon as -she left her position, but unwilling to use the violence he had -threatened not five minutes before. Margaret laid her hand on his -arm. - -'Come with me,' she said. 'Come and see her!' - -The voice in which she spoke was very low and solemn; but there -was no fear or doubt expressed in it, either of him or of his -compliance. He sullenly rose up. He stood uncertain, with dogged -irresolution upon his face. She waited him there; quietly and -patiently waited for his time to move. He had a strange pleasure -in making her wait; but at last he moved towards the stairs. - -She and he stood by the corpse. - -'Her last words to Mary were, "Keep my father fro' drink."' - -'It canna hurt her now,' muttered he. 'Nought can hurt her now.' -Then, raising his voice to a wailing cry, he went on: 'We may -quarrel and fall out--we may make peace and be friends--we may -clem to skin and bone--and nought o' all our griefs will ever -touch her more. Hoo's had her portion on 'em. What wi' hard work -first, and sickness at last, hoo's led the life of a dog. And to -die without knowing one good piece o' rejoicing in all her days! -Nay, wench, whatever hoo said, hoo can know nought about it now, -and I mun ha' a sup o' drink just to steady me again sorrow.' - -'No,' said Margaret, softening with his softened manner. 'You -shall not. If her life has been what you say, at any rate she did -not fear death as some do. Oh, you should have heard her speak of -the life to come--the life hidden with God, that she is now gone -to.' - -He shook his head, glancing sideways up at Margaret as he did so. -His pale, haggard face struck her painfully. - -'You are sorely tired. Where have you been all day--not at work?' - -'Not at work, sure enough,' said he, with a short, grim laugh. -'Not at what you call work. I were at the Committee, till I were -sickened out wi' trying to make fools hear reason. I were fetched -to Boucher's wife afore seven this morning. She's bed-fast, but -she were raving and raging to know where her dunder-headed brute -of a chap was, as if I'd to keep him--as if he were fit to be -ruled by me. The d----d fool, who has put his foot in all our -plans! And I've walked my feet sore wi' going about for to see -men who wouldn't be seen, now the law is raised again us. And I -were sore-hearted, too, which is worse than sore-footed; and if I -did see a friend who ossed to treat me, I never knew hoo lay -a-dying here. Bess, lass, thou'd believe me, thou -wouldst--wouldstn't thou?' turning to the poor dumb form with -wild appeal. - -'I am sure,' said Margaret, 'I am sure you did not know: it was -quite sudden. But now, you see, it would be different; you do -know; you do see her lying there; you hear what she said with her -last breath. You will not go?' - -No answer. In fact, where was he to look for comfort? - -'Come home with me,' said she at last, with a bold venture, half -trembling at her own proposal as she made it. 'At least you shall -have some comfortable food, which I'm sure you need.' - -'Yo'r father's a parson?' asked he, with a sudden turn in his -ideas. - -'He was,' said Margaret, shortly. - -'I'll go and take a dish o' tea with him, since yo've asked me. -I've many a thing I often wished to say to a parson, and I'm not -particular as to whether he's preaching now, or not.' - -Margaret was perplexed; his drinking tea with her father, who -would be totally unprepared for his visitor--her mother so -ill--seemed utterly out of the question; and yet if she drew back -now, it would be worse than ever--sure to drive him to the -gin-shop. She thought that if she could only get him to their own -house, it was so great a step gained that she would trust to the -chapter of accidents for the next. - -'Goodbye, ou'd wench! We've parted company at last, we have! But -thou'st been a blessin' to thy father ever sin' thou wert born. -Bless thy white lips, lass,--they've a smile on 'em now! and I'm -glad to see it once again, though I'm lone and forlorn for -evermore.' - -He stooped down and fondly kissed his daughter; covered up her -face, and turned to follow Margaret. She had hastily gone down -stairs to tell Mary of the arrangement; to say it was the only -way she could think of to keep him from the gin-palace; to urge -Mary to come too, for her heart smote her at the idea of leaving -the poor affectionate girl alone. But Mary had friends among the -neighbours, she said, who would come in and sit a bit with her, -it was all right; but father-- - -He was there by them as she would have spoken more. He had shaken -off his emotion, as if he was ashamed of having ever given way to -it; and had even o'erleaped himself so much that he assumed a -sort of bitter mirth, like the crackling of thorns under a pot. - -'I'm going to take my tea wi' her father, I am!' - -But he slouched his cap low down over his brow as he went out -into the street, and looked neither to the right nor to the left, -while he tramped along by Margaret's side; he feared being upset -by the words, still more the looks, of sympathising neighbours. -So he and Margaret walked in silence. - -As he got near the street in which he knew she lived, he looked -down at his clothes, his hands, and shoes. - -'I should m'appen ha' cleaned mysel', first?' - -It certainly would have been desirable, but Margaret assured him -he should be allowed to go into the yard, and have soap and towel -provided; she could not let him slip out of her hands just then. - -While he followed the house-servant along the passage, and -through the kitchen, stepping cautiously on every dark mark in -the pattern of the oil-cloth, in order to conceal his dirty -foot-prints, Margaret ran upstairs. She met Dixon on the landing. - -'How is mamma?--where is papa?' - -Missus was tired, and gone into her own room. She had wanted to -go to bed, but Dixon had persuaded her to lie down on the sofa, -and have her tea brought to her there; it would be better than -getting restless by being too long in bed. - -So far, so good. But where was Mr. Hale? In the drawing-room. -Margaret went in half breathless with the hurried story she had -to tell. Of course, she told it incompletely; and her father was -rather 'taken aback' by the idea of the drunken weaver awaiting -him in his quiet study, with whom he was expected to drink tea, -and on whose behalf Margaret was anxiously pleading. The meek, -kind-hearted Mr. Hale would have readily tried to console him in -his grief, but, unluckily, the point Margaret dwelt upon most -forcibly was the fact of his having been drinking, and her having -brought him home with her as a last expedient to keep him from -the gin-shop. One little event had come out of another so -naturally that Margaret was hardly conscious of what she had -done, till she saw the slight look of repugnance on her father's -face. - -'Oh, papa! he really is a man you will not dislike--if you won't -be shocked to begin with.' - -'But, Margaret, to bring a drunken man home--and your mother so -ill!' - -Margaret's countenance fell. 'I am sorry, papa. He is very -quiet--he is not tipsy at all. He was only rather strange at -first, but that might be the shock of poor Bessy's death.' -Margaret's eyes filled with tears. Mr. Hale took hold of her -sweet pleading face in both his hands, and kissed her forehead. - -'It is all right, dear. I'll go and make him as comfortable as I -can, and do you attend to your mother. Only, if you can come in -and make a third in the study, I shall be glad.' - -'Oh, yes--thank you.' But as Mr. Hale was leaving the room, she -ran after him: - -'Papa--you must not wonder at what he says: he's an----I mean he -does not believe in much of what we do.' - -'Oh dear! a drunken infidel weaver!' said Mr. Hale to himself, in -dismay. But to Margaret he only said, 'If your mother goes to -sleep, be sure you come directly.' - -Margaret went into her mother's room. Mrs. Hale lifted herself up -from a doze. - -'When did you write to Frederick, Margaret? Yesterday, or the day -before?' - -'Yesterday, mamma.' - -'Yesterday. And the letter went?' - -'Yes. I took it myself' - -'Oh, Margaret, I'm so afraid of his coming! If he should be -recognised! If he should be taken! If he should be executed, -after all these years that he has kept away and lived in safety! -I keep falling asleep and dreaming that he is caught and being -tried.' - -'Oh, mamma, don't be afraid. There will be some risk no doubt; -but we will lessen it as much as ever we can. And it is so -little! Now, if we were at Helstone, there would be twenty--a -hundred times as much. There, everybody would remember him and if -there was a stranger known to be in the house, they would be sure -to guess it was Frederick; while here, nobody knows or cares for -us enough to notice what we do. Dixon will keep the door like a -dragon--won't you, Dixon--while he is here?' - -'They'll be clever if they come in past me!' said Dixon, showing -her teeth at the bare idea. - -'And he need not go out, except in the dusk, poor fellow!' - -'Poor fellow!' echoed Mrs. Hale. 'But I almost wish you had not -written. Would it be too late to stop him if you wrote again, -Margaret?' - -'I'm afraid it would, mamma,' said Margaret, remembering the -urgency with which she had entreated him to come directly, if he -wished to see his mother alive. - -'I always dislike that doing things in such a hurry,' said Mrs. -Hale. - -Margaret was silent. - -'Come now, ma am,' said Dixon, with a kind of cheerful authority, -'you know seeing Master Frederick is just the very thing of all -others you're longing for. And I'm glad Miss Margaret wrote off -straight, without shilly-shallying. I've had a great mind to do -it myself. And we'll keep him snug, depend upon it. There's only -Martha in the house that would not do a good deal to save him on -a pinch; and I've been thinking she might go and see her mother -just at that very time. She's been saying once or twice she -should like to go, for her mother has had a stroke since she came -here, only she didn't like to ask. But I'll see about her being -safe off, as soon as we know when he comes, God bless him! So -take your tea, ma'am, in comfort, and trust to me.' - -Mrs. Hale did trust in Dixon more than in Margaret. Dixon's words -quieted her for the time. Margaret poured out the tea in silence, -trying to think of something agreeable to say; but her thoughts -made answer something like Daniel O'Rourke, when the -man-in-the-moon asked him to get off his reaping-hook. 'The more -you ax us, the more we won't stir.' The more she tried to think -of something anything besides the danger to which Frederick would -be exposed--the more closely her imagination clung to the -unfortunate idea presented to her. Her mother prattled with -Dixon, and seemed to have utterly forgotten the possibility of -Frederick being tried and executed--utterly forgotten that at her -wish, if by Margaret's deed, he was summoned into this danger. -Her mother was one of those who throw out terrible possibilities, -miserable probabilities, unfortunate chances of all kinds, as a -rocket throws out sparks; but if the sparks light on some -combustible matter, they smoulder first, and burst out into a -frightful flame at last. Margaret was glad when, her filial -duties gently and carefully performed, she could go down into the -study. She wondered how her father and Higgins had got on. - -In the first place, the decorous, kind-hearted, simple, -old-fashioned gentleman, had unconsciously called out, by his own -refinement and courteousness of manner, all the latent courtesy -in the other. - -Mr. Hale treated all his fellow-creatures alike: it never entered -into his head to make any difference because of their rank. He -placed a chair for Nicholas stood up till he, at Mr. Hale's -request, took a seat; and called him, invariably, 'Mr. Higgins,' -instead of the curt 'Nicholas' or 'Higgins,' to which the -'drunken infidel weaver' had been accustomed. But Nicholas was -neither an habitual drunkard nor a thorough infidel. He drank to -drown care, as he would have himself expressed it: and he was -infidel so far as he had never yet found any form of faith to -which he could attach himself, heart and soul. - -Margaret was a little surprised, and very much pleased, when she -found her father and Higgins in earnest conversation--each -speaking with gentle politeness to the other, however their -opinions might clash. Nicholas--clean, tidied (if only at the -pump-trough), and quiet spoken--was a new creature to her, who -had only seen him in the rough independence of his own -hearthstone. He had 'slicked' his hair down with the fresh water; -he had adjusted his neck-handkerchief, and borrowed an odd -candle-end to polish his clogs with and there he sat, enforcing -some opinion on her father, with a strong Darkshire accent, it is -true, but with a lowered voice, and a good, earnest composure on -his face. Her father, too, was interested in what his companion -was saying. He looked round as she came in, smiled, and quietly -gave her his chair, and then sat down afresh as quickly as -possible, and with a little bow of apology to his guest for the -interruption. Higgins nodded to her as a sign of greeting; and -she softly adjusted her working materials on the table, and -prepared to listen. - -'As I was a-sayin, sir, I reckon yo'd not ha' much belief in yo' -if yo' lived here,--if yo'd been bred here. I ax your pardon if I -use wrong words; but what I mean by belief just now, is -a-thinking on sayings and maxims and promises made by folk yo' -never saw, about the things and the life, yo' never saw, nor no -one else. Now, yo' say these are true things, and true sayings, -and a true life. I just say, where's the proof? There's many and -many a one wiser, and scores better learned than I am around -me,--folk who've had time to think on these things,--while my -time has had to be gi'en up to getting my bread. Well, I sees -these people. Their lives is pretty much open to me. They're real -folk. They don't believe i' the Bible,--not they. They may say -they do, for form's sake; but Lord, sir, d'ye think their first -cry i' th' morning is, "What shall I do to get hold on eternal -life?" or "What shall I do to fill my purse this blessed day? -Where shall I go? What bargains shall I strike?" The purse and -the gold and the notes is real things; things as can be felt and -touched; them's realities; and eternal life is all a talk, very -fit for--I ax your pardon, sir; yo'r a parson out o' work, I -believe. Well! I'll never speak disrespectful of a man in the -same fix as I'm in mysel'. But I'll just ax yo another question, -sir, and I dunnot want yo to answer it, only to put in yo'r pipe, -and smoke it, afore yo' go for to set down us, who only believe -in what we see, as fools and noddies. If salvation, and life to -come, and what not, was true--not in men's words, but in men's -hearts' core--dun yo' not think they'd din us wi' it as they do -wi' political 'conomy? They're mighty anxious to come round us -wi' that piece o' wisdom; but t'other would be a greater -convarsion, if it were true.' - -'But the masters have nothing to do with your religion. All that -they are connected with you in is trade,--so they think,--and all -that it concerns them, therefore, to rectify your opinions in is -the science of trade.' - -'I'm glad, sir,' said Higgins, with a curious wink of his eye, -'that yo' put in, "so they think." I'd ha' thought yo' a -hypocrite, I'm afeard, if yo' hadn't, for all yo'r a parson, or -rayther because yo'r a parson. Yo' see, if yo'd spoken o' -religion as a thing that, if it was true, it didn't concern all -men to press on all men's attention, above everything else in -this 'varsal earth, I should ha' thought yo' a knave for to be a -parson; and I'd rather think yo' a fool than a knave. No offence, -I hope, sir.' - -'None at all. You consider me mistaken, and I consider you far -more fatally mistaken. I don't expect to convince you in a -day,--not in one conversation; but let us know each other, and -speak freely to each other about these things, and the truth will -prevail. I should not believe in God if I did not believe that. -Mr. Higgins, I trust, whatever else you have given up, you -believe'--(Mr. Hale's voice dropped low in reverence)--'you -believe in Him.' - -Nicholas Higgins suddenly stood straight, stiff up. Margaret -started to her feet,--for she thought, by the working of his -face, he was going into convulsions. Mr. Hale looked at her -dismayed. At last Higgins found words: - -'Man! I could fell yo' to the ground for tempting me. Whatten -business have yo' to try me wi' your doubts? Think o' her lying -theere, after the life hoo's led and think then how yo'd deny me -the one sole comfort left--that there is a God, and that He set -her her life. I dunnot believe she'll ever live again,' said he, -sitting down, and drearily going on, as if to the unsympathising -fire. 'I dunnot believe in any other life than this, in which she -dreed such trouble, and had such never-ending care; and I cannot -bear to think it were all a set o' chances, that might ha' been -altered wi' a breath o' wind. There's many a time when I've -thought I didna believe in God, but I've never put it fair out -before me in words, as many men do. I may ha' laughed at those -who did, to brave it out like--but I have looked round at after, -to see if He heard me, if so be there was a He; but to-day, when -I'm left desolate, I wunnot listen to yo' wi' yo'r questions, and -yo'r doubts. There's but one thing steady and quiet i' all this -reeling world, and, reason or no reason, I'll cling to that. It's -a' very well for happy folk'---- - -Margaret touched his arm very softly. She had not spoken before, -nor had he heard her rise. - -'Nicholas, we do not want to reason; you misunderstand my father. -We do not reason--we believe; and so do you. It is the one sole -comfort in such times.' - -He turned round and caught her hand. 'Ay! it is, it is--(brushing -away the tears with the back of his hand).--'But yo' know, she's -lying dead at home and I'm welly dazed wi' sorrow, and at times I -hardly know what I'm saying. It's as if speeches folk ha' -made--clever and smart things as I've thought at the time--come -up now my heart's welly brossen. Th' strike's failed as well; dun -yo' know that, miss? I were coming whoam to ask her, like a -beggar as I am, for a bit o' comfort i' that trouble; and I were -knocked down by one who telled me she were dead--just dead That -were all; but that were enough for me. - -Mr. Hale blew his nose, and got up to snuff the candles in order -to conceal his emotion. 'He's not an infidel, Margaret; how could -you say so?' muttered he reproachfully 'I've a good mind to read -him the fourteenth chapter of Job.' - -'Not yet, papa, I think. Perhaps not at all. Let us ask him about -the strike, and give him all the sympathy he needs, and hoped to -have from poor Bessy.' - -So they questioned and listened. The workmen's calculations were -based (like too many of the masters') on false premises. They -reckoned on their fellow-men as if they possessed the calculable -powers of machines, no more, no less; no allowance for human -passions getting the better of reason, as in the case of Boucher -and the rioters; and believing that the representations of their -injuries would have the same effect on strangers far away, as the -injuries (fancied or real) had upon themselves. They were -consequently surprised and indignant at the poor Irish, who had -allowed themselves to be imported and brought over to take their -places. This indignation was tempered, in some degree, by -contempt for 'them Irishers,' and by pleasure at the idea of the -bungling way in which they would set to work, and perplex their -new masters with their ignorance and stupidity, strange -exaggerated stories of which were already spreading through the -town. But the most cruel cut of all was that of the Milton -workmen, who had defied and disobeyed the commands of the Union -to keep the peace, whatever came; who had originated discord in -the camp, and spread the panic of the law being arrayed against -them. - -'And so the strike is at an end,' said Margaret. - -'Ay, miss. It's save as save can. Th' factory doors will need -open wide to-morrow to let in all who'll be axing for work; if -it's only just to show they'd nought to do wi' a measure, which -if we'd been made o' th' right stuff would ha' brought wages up -to a point they'n not been at this ten year.' - -'You'll get work, shan't you?' asked Margaret. 'You're a famous -workman, are not you?' - -'Hamper'll let me work at his mill, when he cuts off his right -hand--not before, and not after,' said Nicholas, quietly. -Margaret was silenced and sad. - -'About the wages,' said Mr. Hale. 'You'll not be offended, but I -think you make some sad mistakes. I should like to read you some -remarks in a book I have.' He got up and went to his -book-shelves. - -'Yo' needn't trouble yoursel', sir,' said Nicholas. 'Their -book-stuff goes in at one ear and out at t'other. I can make -nought on't. Afore Hamper and me had this split, th' overlooker -telled him I were stirring up the men to ask for higher wages; -and Hamper met me one day in th' yard. He'd a thin book i' his -hand, and says he, "Higgins, I'm told you're one of those damned -fools that think you can get higher wages for asking for 'em; ay, -and keep 'em up too, when you've forced 'em up. Now, I'll give -yo' a chance and try if yo've any sense in yo'. Here's a book -written by a friend o' mine, and if yo'll read it yo'll see how -wages find their own level, without either masters or men having -aught to do with them; except the men cut their own throats wi' -striking, like the confounded noodles they are." Well, now, sir, -I put it to yo', being a parson, and having been in th' preaching -line, and having had to try and bring folk o'er to what yo' -thought was a right way o' thinking--did yo' begin by calling 'em -fools and such like, or didn't yo' rayther give 'em some kind -words at first, to make 'em ready for to listen and be convinced, -if they could; and in yo'r preaching, did yo' stop every now and -then, and say, half to them and half to yo'rsel', "But yo're such -a pack o' fools, that I've a strong notion it's no use my trying -to put sense into yo'?" I were not i' th' best state, I'll own, -for taking in what Hamper's friend had to say--I were so vexed at -the way it were put to me;--but I thought, "Come, I'll see what -these chaps has got to say, and try if it's them or me as is th' -noodle." So I took th' book and tugged at it; but, Lord bless -yo', it went on about capital and labour, and labour and capital, -till it fair sent me off to sleep. I ne'er could rightly fix i' -my mind which was which; and it spoke on 'em as if they was -vartues or vices; and what I wanted for to know were the rights -o' men, whether they were rich or poor--so be they only were -men.' - -'But for all that,' said Mr. Hale, 'and granting to the full the -offensiveness, the folly, the unchristianness of Mr. Hamper's way -of speaking to you in recommending his friend's book, yet if it -told you what he said it did, that wages find their own level, -and that the most successful strike can only force them up for a -moment, to sink in far greater proportion afterwards, in -consequence of that very strike, the book would have told you the -truth.' - -'Well, sir,' said Higgins, rather doggedly; 'it might, or it -might not. There's two opinions go to settling that point. But -suppose it was truth double strong, it were no truth to me if I -couldna take it in. I daresay there's truth in yon Latin book on -your shelves; but it's gibberish and not truth to me, unless I -know the meaning o' the words. If yo', sir, or any other -knowledgable, patient man come to me, and says he'll larn me what -the words mean, and not blow me up if I'm a bit stupid, or forget -how one thing hangs on another--why, in time I may get to see the -truth of it; or I may not. I'll not be bound to say I shall end -in thinking the same as any man. And I'm not one who think truth -can be shaped out in words, all neat and clean, as th' men at th' -foundry cut out sheet-iron. Same bones won't go down wi' every -one. It'll stick here i' this man's throat, and there i' -t'other's. Let alone that, when down, it may be too strong for -this one, too weak for that. Folk who sets up to doctor th' world -wi' their truth, mun suit different for different minds; and be a -bit tender in th' way of giving it too, or th' poor sick fools -may spit it out i' their faces. Now Hamper first gi'es me a box -on my ear, and then he throws his big bolus at me, and says he -reckons it'll do me no good, I'm such a fool, but there it is.' - -'I wish some of the kindest and wisest of the masters would meet -some of you men, and have a good talk on these things; it would, -surely, be the best way of getting over your difficulties, which, -I do believe, arise from your ignorance--excuse me, Mr. -Higgins--on subjects which it is for the mutual interest of both -masters and men should be well understood by both. I -wonder'--(half to his daughter), 'if Mr. Thornton might not be -induced to do such a thing?' - -'Remember, papa,' said she in a very low voice, 'what he said one -day--about governments, you know.' She was unwilling to make any -clearer allusion to the conversation they had held on the mode of -governing work-people--by giving men intelligence enough to rule -themselves, or by a wise despotism on the part of the master--for -she saw that Higgins had caught Mr. Thornton s name, if not the -whole of the speech: indeed, he began to speak of him. - -'Thornton! He's the chap as wrote off at once for these Irishers; -and led to th' riot that ruined th' strike. Even Hamper wi' all -his bullying, would ha' waited a while--but it's a word and a -blow wi' Thornton. And, now, when th' Union would ha' thanked him -for following up th' chase after Boucher, and them chaps as went -right again our commands, it's Thornton who steps forrard and -coolly says that, as th' strike's at an end, he, as party -injured, doesn't want to press the charge again the rioters. I -thought he'd had more pluck. I thought he'd ha' carried his -point, and had his revenge in an open way; but says he (one in -court telled me his very words) "they are well known; they will -find the natural punishment of their conduct, in the difficulty -they will meet wi' in getting employment. That will be severe -enough." I only wish they'd cotched Boucher, and had him up -before Hamper. I see th' oud tiger setting on him! would he ha' -let him off? Not he!' - -'Mr. Thornton was right,' said Margaret. You are angry against -Boucher, Nicholas; or else you would be the first to see, that -where the natural punishment would be severe enough for the -offence, any farther punishment would be something like revenge. - -'My daughter is no great friend of Mr. Thornton's,' said Mr. -Hale, smiling at Margaret; while she, as red as any carnation, -began to work with double diligence, 'but I believe what she says -is the truth. I like him for it.' - -'Well, sir, this strike has been a weary piece o' business to me; -and yo'll not wonder if I'm a bit put out wi' seeing it fail, -just for a few men who would na suffer in silence, and hou'd out, -brave and firm.' - -'You forget!' said Margaret. 'I don't know much of Boucher; but -the only time I saw him it was not his own sufferings he spoke -of, but those of his sick wife--his little children.' - -'True! but he were not made of iron himsel'. He'd ha' cried out -for his own sorrows, next. He were not one to bear.' - -'How came he into the Union?' asked Margaret innocently. 'You -don't seem to have much respect for him; nor gained much good -from having him in.' - -Higgins's brow clouded. He was silent for a minute or two. Then he -said, shortly enough: - -'It's not for me to speak o' th' Union. What they does, they -does. Them that is of a trade mun hang together; and if they're -not willing to take their chance along wi' th' rest, th' Union -has ways and means.' - -Mr. Hale saw that Higgins was vexed at the turn the conversation -had taken, and was silent. Not so Margaret, though she saw -Higgins's feeling as clearly as he did. By instinct she felt, -that if he could but be brought to express himself in plain -words, something clear would be gained on which to argue for the -right and the just. - -'And what are the Union's ways and means?' - -He looked up at her, as if on' the point of dogged resistance to -her wish for information. But her calm face, fixed on his, -patient and trustful, compelled him to answer. - -'Well! If a man doesn't belong to th' Union, them as works next -looms has orders not to speak to him--if he's sorry or ill it's -a' the same; he's out o' bounds; he's none o' us; he comes among -us, he works among us, but he's none o' us. I' some places them's -fined who speaks to him. Yo' try that, miss; try living a year or -two among them as looks away if yo' look at 'em; try working -within two yards o' crowds o' men, who, yo' know, have a grinding -grudge at yo' in their hearts--to whom if yo' say yo'r glad, not -an eye brightens, nor a lip moves,--to whom if your heart's -heavy, yo' can never say nought, because they'll ne'er take -notice on your sighs or sad looks (and a man 's no man who'll -groan out loud 'bout folk asking him what 's the matter?)--just -yo' try that, miss--ten hours for three hundred days, and yo'll -know a bit what th' Union is.' - -'Why!' said Margaret, 'what tyranny this is! Nay, Higgins, I -don't care one straw for your anger. I know you can't be angry -with me if you would, and I must tell you the truth: that I never -read, in all the history I have read, of a more slow, lingering -torture than this. And you belong to the Union! And you talk of -the tyranny of the masters!' - -'Nay,' said Higgins, 'yo' may say what yo' like! The dead stand -between yo and every angry word o' mine. D' ye think I forget -who's lying _there_, and how hoo loved yo'? And it's th' masters -as has made us sin, if th' Union is a sin. Not this generation -maybe, but their fathers. Their fathers ground our fathers to the -very dust; ground us to powder! Parson! I reckon, I've heerd my -mother read out a text, "The fathers have eaten sour grapes and -th' children's teeth are set on edge." It's so wi' them. In those -days of sore oppression th' Unions began; it were a necessity. -It's a necessity now, according to me. It's a withstanding of -injustice, past, present, or to come. It may be like war; along -wi' it come crimes; but I think it were a greater crime to let it -alone. Our only chance is binding men together in one common -interest; and if some are cowards and some are fools, they mun -come along and join the great march, whose only strength is in -numbers.' - -'Oh!' said Mr. Hale, sighing, 'your Union in itself would be -beautiful, glorious,--it would be Christianity itself--if it were -but for an end which affected the good of all, instead of that of -merely one class as opposed to another.' - -'I reckon it's time for me to be going, sir,' said Higgins, as -the clock struck ten. - -'Home?' said Margaret very softly. He understood her, and took -her offered hand. 'Home, miss. Yo' may trust me, tho' I am one o' -th' Union.' - -'I do trust you most thoroughly, Nicholas.' - -'Stay!' said Mr. Hale, hurrying to the book-shelves. 'Mr. -Higgins! I'm sure you'll join us in family prayer?' - -Higgins looked at Margaret, doubtfully. Hey grave sweet eyes met -his; there was no compulsion, only deep interest in them. He did -not speak, but he kept his place. - -Margaret the Churchwoman, her father the Dissenter, Higgins the -Infidel, knelt down together. It did them no harm. - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -A RAY OF SUNSHINE - -'Some wishes crossed my mind and dimly cheered it, -And one or two poor melancholy pleasures, -Each in the pale unwarming light of hope, -Silvering its flimsy wing, flew silent by-- -Moths in the moonbeam!' -COLERIDGE. - -The next morning brought Margaret a letter from Edith. It was -affectionate and inconsequent like the writer. But the affection -was charming to Margaret's own affectionate nature; and she had -grown up with the inconsequence, so she did not perceive it. It -was as follows:-- - -'Oh, Margaret, it is worth a journey from England to see my boy! -He is a superb little fellow, especially in his caps, and most -especially in the one you sent him, you good, dainty-fingered, -persevering little lady! Having made all the mothers here -envious, I want to show him to somebody new, and hear a fresh set -of admiring expressions; perhaps, that's all the reason; perhaps -it is not--nay, possibly, there is just a little cousinly love -mixed with it; but I do want you so much to come here, Margaret! -I'm sure it would be the very best thing for Aunt Hale's health; -everybody here is young and well, and our skies are always blue, -and our sun always shines, and the band plays deliciously from -morning till night; and, to come back to the burden of my ditty, -my baby always smiles. I am constantly wanting you to draw him -for me, Margaret. It does not signify what he is doing; that very -thing is prettiest, gracefulest, best. I think I love him a great -deal better than my husband, who is getting stout, and -grumpy,--what he calls "busy." No! he is not. He has just come in -with news of such a charming pic-nic, given by the officers of -the Hazard, at anchor in the bay below. Because he has brought in -such a pleasant piece of news, I retract all I said just now. Did -not somebody burn his hand for having said or done something he -was sorry for? Well, I can't burn mine, because it would hurt me, -and the scar would be ugly; but I'll retract all I said as fast -as I can. Cosmo is quite as great a darling as baby, and not a -bit stout, and as un-grumpy as ever husband was; only, sometimes -he is very, very busy. I may say that without love--wifely -duty--where was I?--I had something very particular to say, I -know, once. Oh, it is this--Dearest Margaret!--you must come and -see me; it would do Aunt Hale good, as I said before. Get the -doctor to order it for her. Tell him that it's the smoke of -Milton that does her harm. I have no doubt it is that, really. -Three months (you must not come for less) of this delicious -climate--all sunshine, and grapes as common as blackberries, -would quite cure her. I don't ask my uncle'--(Here the letter -became more constrained, and better written; Mr. Hale was in the -corner, like a naughty child, for having given up his -living.)--'because, I dare say, he disapproves of war, and -soldiers, and bands of music; at least, I know that many -Dissenters are members of the Peace Society, and I am afraid he -would not like to come; but, if he would, dear, pray say that -Cosmo and I will do our best to make him happy; and I'll hide up -Cosmo's red coat and sword, and make the band play all sorts of -grave, solemn things; or, if they do play pomps and vanities, it -shall be in double slow time. Dear Margaret, if he would like to -accompany you and Aunt Hale, we will try and make it pleasant, -though I'm rather afraid of any one who has done something for -conscience sake. You never did, I hope. Tell Aunt Hale not to -bring many warm clothes, though I'm afraid it will be late in the -year before you can come. But you have no idea of the heat here! -I tried to wear my great beauty Indian shawl at a pic-nic. I kept -myself up with proverbs as long as I could; "Pride must -abide,"--and such wholesome pieces of pith; but it was of no use. -I was like mamma's little dog Tiny with an elephant's trappings -on; smothered, hidden, killed with my finery; so I made it into a -capital carpet for us all to sit down upon. Here's this boy of -mine, Margaret,--if you don't pack up your things as soon as you -get this letter, a come straight off to see him, I shall think -you're descended from King Herod!' - -Margaret did long for a day of Edith's life--her freedom from -care, her cheerful home, her sunny skies. If a wish could have -transported her, she would have gone off; just for one day. She -yearned for the strength which such a change would give,--even -for a few hours to be in the midst of that bright life, and to -feel young again. Not yet twenty! and she had had to bear up -against such hard pressure that she felt quite old. That was her -first feeling after reading Edith's letter. Then she read it -again, and, forgetting herself, was amused at its likeness to -Edith's self, and was laughing merrily over it when Mrs. Hale -came into the drawing-room, leaning on Dixon's arm. Margaret flew -to adjust the pillows. Her mother seemed more than usually -feeble. - -'What were you laughing at, Margaret?' asked she, as soon as she -had recovered from the exertion of settling herself on the sofa. - -'A letter I have had this morning from Edith. Shall I read it -you, mamma?' - -She read it aloud, and for a time it seemed to interest her -mother, who kept wondering what name Edith had given to her boy, -and suggesting all probable names, and all possible reasons why -each and all of these names should be given. Into the very midst -of these wonders Mr. Thornton came, bringing another offering of -fruit for Mrs. Hale. He could not--say rather, he would not--deny -himself the chance of the pleasure of seeing Margaret. He had no -end in this but the present gratification. It was the sturdy -wilfulness of a man usually most reasonable and self-controlled. -He entered the room, taking in at a glance the fact of Margaret's -presence; but after the first cold distant bow, he never seemed -to let his eyes fall on her again. He only stayed to present his -peaches--to speak some gentle kindly words--and then his cold -offended eyes met Margaret's with a grave farewell, as he left -the room. She sat down silent and pale. - -'Do you know, Margaret, I really begin quite to like Mr. -Thornton.' - -No answer at first. Then Margaret forced out an icy 'Do you?' - -'Yes! I think he is really getting quite polished in his -manners.' - -Margaret's voice was more in order now. She replied, - -'He is very kind and attentive,--there is no doubt of that.' - -'I wonder Mrs. Thornton never calls. She must know I am ill, -because of the water-bed.' - -'I dare say, she hears how you are from her son.' - -'Still, I should like to see her You have so few friends here, -Margaret.' - -Margaret felt what was in her mother's thoughts,--a tender -craving to bespeak the kindness of some woman towards the -daughter that might be so soon left motherless. But she could not -speak. - -'Do you think,' said Mrs. Hale, after a pause, 'that you could go -and ask Mrs. Thornton to come and see me? Only once,--I don't -want to be troublesome.' - -'I will do anything, if you wish it, mamma,--but if--but when -Frederick comes----' - -'Ah, to be sure! we must keep our doors shut,--we must let no one -in. I hardly know whether I dare wish him to come or not. -Sometimes I think I would rather not. Sometimes I have such -frightful dreams about him.' - -'Oh, mamma! we'll take good care. I will put my arm in the bolt -sooner than he should come to the slightest harm. Trust the care -of him to me, mamma. I will watch over him like a lioness over -her young.' - -'When can we hear from him?' - -'Not for a week yet, certainly,--perhaps more.' - -'We must send Martha away in good time. It would never do to have -her here when he comes, and then send her off in a hurry.' - -'Dixon is sure to remind us of that. I was thinking that, if we -wanted any help in the house while he is here, we could perhaps -get Mary Higgins. She is very slack of work, and is a good girl, -and would take pains to do her best, I am sure, and would sleep -at home, and need never come upstairs, so as to know who is in -the house.' - -'As you please. As Dixon pleases. But, Margaret, don't get to use -these horrid Milton words. "Slack of work:" it is a -provincialism. What will your aunt Shaw say, if she hears you use -it on her return?' - -'Oh, mamma! don't try and make a bugbear of aunt Shaw' said -Margaret, laughing. 'Edith picked up all sorts of military slang -from Captain Lennox, and aunt Shaw never took any notice of it.' - -'But yours is factory slang.' - -'And if I live in a factory town, I must speak factory language -when I want it. Why, mamma, I could astonish you with a great -many words you never heard in your life. I don't believe you know -what a knobstick is.' - -'Not I, child. I only know it has a very vulgar sound and I don't -want to hear you using it.' - -'Very well, dearest mother, I won't. Only I shall have to use a -whole explanatory sentence instead.' - -'I don't like this Milton,' said Mrs. Hale. 'Edith is right -enough in saying it's the smoke that has made me so ill.' - -Margaret started up as her mother said this. Her father had just -entered the room, and she was most anxious that the faint -impression she had seen on his mind that the Milton air had -injured her mother's health, should not be deepened,--should not -receive any confirmation. She could not tell whether he had heard -what Mrs. Hale had said or not; but she began speaking hurriedly -of other things, unaware that Mr. Thornton was following him. - -'Mamma is accusing me of having picked up a great deal of -vulgarity since we came to Milton.' - -The 'vulgarity' Margaret spoke of, referred purely to the use of -local words, and the expression arose out of the conversation -they had just been holding. But Mr. Thornton's brow darkened; and -Margaret suddenly felt how her speech might be misunderstood by -him; so, in the natural sweet desire to avoid giving unnecessary -pain, she forced herself to go forwards with a little greeting, -and continue what she was saying, addressing herself to him -expressly. - -'Now, Mr. Thornton, though "knobstick" has not a very pretty -sound, is it not expressive? Could I do without it, in speaking -of the thing it represents? If using local words is vulgar, I was -very vulgar in the Forest,--was I not, mamma?' - -It was unusual with Margaret to obtrude her own subject of -conversation on others; but, in this case, she was so anxious to -prevent Mr. Thornton from feeling annoyance at the words he had -accidentally overheard, that it was not until she had done -speaking that she coloured all over with consciousness, more -especially as Mr. Thornton seemed hardly to understand the exact -gist or bearing of what she was saying, but passed her by, with a -cold reserve of ceremonious movement, to speak to Mrs. Hale. - -The sight of him reminded her of the wish to see his mother, and -commend Margaret to her care. Margaret, sitting in burning -silence, vexed and ashamed of her difficulty in keeping her right -place, and her calm unconsciousness of heart, when Mr. Thornton -was by, heard her mother's slow entreaty that Mrs. Thornton would -come and see her; see her soon; to-morrow, if it were possible. -Mr. Thornton promised that she should--conversed a little, and -then took his leave; and Margaret's movements and voice seemed at -once released from some invisible chains. He never looked at her; -and yet, the careful avoidance of his eyes betokened that in some -way he knew exactly where, if they fell by chance, they would -rest on her. If she spoke, he gave no sign of attention, and yet -his next speech to any one else was modified by what she had -said; sometimes there was an express answer to what she had -remarked, but given to another person as though unsuggested by -her. It was not the bad manners of ignorance it was the wilful -bad manners arising from deep offence. It was wilful at the time, -repented of afterwards. But no deep plan, no careful cunning -could have stood him in such good stead. Margaret thought about -him more than she had ever done before; not with any tinge of -what is called love, but with regret that she had wounded him so -deeply,--and with a gentle, patient striving to return to their -former position of antagonistic friendship; for a friend's -position was what she found that he had held in her regard, as -well as in that of the rest of the family. There was a pretty -humility in her behaviour to him, as if mutely apologising for -the over-strong words which were the reaction from the deeds of -the day of the riot. - -But he resented those words bitterly. They rung in his ears; and -he was proud of the sense of justice which made him go on in -every kindness he could offer to her parents. He exulted in the -power he showed in compelling himself to face her, whenever he -could think of any action which might give her father or mother -pleasure. He thought that he disliked seeing one who had -mortified him so keenly; but he was mistaken. It was a stinging -pleasure to be in the room with her, and feel her presence. But -he was no great analyser of his own motives, and was mistaken as -I have said. - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -HOME AT LAST - -'The saddest birds a season find to sing.' -SOUTHWELL. - -'Never to fold the robe o'er secret pain, -Never, weighed down by memory's clouds again, -To bow thy head! Thou art gone home!' -MRS. HEMANS. - -Mrs. Thornton came to see Mrs. Hale the next morning. She was -much worse. One of those sudden changes--those great visible -strides towards death, had been taken in the night, and her own -family were startled by the gray sunken look her features had -assumed in that one twelve hours of suffering. Mrs. Thornton--who -had not seen her for weeks--was softened all at once. She had -come because her son asked it from her as a personal favour, but -with all the proud bitter feelings of her nature in arms against -that family of which Margaret formed one. She doubted the reality -of Mrs. Hale's illness; she doubted any want beyond a momentary -fancy on that lady's part, which should take her out of her -previously settled course of employment for the day. She told her -son that she wished they had never come near the place; that he -had never got acquainted with them; that there had been no such -useless languages as Latin and Greek ever invented. He bore all -this pretty silently; but when she had ended her invective -against the dead languages, he quietly returned to the short, -curt, decided expression of his wish that she should go and see -Mrs. Hale at the time appointed, as most likely to be convenient -to the invalid. Mrs. Thornton submitted with as bad a grace as -she could to her son's desire, all the time liking him the better -for having it; and exaggerating in her own mind the same notion -that he had of extraordinary goodness on his part in so -perseveringly keeping up with the Hales. - -His goodness verging on weakness (as all the softer virtues did -in her mind), and her own contempt for Mr. and Mrs. Hale, and -positive dislike to Margaret, were the ideas which occupied Mrs. -Thornton, till she was struck into nothingness before the dark -shadow of the wings of the angel of death. There lay Mrs. Hale--a -mother like herself--a much younger woman than she was,--on the -bed from which there was no sign of hope that she might ever rise -again No more variety of light and shade for her in that darkened -room; no power of action, scarcely change of movement; faint -alternations of whispered sound and studious silence; and yet -that monotonous life seemed almost too much! When Mrs. Thornton, -strong and prosperous with life, came in, Mrs. Hale lay still, -although from the look on her face she was evidently conscious of -who it was. But she did not even open her eyes for a minute or -two. The heavy moisture of tears stood on the eye-lashes before -she looked up, then with her hand groping feebly over the -bed-clothes, for the touch of Mrs. Thornton's large firm fingers, -she said, scarcely above her breath--Mrs. Thornton had to stoop -from her erectness to listen,-- - -'Margaret--you have a daughter--my sister is in Italy. My child -will be without a mother;--in a strange place,--if I die--will -you'---- - -And her filmy wandering eyes fixed themselves with an intensity -of wistfulness on Mrs. Thornton's face For a minute, there was no -change in its rigidness; it was stern and unmoved;--nay, but that -the eyes of the sick woman were growing dim with the -slow-gathering tears, she might have seen a dark cloud cross the -cold features. And it was no thought of her son, or of her living -daughter Fanny, that stirred her heart at last; but a sudden -remembrance, suggested by something in the arrangement of the -room,--of a little daughter--dead in infancy--long years -ago--that, like a sudden sunbeam, melted the icy crust, behind -which there was a real tender woman. - -'You wish me to be a friend to Miss Hale,' said Mrs. Thornton, in -her measured voice, that would not soften with her heart, but -came out distinct and clear. - -Mrs. Hale, her eyes still fixed on Mrs. Thornton's face, pressed -the hand that lay below hers on the coverlet. She could not -speak. Mrs. Thornton sighed, 'I will be a true friend, if -circumstances require it Not a tender friend. That I cannot -be,'--('to her,' she was on the point of adding, but she relented -at the sight of that poor, anxious face.)--'It is not my nature -to show affection even where I feel it, nor do I volunteer advice -in general. Still, at your request,--if it will be any comfort to -you, I will promise you.' Then came a pause. Mrs. Thornton was -too conscientious to promise what she did not mean to perform; -and to perform any-thing in the way of kindness on behalf of -Margaret, more disliked at this moment than ever, was difficult; -almost impossible. - -'I promise,' said she, with grave severity; which, after all, -inspired the dying woman with faith as in something more stable -than life itself,--flickering, flitting, wavering life! 'I -promise that in any difficulty in which Miss Hale'---- - -'Call her Margaret!' gasped Mrs. Hale. - -'In which she comes to me for help, I will help her with every -power I have, as if she were my own daughter. I also promise that -if ever I see her doing what I think is wrong'---- - -'But Margaret never does wrong--not wilfully wrong,' pleaded Mrs. -Hale. Mrs. Thornton went on as before; as if she had not heard: - -'If ever I see her doing what I believe to be wrong--such wrong -not touching me or mine, in which case I might be supposed to -have an interested motive--I will tell her of it, faithfully and -plainly, as I should wish my own daughter to be told.' - -There was a long pause. Mrs. Hale felt that this promise did not -include all; and yet it was much. It had reservations in it which -she did not understand; but then she was weak, dizzy, and tired. -Mrs. Thornton was reviewing all the probable cases in which she -had pledged herself to act. She had a fierce pleasure in the idea -of telling Margaret unwelcome truths, in the shape of performance -of duty. Mrs. Hale began to speak: - -'I thank you. I pray God to bless you. I shall never see you -again in this world. But my last words are, I thank you for your -promise of kindness to my child.' - -'Not kindness!' testified Mrs. Thornton, ungraciously truthful to -the last. But having eased her conscience by saying these words, -she was not sorry that they were not heard. She pressed Mrs. -Hale's soft languid hand; and rose up and went her way out of the -house without seeing a creature. - -During the time that Mrs. Thornton was having this interview with -Mrs. Hale, Margaret and Dixon were laying their heads together, -and consulting how they should keep Frederick's coming a profound -secret to all out of the house. A letter from him might now be -expected any day; and he would assuredly follow quickly on its -heels. Martha must be sent away on her holiday; Dixon must keep -stern guard on the front door, only admitting the few visitors -that ever came to the house into Mr. Hale's room -down-stairs--Mrs. Hale's extreme illness giving her a good excuse -for this. If Mary Higgins was required as a help to Dixon in the -kitchen she was to hear and see as little of Frederick as -possible; and he was, if necessary to be spoken of to her under -the name of Mr. Dickinson. But her sluggish and incurious nature -was the greatest safeguard of all. - -They resolved that Martha should leave them that very afternoon -for this visit to her mother. Margaret wished that she had been -sent away on the previous day, as she fancied it might be thought -strange to give a servant a holiday when her mistress's state -required so much attendance. - -Poor Margaret! All that afternoon she had to act the part of a -Roman daughter, and give strength out of her own scanty stock to -her father. Mr. hale would hope, would not despair, between the -attacks of his wife's malady; he buoyed himself up in every -respite from her pain, and believed that it was the beginning of -ultimate recovery. And so, when the paroxysms came on, each more -severe than the last, they were fresh agonies, and greater -disappointments to him. This afternoon, he sat in the -drawing-room, unable to bear the solitude of his study, or to -employ himself in any way. He buried his head in his arms, which -lay folded on the table. Margaret's heart ached to see him; yet, -as he did not speak, she did not like to volunteer any attempt at -comfort. Martha was gone. Dixon sat with Mrs. Hale while she -slept. The house was very still and quiet, and darkness came on, -without any movement to procure candles. Margaret sat at the -window, looking out at the lamps and the street, but seeing -nothing,--only alive to her father's heavy sighs. She did not -like to go down for lights, lest the tacit restraint of her -presence being withdrawn, he might give way to more violent -emotion, without her being at hand to comfort him. Yet she was -just thinking that she ought to go and see after the well-doing -of the kitchen fire, which there was nobody but herself to attend -to when she heard the muffled door-ring with so violent a pull, -that the wires jingled all through the house, though the positive -sound was not great. She started up, passed her father, who had -never moved at the veiled, dull sound,--returned, and kissed him -tenderly. And still he never moved, nor took any notice of her -fond embrace. Then she went down softly, through the dark, to the -door. Dixon would have put the chain on before she opened it, but -Margaret had not a thought of fear in her pre-occupied mind. A -man's tall figure stood between her and the luminous street. He -was looking away; but at the sound of the latch he turned quickly -round. - -'Is this Mr. Hale's?' said he, in a clear, full, delicate voice. - -Margaret trembled all over; at first she did not answer. In a -moment she sighed out, - -'Frederick!' and stretched out both her hands to Catch his, and -draw him in. - -'Oh, Margaret!' said he, holding her off by her shoulders, after -they had kissed each other, as if even in that darkness he could -see her face, and read in its expression a quicker answer to his -question than words could give,-- - -'My mother! is she alive?' - -'Yes, she is alive, dear, dear brother! She--as ill as she can be -she is; but alive! She is alive!' - -'Thank God!' said he. - -'Papa is utterly prostrate with this great grief.' - -'You expect me, don't you?' - -'No, we have had no letter.' - -'Then I have come before it. But my mother knows I am coming?' - -'Oh! we all knew you would come. But wait a little! Step in here. -Give me your hand. What is this? Oh! your carpet-bag. Dixon has -shut the shutters; but this is papa's study, and I can take you -to a chair to rest yourself for a few minutes; while I go and -tell him.' - -She groped her way to the taper and the lucifer matches. She -suddenly felt shy, when the little feeble light made them -visible. All she could see was, that her brother's face was -unusually dark in complexion, and she caught the stealthy look of -a pair of remarkably long-cut blue eyes, that suddenly twinkled -up with a droll consciousness of their mutual purpose of -inspecting each other. But though the brother and sister had an -instant of sympathy in their reciprocal glances, they did not -exchange a word; only, Margaret felt sure that she should like -her brother as a companion as much as she already loved him as a -near relation. Her heart was wonderfully lighter as she went -up-stairs; the sorrow was no less in reality, but it became less -oppressive from having some one in precisely the same relation to -it as that in which she stood. Not her father's desponding -attitude had power to damp her now. He lay across the table, -helpless as ever; but she had the spell by which to rouse him. -She used it perhaps too violently in her own great relief. - -'Papa,' said she, throwing her arms fondly round his neck; -pulling his weary head up in fact with her gentle violence, till -it rested in her arms, and she could look into his eyes, and let -them gain strength and assurance from hers. - -'Papa! guess who is here!' - -He looked at her; she saw the idea of the truth glimmer into -their filmy sadness, and be dismissed thence as a wild -imagination. - -He threw himself forward, and hid his face once more in his -stretched-out arms, resting upon the table as heretofore. She -heard him whisper; she bent tenderly down to listen. 'I don't -know. Don't tell me it is Frederick--not Frederick. I cannot bear -it,--I am too weak. And his mother is dying!'He began to cry and -wail like a child. It was so different to all which Margaret had -hoped and expected, that she turned sick with disappointment, and -was silent for an instant. Then she spoke again--very -differently--not so exultingly, far more tenderly and carefully. - -'Papa, it is Frederick! Think of mamma, how glad she will be! And -oh, for her sake, how glad we ought to be! For his sake, -too,--our poor, poor boy!' - -Her father did not change his attitude, but he seemed to be -trying to understand the fact. - -'Where is he?' asked he at last, his face still hidden in his -prostrate arms. - -'In your study, quite alone. I lighted the taper, and ran up to -tell you. He is quite alone, and will be wondering why--' - -'I will go to him,' broke in her father; and he lifted himself up -and leant on her arm as on that of a guide. - -Margaret led him to the study door, but her spirits were so -agitated that she felt she could not bear to see the meeting. She -turned away, and ran up-stairs, and cried most heartily. It was -the first time she had dared to allow herself this relief for -days. The strain had been terrible, as she now felt. But -Frederick was come! He, the one precious brother, was there, -safe, amongst them again! She could hardly believe it. She -stopped her crying, and opened her bedroom door. She heard no -sound of voices, and almost feared she might have dreamt. She -went down-stairs, and listened at the study door. She heard the -buzz of voices; and that was enough. She went into the kitchen, -and stirred up the fire, and lighted the house, and prepared for -the wanderer's refreshment. How fortunate it was that her mother -slept! She knew that she did, from the candle-lighter thrust -through the keyhole of her bedroom door. The traveller could be -refreshed and bright, and the first excitement of the meeting -with his father all be over, before her mother became aware of -anything unusual. - -When all was ready, Margaret opened the study door, and went in -like a serving-maiden, with a heavy tray held in her extended -arms. She was proud of serving Frederick. But he, when he saw -her, sprang up in a minute, and relieved her of her burden. It -was a type, a sign, of all the coming relief which his presence -would bring. The brother and sister arranged the table together, -saying little, but their hands touching, and their eyes speaking -the natural language of expression, so intelligible to those of -the same blood. The fire had gone out; and Margaret applied -herself to light it, for the evenings had begun to be chilly; and -yet it was desirable to make all noises as distant as possible -from Mrs. Hale's room. - -'Dixon says it is a gift to light a fire; not an art to be -acquired.' - -'Poeta nascitur, non fit,' murmured Mr. Hale; and Margaret was -glad to hear a quotation once more, however languidly given. - -'Dear old Dixon! How we shall kiss each other!' said Frederick. -'She used to kiss me, and then look in my face to be sure I was -the right person, and then set to again! But, Margaret, what a -bungler you are! I never saw such a little awkward, -good-for-nothing pair of hands. Run away, and wash them, ready to -cut bread-and-butter for me, and leave the fire. I'll manage it. -Lighting fires is one of my natural accomplishments.' - -So Margaret went away; and returned; and passed in and out of the -room, in a glad restlessness that could not be satisfied with -sitting still. The more wants Frederick had, the better she was -pleased; and he understood all this by instinct. It was a joy -snatched in the house of mourning, and the zest of it was all the -more pungent, because they knew in the depths of their hearts -what irremediable sorrow awaited them. - -In the middle, they heard Dixon's foot on the stairs. Mr. Hale -started from his languid posture in his great armchair, from -which he had been watching his children in a dreamy way, as if -they were acting some drama of happiness, which it was pretty to -look at, but which was distinct from reality, and in which he had -no part. He stood up, and faced the door, showing such a strange, -sudden anxiety to conceal Frederick from the sight of any person -entering, even though it were the faithful Dixon, that a shiver -came over Margaret's heart: it reminded her of the new fear in -their lives. She caught at Frederick's arm, and clutched it -tight, while a stern thought compressed her brows, and caused her -to set her teeth. And yet they knew it was only Dixon's measured -tread. They heard her walk the length of the passage, into the -kitchen. Margaret rose up. - -I will go to her, and tell her. And I shall hear how mamma is.' -Mrs. Hale was awake. She rambled at first; but after they had -given her some tea she was refreshed, though not disposed to -talk. It was better that the night should pass over before she -was told of her son's arrival. Dr. Donaldson's appointed visit -would bring nervous excitement enough for the evening; and he -might tell them how to prepare her for seeing Frederick. He was -there, in the house; could be summoned at any moment. - -Margaret could not sit still. It was a relief to her to aid Dixon -in all her preparations for 'Master Frederick.' It seemed as -though she never could be tired again. Each glimpse into the room -where he sate by his father, conversing with him, about, she knew -not what, nor cared to know,--was increase of strength to her. -Her own time for talking and hearing would come at last, and she -was too certain of this to feel in a hurry to grasp it now. She -took in his appearance and liked it. He had delicate features, -redeemed from effeminacy by the swarthiness of his complexion, -and his quick intensity of expression. His eyes were generally -merry-looking, but at times they and his mouth so suddenly -changed, and gave her such an idea of latent passion, that it -almost made her afraid. But this look was only for an instant; -and had in it no doggedness, no vindictiveness; it was rather the -instantaneous ferocity of expression that comes over the -countenances of all natives of wild or southern countries--a -ferocity which enhances the charm of the childlike softness into -which such a look may melt away. Margaret might fear the violence -of the impulsive nature thus occasionally betrayed, but there was -nothing in it to make her distrust, or recoil in the least, from -the new-found brother. On the contrary, all their intercourse was -peculiarly charming to her from the very first. She knew then how -much responsibility she had had to bear, from the exquisite -sensation of relief which she felt in Frederick's presence. He -understood his father and mother--their characters and their -weaknesses, and went along with a careless freedom, which was yet -most delicately careful not to hurt or wound any of their -feelings. He seemed to know instinctively when a little of the -natural brilliancy of his manner and conversation would not jar -on the deep depression of his father, or might relieve his -mother's pain. Whenever it would have been out of tune, and out -of time, his patient devotion and watchfulness came into play, -and made him an admirable nurse. Then Margaret was almost touched -into tears by the allusions which he often made to their childish -days in the New Forest; he had never forgotten her--or Helstone -either--all the time he had been roaming among distant countries -and foreign people. She might talk to him of the old spot, and -never fear tiring him. She had been afraid of him before he came, -even while she had longed for his coming; seven or eight years -had, she felt, produced such great changes in herself that, -forgetting how much of the original Margaret was left, she had -reasoned that if her tastes and feelings had so materially -altered, even in her stay-at-home life, his wild career, with -which she was but imperfectly acquainted, must have almost -substituted another Frederick for the tall stripling in his -middy's uniform, whom she remembered looking up to with such -admiring awe. But in their absence they had grown nearer to each -other in age, as well as in many other things. And so it was that -the weight, this sorrowful time, was lightened to Margaret. Other -light than that of Frederick's presence she had none. For a few -hours, the mother rallied on seeing her son. She sate with his -hand in hers; she would not part with it even while she slept; -and Margaret had to feed him like a baby, rather than that he -should disturb her mother by removing a finger. Mrs. Hale wakened -while they were thus engaged; she slowly moved her head round on -the pillow, and smiled at her children, as she understood what -they were doing, and why it was done. - -'I am very selfish,' said she; 'but it will not be for long.' -Frederick bent down and kissed the feeble hand that imprisoned -his. - -This state of tranquillity could not endure for many days, nor -perhaps for many hours; so Dr. Donaldson assured Margaret. After -the kind doctor had gone away, she stole down to Frederick, who, -during the visit, had been adjured to remain quietly concealed in -the back parlour, usually Dixon's bedroom, but now given up to -him. - -Margaret told him what Dr. Donaldson said. - -'I don't believe it,' he exclaimed. 'She is very ill; she may be -dangerously ill, and in immediate danger, too; but I can't -imagine that she could be as she is, if she were on the point of -death. Margaret! she should have some other advice--some London -doctor. Have you never thought of that?' - -'Yes,' said Margaret, 'more than once. But I don't believe it -would do any good. And, you know, we have not the money to bring -any great London surgeon down, and I am sure Dr. Donaldson is -only second in skill to the very best,--if, indeed, he is to -them.' - -Frederick began to walk up and down the room impatiently. - -'I have credit in Cadiz,' said he, 'but none here, owing to this -wretched change of name. Why did my father leave Helstone? That -was the blunder.' - -'It was no blunder,' said Margaret gloomily. 'And above all -possible chances, avoid letting papa hear anything like what you -have just been saying. I can see that he is tormenting himself -already with the idea that mamma would never have been ill if we -had stayed at Helstone, and you don't know papa's agonising power -of self-reproach!' - -Frederick walked away as if he were on the quarter-deck. At last -he stopped right opposite to Margaret, and looked at her drooping -and desponding attitude for an instant. - -'My little Margaret!' said he, caressing her. 'Let us hope as -long as we can. Poor little woman! what! is this face all wet -with tears? I will hope. I will, in spite of a thousand doctors. -Bear up, Margaret, and be brave enough to hope!' - -Margaret choked in trying to speak, and when she did it was very -low. - -'I must try to be meek enough to trust. Oh, Frederick! mamma was -getting to love me so! And I was getting to understand her. And -now comes death to snap us asunder!' - -'Come, come, come! Let us go up-stairs, and do something, rather -than waste time that may be so precious. Thinking has, many a -time, made me sad, darling; but doing never did in all my life. -My theory is a sort of parody on the maxim of "Get money, my son, -honestly if you can; but get money." My precept is, "Do something, -my sister, do good if you can; but, at any rate, do something."' - -'Not excluding mischief,' said Margaret, smiling faintly through -her tears. - -'By no means. What I do exclude is the remorse afterwards. Blot -your misdeeds out (if you are particularly conscientious), by a -good deed, as soon as you can; just as we did a correct sum at -school on the slate, where an incorrect one was only half rubbed -out. It was better than wetting our sponge with our tears; both -less loss of time where tears had to be waited for, and a better -effect at last.' - -If Margaret thought Frederick's theory rather a rough one at -first, she saw how he worked it out into continual production of -kindness in fact. After a bad night with his mother (for he -insisted on taking his turn as a sitter-up) he was busy next -morning before breakfast, contriving a leg-rest for Dixon, who -was beginning to feel the fatigues of watching. At -breakfast-time, he interested Mr. Hale with vivid, graphic, -rattling accounts of the wild life he had led in Mexico, South -America, and elsewhere. Margaret would have given up the effort -in despair to rouse Mr. Hale out of his dejection; it would even -have affected herself and rendered her incapable of talking at -all. But Fred, true to his theory, did something perpetually; and -talking was the only thing to be done, besides eating, at -breakfast. - -Before the night of that day, Dr. Donaldson's opinion was proved -to be too well founded. Convulsions came on; and when they -ceased, Mrs. Hale was unconscious. Her husband might lie by her -shaking the bed with his sobs; her son's strong arms might lift -her tenderly up into a comfortable position; her daughter's hands -might bathe her face; but she knew them not. She would never -recognise them again, till they met in Heaven. - -Before the morning came all was over. - -Then Margaret rose from her trembling and despondency, and became -as a strong angel of comfort to her father and brother. For -Frederick had broken down now, and all his theories were of no -use to him. He cried so violently when shut up alone in his -little room at night, that Margaret and Dixon came down in -affright to warn him to be quiet: for the house partitions were -but thin, and the next-door neighbours might easily hear his -youthful passionate sobs, so different from the slower trembling -agony of after-life, when we become inured to grief, and dare not -be rebellious against the inexorable doom, knowing who it is that -decrees. - -Margaret sate with her father in the room with the dead. If he -had cried, she would have been thankful. But he sate by the bed -quite quietly; only, from time to time, he uncovered the face, -and stroked it gently, making a kind of soft inarticulate noise, -like that of some mother-animal caressing her young. He took no -notice of Margaret's presence. Once or twice she came up to kiss -him; and he submitted to it, giving her a little push away when -she had done, as if her affection disturbed him from his -absorption in the dead. He started when he heard Frederick's -cries, and shook his head:--'Poor boy! poor boy!' he said, and -took no more notice. Margaret's heart ached within her. She could -not think of her own loss in thinking of her father's case. The -night was wearing away, and the day was at hand, when, without a -word of preparation, Margaret's voice broke upon the stillness of -the room, with a clearness of sound that startled even herself: -'Let not your heart be troubled,' it said; and she went steadily -on through all that chapter of unspeakable consolation. - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -'SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT?' - -'Show not that manner, and these features all, -The serpent's cunning, and the sinner's fall?' -CRABBE. - -The chill, shivery October morning came; not the October morning -of the country, with soft, silvery mists, clearing off before the -sunbeams that bring out all the gorgeous beauty of colouring, but -the October morning of Milton, whose silver mists were heavy -fogs, and where the sun could only show long dusky streets when -he did break through and shine. Margaret went languidly about, -assisting Dixon in her task of arranging the house. Her eyes were -continually blinded by tears, but she had no time to give way to -regular crying. The father and brother depended upon her; while -they were giving way to grief, she must be working, planning, -considering. Even the necessary arrangements for the funeral -seemed to devolve upon her. - -When the fire was bright and crackling--when everything was ready -for breakfast, and the tea-kettle was singing away, Margaret gave -a last look round the room before going to summon Mr. Hale and -Frederick. She wanted everything to look as cheerful as possible; -and yet, when it did so, the contrast between it and her own -thoughts forced her into sudden weeping. She was kneeling by the -sofa, hiding her face in the cushions that no one might hear her -cry, when she was touched on the shoulder by Dixon. - -'Come, Miss Hale--come, my dear! You must not give way, or where -shall we all be? There is not another person in the house fit to -give a direction of any kind, and there is so much to be done. -There's who's to manage the funeral; and who's to come to it; and -where it's to be; and all to be settled: and Master Frederick's -like one crazed with crying, and master never was a good one for -settling; and, poor gentleman, he goes about now as if he was -lost. It's bad enough, my dear, I know; but death comes to us -all; and you're well off never to have lost any friend till -now. 'Perhaps so. But this seemed a loss by itself; not to bear -comparison with any other event in the world. Margaret did not -take any comfort from what Dixon said, but the unusual tenderness -of the prim old servant's manner touched her to the heart; and, -more from a desire to show her gratitude for this than for any -other reason, she roused herself up, and smiled in answer to -Dixon's anxious look at her; and went to tell her father and -brother that breakfast was ready. - -Mr. Hale came--as if in a dream, or rather with the unconscious -motion of a sleep-walker, whose eyes and mind perceive other -things than what are present. Frederick came briskly in, with a -forced cheerfulness, grasped her hand, looked into her eyes, and -burst into tears. She had to try and think of little nothings to -say all breakfast-time, in order to prevent the recurrence of her -companions' thoughts too strongly to the last meal they had taken -together, when there had been a continual strained listening for -some sound or signal from the sick-room. - -After breakfast, she resolved to speak to her father, about the -funeral. He shook his head, and assented to all she proposed, -though many of her propositions absolutely contradicted one -another. Margaret gained no real decision from him; and was -leaving the room languidly, to have a consultation with Dixon, -when Mr. Hale motioned her back to his side. - -'Ask Mr. Bell,' said he in a hollow voice. - -'Mr. Bell!' said she, a little surprised. 'Mr. Bell of Oxford?' - -'Mr. Bell,' he repeated. 'Yes. He was my groom's-man.' - -Margaret understood the association. - -'I will write to-day,' said she. He sank again into listlessness. -All morning she toiled on, longing for rest, but in a continual -whirl of melancholy business. - -Towards evening, Dixon said to her: - -'I've done it, miss. I was really afraid for master, that he'd -have a stroke with grief. He's been all this day with poor -missus; and when I've listened at the door, I've heard him -talking to her, and talking to her, as if she was alive. When I -went in he would be quite quiet, but all in a maze like. So I -thought to myself, he ought to be roused; and if it gives him a -shock at first, it will, maybe, be the better afterwards. So I've -been and told him, that I don't think it's safe for Master -Frederick to be here. And I don't. It was only on Tuesday, when I -was out, that I met-a Southampton man--the first I've seen since -I came to Milton; they don't make their way much up here, I -think. Well, it was young Leonards, old Leonards the draper's -son, as great a scamp as ever lived--who plagued his father -almost to death, and then ran off to sea. I never could abide -him. He was in the Orion at the same time as Master Frederick, I -know; though I don't recollect if he was there at the mutiny.' - -'Did he know you?' said Margaret, eagerly. - -'Why, that's the worst of it. I don't believe he would have known -me but for my being such a fool as to call out his name. He were -a Southampton man, in a strange place, or else I should never -have been so ready to call cousins with him, a nasty, -good-for-nothing fellow. Says he, "Miss Dixon! who would ha' -thought of seeing you here? But perhaps I mistake, and you're -Miss Dixon no longer?" So I told him he might still address me as -an unmarried lady, though if I hadn't been so particular, I'd had -good chances of matrimony. He was polite enough: "He couldn't -look at me and doubt me." But I were not to be caught with such -chaff from such a fellow as him, and so I told him; and, by way -of being even, I asked him after his father (who I knew had -turned him out of doors), as if they was the best friends as ever -was. So then, to spite me--for you see we were getting savage, -for all we were so civil to each other--he began to inquire after -Master Frederick, and said, what a scrape he'd got into (as if -Master Frederick's scrapes would ever wash George Leonards' -white, or make 'em look otherwise than nasty, dirty black), and -how he'd be hung for mutiny if ever he were caught, and how a -hundred pound reward had been offered for catching him, and what -a disgrace he had been to his family--all to spite me, you see, -my dear, because before now I've helped old Mr. Leonards to give -George a good rating, down in Southampton. So I said, there were -other families be thankful if they could think they were earning -an honest living as I knew, who had far more cause to blush for -their sons, and to far away from home. To which he made answer, -like the impudent chap he is, that he were in a confidential -situation, and if I knew of any young man who had been so -unfortunate as to lead vicious courses, and wanted to turn -steady, he'd have no objection to lend him his patronage. He, -indeed! Why, he'd corrupt a saint. I've not felt so bad myself -for years as when I were standing talking to him the other day. I -could have cried to think I couldn't spite him better, for he -kept smiling in my face, as if he took all my compliments for -earnest; and I couldn't see that he minded what I said in the -least, while I was mad with all his speeches.' - -'But you did not tell him anything about us--about Frederick?' - -'Not I,' said Dixon. 'He had never the grace to ask where I was -staying; and I shouldn't have told him if he had asked. Nor did I -ask him what his precious situation was. He was waiting for a -bus, and just then it drove up, and he hailed it. But, to plague -me to the last, he turned back before he got in, and said, "If -you can help me to trap Lieutenant Hale, Miss Dixon, we'll go -partners in the reward. I know you'd like to be my partner, now -wouldn't you? Don't be shy, but say yes." And he jumped on the -bus, and I saw his ugly face leering at me with a wicked smile to -think how he'd had the last word of plaguing.' - -Margaret was made very uncomfortable by this account of Dixon's. - -'Have you told Frederick?' asked she. - -'No,' said Dixon. 'I were uneasy in my mind at knowing that bad -Leonards was in town; but there was so much else to think about -that I did not dwell on it at all. But when I saw master sitting -so stiff, and with his eyes so glazed and sad, I thought it might -rouse him to have to think of Master Frederick's safety a bit. So -I told him all, though I blushed to say how a young man had been -speaking to me. And it has done master good. And if we're to keep -Master Frederick in hiding, he would have to go, poor fellow, -before Mr. Bell came.' - -'Oh, I'm not afraid of Mr. Bell; but I am afraid of this -Leonards. I must tell Frederick. What did Leonards look like?' - -'A bad-looking fellow, I can assure you, miss. Whiskers such as I -should be ashamed to wear--they are so red. And for all he said -he'd got a confidential situation, he was dressed in fustian just -like a working-man.' - -It was evident that Frederick must go. Go, too, when he had so -completely vaulted into his place in the family, and promised to -be such a stay and staff to his father and sister. Go, when his -cares for the living mother, and sorrow for the dead, seemed to -make him one of those peculiar people who are bound to us by a -fellow-love for them that are taken away. Just as Margaret was -thinking all this, sitting over the drawing-room fire--her father -restless and uneasy under the pressure of this newly-aroused -fear, of which he had not as yet spoken--Frederick came in, his -brightness dimmed, but the extreme violence of his grief passed -away. He came up to Margaret, and kissed her forehead. - -'How wan you look, Margaret!' said he in a low voice. 'You have -been thinking of everybody, and no one has thought of you. Lie on -this sofa--there is nothing for you to do.' - -'That is the worst,' said Margaret, in a sad whisper. But she -went and lay down, and her brother covered her feet with a shawl, -and then sate on the ground by her side; and the two began to -talk in a subdued tone. - -Margaret told him all that Dixon had related of her interview -with young Leonards. Frederick's lips closed with a long whew of -dismay. - -'I should just like to have it out with that young fellow. A -worse sailor was never on board ship--nor a much worse man -either. I declare, Margaret--you know the circumstances of the -whole affair?' - -'Yes, mamma told me.' - -'Well, when all the sailors who were good for anything were -indignant with our captain, this fellow, to curry favour--pah! -And to think of his being here! Oh, if he'd a notion I was within -twenty miles of him, he'd ferret me out to pay off old grudges. -I'd rather anybody had the hundred pounds they think I am worth -than that rascal. What a pity poor old Dixon could not be -persuaded to give me up, and make a provision for her old age!' - -'Oh, Frederick, hush! Don't talk so.' - -Mr. Hale came towards them, eager and trembling. He had overheard -what they were saying. He took Frederick's hand in both of his: - -'My boy, you must go. It is very bad--but I see you must. You -have done all you could--you have been a comfort to her.' - -'Oh, papa, must he go?' said Margaret, pleading against her own -conviction of necessity. - -'I declare, I've a good mind to face it out, and stand my trial. -If I could only pick up my evidence! I cannot endure the thought -of being in the power of such a blackguard as Leonards. I could -almost have enjoyed--in other circumstances--this stolen visit: -it has had all the charm which the French-woman attributed to -forbidden pleasures.' - -'One of the earliest things I can remember,' said Margaret, 'was -your being in some great disgrace, Fred, for stealing apples. We -had plenty of our own--trees loaded with them; but some one had -told you that stolen fruit tasted sweetest, which you took au -pied de la lettre, and off you went a-robbing. You have not -changed your feelings much since then.' - -'Yes--you must go,' repeated Mr. Hale, answering Margaret's -question, which she had asked some time ago. His thoughts were -fixed on one subject, and it was an effort to him to follow the -zig-zag remarks of his children--an effort which ho did not make. - -Margaret and Frederick looked at each other. That quick momentary -sympathy would be theirs no longer if he went away. So much was -understood through eyes that could not be put into words. Both -coursed the same thought till it was lost in sadness. Frederick -shook it off first: - -'Do you know, Margaret, I was very nearly giving both Dixon and -myself a good fright this afternoon. I was in my bedroom; I had -heard a ring at the front door, but I thought the ringer must -have done his business and gone away long ago; so I was on the -point of making my appearance in the passage, when, as I opened -my room door, I saw Dixon coming downstairs; and she frowned and -kicked me into hiding again. I kept the door open, and heard a -message given to some man that was in my father's study, and that -then went away. Who could it have been? Some of the shopmen?' - -'Very likely,' said Margaret, indifferently. 'There was a little -quiet man who came up for orders about two o'clock.' - -'But this was not a little man--a great powerful fellow; and it -was past four when he was here.' - -'It was Mr. Thornton,' said Mr. Hale. They were glad to have -drawn him into the conversation. - -'Mr. Thornton!' said Margaret, a little surprised. 'I -thought----' - -'Well, little one, what did you think?' asked Frederick, as she -did not finish her sentence. - -'Oh, only,' said she, reddening and looking straight at him, 'I -fancied you meant some one of a different class, not a gentleman; -somebody come on an errand.' - -'He looked like some one of that kind,' said Frederick, -carelessly. 'I took him for a shopman, and he turns out a -manufacturer.' - -Margaret was silent. She remembered how at first, before she knew -his character, she had spoken and thought of him just as -Frederick was doing. It was but a natural impression that was -made upon him, and yet she was a little annoyed by it. She was -unwilling to speak; she wanted to make Frederick understand what -kind of person Mr. Thornton was--but she was tongue-tied. - -Mr. Hale went on. 'He came to offer any assistance in his power, -I believe. But I could not see him. I told Dixon to ask him if he -would like to see you--I think I asked her to find you, and you -would go to him. I don't know what I said.' - -'He has been a very agreeable acquaintance, has he not?' asked -Frederick, throwing the question like a ball for any one to catch -who chose. - -'A very kind friend,' said Margaret, when her father did not -answer. - -Frederick was silent for a time. At last he spoke: - -'Margaret, it is painful to think I can never thank those who -have shown you kindness. Your acquaintances and mine must be -separate. Unless, indeed, I run the chances of a court-martial, -or unless you and my father would come to Spain.' He threw out -this last suggestion as a kind of feeler; and then suddenly made -the plunge. 'You don't know how I wish you would. I have a good -position--the chance of a better,' continued he, reddening like a -girl. 'That Dolores Barbour that I was telling you of, -Margaret--I only wish you knew her; I am sure you would like--no, -love is the right word, like is so poor--you would love her, -father, if you knew her. She is not eighteen; but if she is in -the same mind another year, she is to be my wife. Mr. Barbour -won't let us call it an engagement. But if you would come, you -would find friends everywhere, besides Dolores. Think of it, -father. Margaret, be on my side.' - -'No--no more removals for me,' said Mr. Hale. 'One removal has -cost me my wife. No more removals in this life. She will be here; -and here will I stay out my appointed time.' - -'Oh, Frederick,' said Margaret, 'tell us more about her. I never -thought of this; but I am so glad. You will have some one to love -and care for you out there. Tell us all about it.' - -'In the first place, she is a Roman Catholic. That's the only -objection I anticipated. But my father's change of opinion--nay, -Margaret, don't sigh.' - -Margaret had reason to sigh a little more before the conversation -ended. Frederick himself was Roman Catholic in fact, though not -in profession as yet. This was, then, the reason why his sympathy -in her extreme distress at her father's leaving the Church had -been so faintly expressed in his letters. She had thought it was -the carelessness of a sailor; but the truth was, that even then -he was himself inclined to give up the form of religion into -which he had been baptised, only that his opinions were tending -in exactly the opposite direction to those of his father. How -much love had to do with this change not even Frederick himself -could have told. Margaret gave up talking about this branch of -the subject at last; and, returning to the fact of the -engagement, she began to consider it in some fresh light: - -'But for her sake, Fred, you surely will try and clear yourself -of the exaggerated charges brought against you, even if the -charge of mutiny itself be true. If there were to be a -court-martial, and you could find your witnesses, you might, at -any rate, show how your disobedience to authority was because -that authority was unworthily exercised.' - -Mr. Hale roused himself up to listen to his son's answer. - -'In the first place, Margaret, who is to hunt up my witnesses? -All of them are sailors, drafted off to other ships, except those -whose evidence would go for very little, as they took part, or -sympathised in the affair. In the next place, allow me to tell -you, you don't know what a court-martial is, and consider it as -an assembly where justice is administered, instead of what it -really is--a court where authority weighs nine-tenths in the -balance, and evidence forms only the other tenth. In such cases, -evidence itself can hardly escape being influenced by the -prestige of authority.' - -'But is it not worth trying, to see how much evidence might be -discovered and arrayed on your behalf? At present, all those who -knew you formerly, believe you guilty without any shadow of -excuse. You have never tried to justify yourself, and we have -never known where to seek for proofs of your justification. Now, -for Miss Barbour's sake, make your conduct as clear as you can in -the eye of the world. She may not care for it; she has, I am -sure, that trust in you that we all have; but you ought not to -let her ally herself to one under such a serious charge, without -showing the world exactly how it is you stand. You disobeyed -authority--that was bad; but to have stood by, without word or -act, while the authority was brutally used, would have been -infinitely worse. People know what you did; but not the motives -that elevate it out of a crime into an heroic protection of the -weak. For Dolores' sake, they ought to know.' - -'But how must I make them know? I am not sufficiently sure of the -purity and justice of those who would be my judges, to give -myself up to a court-martial, even if I could bring a whole array -of truth-speaking witnesses. I can't send a bellman about, to cry -aloud and proclaim in the streets what you are pleased to call my -heroism. No one would read a pamphlet of self-justification so -long after the deed, even if I put one out.' - -'Will you consult a lawyer as to your chances of exculpation?' -asked Margaret, looking up, and turning very red. - -'I must first catch my lawyer, and have a look at him, and see -how I like him, before I make him into my confidant. Many a -briefless barrister might twist his conscience into thinking, -that he could earn a hundred pounds very easily by doing a good -action--in giving me, a criminal, up to justice.' - -'Nonsense, Frederick!--because I know a lawyer on whose honour I -can rely; of whose cleverness in his profession people speak very -highly; and who would, I think, take a good deal of trouble for -any of--of Aunt Shaw's relations Mr. Henry Lennox, papa.' - -'I think it is a good idea,' said Mr. Hale. 'But don't propose -anything which will detain Frederick in England. Don't, for your -mother's sake.' - -'You could go to London to-morrow evening by a night-train,' -continued Margaret, warming up into her plan. 'He must go -to-morrow, I'm afraid, papa,' said she, tenderly; 'we fixed that, -because of Mr. Bell, and Dixon's disagreeable acquaintance.' - -'Yes; I must go to-morrow,' said Frederick decidedly. - -Mr. Hale groaned. 'I can't bear to part with you, and yet I am -miserable with anxiety as long as you stop here.' - -'Well then,' said Margaret, 'listen to my plan. He gets to London -on Friday morning. I will--you might--no! it would be better for -me to give him a note to Mr. Lennox. You will find him at his -chambers in the Temple.' - -'I will write down a list of all the names I can remember on -board the Orion. I could leave it with him to ferret them out. He -is Edith's husband's brother, isn't he? I remember your naming -him in your letters. I have money in Barbour's hands. I can pay a -pretty long bill, if there is any chance of success Money, dear -father, that I had meant for a different purpose; so I shall only -consider it as borrowed from you and Margaret.' - -'Don't do that,' said Margaret. 'You won't risk it if you do. And -it will be a risk only it is worth trying. You can sail from -London as well as from Liverpool?' - -'To be sure, little goose. Wherever I feel water heaving under a -plank, there I feel at home. I'll pick up some craft or other to -take me off, never fear. I won't stay twenty-four hours in -London, away from you on the one hand, and from somebody else on -the other.' - -It was rather a comfort to Margaret that Frederick took it into -his head to look over her shoulder as she wrote to Mr. Lennox. If -she had not been thus compelled to write steadily and concisely -on, she might have hesitated over many a word, and been puzzled -to choose between many an expression, in the awkwardness of being -the first to resume the intercourse of which the concluding event -had been so unpleasant to both sides. However, the note was taken -from her before she had even had time to look it over, and -treasured up in a pocket-book, out of which fell a long lock of -black hair, the sight of which caused Frederick's eyes to glow -with pleasure. - -'Now you would like to see that, wouldn't you?' said he. 'No! you -must wait till you see her herself She is too perfect to be known -by fragments. No mean brick shall be a specimen of the building -of my palace.' - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - -MISCHANCES - -'What! remain to be -Denounced--dragged, it may be, in chains.' -WERNER. - -All the next day they sate together--they three. Mr. Hale hardly -ever spoke but when his children asked him questions, and forced -him, as it were, into the present. Frederick's grief was no more -to be seen or heard; the first paroxysm had passed over, and now -he was ashamed of having been so battered down by emotion; and -though his sorrow for the loss of his mother was a deep real -feeling, and would last out his life, it was never to be spoken -of again. Margaret, not so passionate at first, was more -suffering now. At times she cried a good deal; and her manner, -even when speaking on indifferent things, had a mournful -tenderness about it, which was deepened whenever her looks fell -on Frederick, and she thought of his rapidly approaching -departure. She was glad he was going, on her father's account, -however much she might grieve over it on her own. The anxious -terror in which Mr. Hale lived lest his son should be detected -and captured, far out-weighed the pleasure he derived from his -presence. The nervousness had increased since Mrs. Hale's death, -probably because he dwelt upon it more exclusively. He started at -every unusual sound; and was never comfortable unless Frederick -sate out of the immediate view of any one entering the room. -Towards evening he said: - -'You will go with Frederick to the station, Margaret? I shall -want to know he is safely off. You will bring me word that he is -clear of Milton, at any rate?' - -'Certainly,' said Margaret. 'I shall like it, if you won't be -lonely without me, papa.' - -'No, no! I should always be fancying some one had known him, and -that he had been stopped, unless you could tell me you had seen -him off. And go to the Outwood station. It is quite as near, and -not so many people about. Take a cab there. There is less risk of -his being seen. What time is your train, Fred?' - -'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.' - -Margaret could hardly keep from crying at the tender anxiety with -which Frederick was bringing before her an event which she -herself felt was not very improbable, so severely had the cares -of the last few months told upon Mr. Hale. But she tried to rally -as she said: - -'There have been such strange unexpected changes in my life -during these last two years, that I feel more than ever that it -is not worth while to calculate too closely what I should do if -any future event took place. I try to think only upon the -present.' She paused; they were standing still for a moment, -close on the field side of the stile leading into the road; the -setting sun fell on their faces. Frederick held her hand in his, -and looked with wistful anxiety into her face, reading there more -care and trouble than she would betray by words. She went on: - -'We shall write often to one another, and I will promise--for I -see it will set your mind at ease--to tell you every worry I -have. Papa is'--she started a little, a hardly visible start--but -Frederick felt the sudden motion of the hand he held, and turned -his full face to the road, along which a horseman was slowly -riding, just passing the very stile where they stood. Margaret -bowed; her bow was stiffly returned. - -'Who is that?' said Frederick, almost before he was out of -hearing. Margaret was a little drooping, a little flushed, as she -replied: - -'Mr. Thornton; you saw him before, you know.' - -'Only his back. He is an unprepossessing-looking fellow. What a -scowl he has!' - -'Something has happened to vex him,' said Margaret, -apologetically. 'You would not have thought him unprepossessing -if you had seen him with mamma.' - -'I fancy it must be time to go and take my ticket. If I had known -how dark it would be, we wouldn't have sent back the cab, -Margaret.' - -'Oh, don't fidget about that. I can take a cab here, if I like; -or go back by the rail-road, when I should have shops and people -and lamps all the way from the Milton station-house. Don't think -of me; take care of yourself. I am sick with the thought that -Leonards may be in the same train with you. Look well into the -carriage before you get in.' - -They went back to the station. Margaret insisted upon going into -the full light of the flaring gas inside to take the ticket. Some -idle-looking young men were lounging about with the -stationmaster. Margaret thought she had seen the face of one of -them before, and returned him a proud look of offended dignity -for his somewhat impertinent stare of undisguised admiration. She -went hastily to her brother, who was standing outside, and took -hold of his arm. 'Have you got your bag? Let us walk about here -on the platform,' said she, a little flurried at the idea of so -soon being left alone, and her bravery oozing out rather faster -than she liked to acknowledge even to herself. She heard a step -following them along the flags; it stopped when they stopped, -looking out along the line and hearing the whizz of the coming -train. They did not speak; their hearts were too full. Another -moment, and the train would be here; a minute more, and he would -be gone. Margaret almost repented the urgency with which she had -entreated him to go to London; it was throwing more chances of -detection in his way. If he had sailed for Spain by Liverpool, he -might have been off in two or three hours. - -Frederick turned round, right facing the lamp, where the gas -darted up in vivid anticipation of the train. A man in the dress -of a railway porter started forward; a bad-looking man, who -seemed to have drunk himself into a state of brutality, although -his senses were in perfect order. - -'By your leave, miss!' said he, pushing Margaret rudely on one -side, and seizing Frederick by the collar. - -'Your name is Hale, I believe?' - -In an instant--how, Margaret did not see, for everything danced -before her eyes--but by some sleight of wrestling, Frederick had -tripped him up, and he fell from the height of three or four -feet, which the platform was elevated above the space of soft -ground, by the side of the railroad. There he lay. - -'Run, run!' gasped Margaret. 'The train is here. It was Leonards, -was it? oh, run! I will carry your bag.' And she took him by the -arm to push him along with all her feeble force. A door was -opened in a carriage--he jumped in; and as he leant out t say, -'God bless you, Margaret!' the train rushed past her; an she was -left standing alone. She was so terribly sick and faint that she -was thankful to be able to turn into the ladies' waiting-room, -and sit down for an instant. At first she could do nothing but -gasp for breath. It was such a hurry; such a sickening alarm; -such a near chance. If the train had not been there at the -moment, the man would have jumped up again and called for -assistance to arrest him. She wondered if the man had got up: she -tried to remember if she had seen him move; she wondered if he -could have been seriously hurt. She ventured out; the platform -was all alight, but still quite deserted; she went to the end, -and looked over, somewhat fearfully. No one was there; and then -she was glad she had made herself go, and inspect, for otherwise -terrible thoughts would have haunted her dreams. And even as it -was, she was so trembling and affrighted that she felt she could -not walk home along the road, which did indeed seem lonely and -dark, as she gazed down upon it from the blaze of the station. -She would wait till the down train passed and take her seat in -it. But what if Leonards recognised her as Frederick's companion! -She peered about, before venturing into the booking-office to -take her ticket. There were only some railway officials standing -about; and talking loud to one another. - -'So Leonards has been drinking again!' said one, seemingly in -authority. 'He'll need all his boasted influence to keep his -place this time.' - -'Where is he?' asked another, while Margaret, her back towards -them, was counting her change with trembling fingers, not daring -to turn round until she heard the answer to this question. - -'I don't know. He came in not five minutes ago, with some long -story or other about a fall he'd had, swearing awfully; and -wanted to borrow some money from me to go to London by the next -up-train. He made all sorts of tipsy promises, but I'd something -else to do than listen to him; I told him to go about his -business; and he went off at the front door.' - -'He's at the nearest vaults, I'll be bound,' said the first -speaker. 'Your money would have gone there too, if you'd been -such a fool as to lend it.' - -'Catch me! I knew better what his London meant. Why, he has never -paid me off that five shillings'--and so they went on. - -And now all Margaret's anxiety was for the train to come. She hid -herself once more in the ladies' waiting-room, and fancied every -noise was Leonards' step--every loud and boisterous voice was -his. But no one came near her until the train drew up; when she -was civilly helped into a carriage by a porter, into whose face -she durst not look till they were in motion, and then she saw -that it was not Leonards'. - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - - -PEACE - -'Sleep on, my love, in thy cold bed, -Never to be disquieted! -My last Good Night--thou wilt not wake -Till I thy fate shall overtake.' -DR. KING. - -Home seemed unnaturally quiet after all this terror and noisy -commotion. Her father had seen all due preparation made for her -refreshment on her return; and then sate down again in his -accustomed chair, to fall into one of his sad waking dreams. -Dixon had got Mary Higgins to scold and direct in the kitchen; -and her scolding was not the less energetic because it was -delivered in an angry whisper; for, speaking above her breath she -would have thought irreverent, as long as there was any one dead -lying in the house. Margaret had resolved not to mention the -crowning and closing affright to her father. There was no use in -speaking about it; it had ended well; the only thing to be feared -was lest Leonards should in some way borrow money enough to -effect his purpose of following Frederick to London, and hunting -him out there. But there were immense chances against the success -of any such plan; and Margaret determined not to torment herself -by thinking of what she could do nothing to prevent. Frederick -would be as much on his guard as she could put him; and in a day -or two at most he would be safely out of England. - -'I suppose we shall hear from Mr. Bell to-morrow,' said Margaret. - -'Yes,' replied her father. 'I suppose so.' - -'If he can come, he will be here to-morrow evening, I should -think.' - -'If he cannot come, I shall ask Mr. Thornton to go with me to the -funeral. I cannot go alone. I should break down utterly.' - -'Don't ask Mr. Thornton, papa. Let me go with you,' said -Margaret, impetuously. - -'You! My dear, women do not generally go.' - -'No: because they can't control themselves. Women of our class -don't go, because they have no power over their emotions, and yet -are ashamed of showing them. Poor women go, and don't care if -they are seen overwhelmed with grief. But I promise you, papa, -that if you will let me go, I will be no trouble. Don't have a -stranger, and leave me out. Dear papa! if Mr. Bell cannot come, I -shall go. I won't urge my wish against your will, if he does.' - -Mr. Bell could not come. He had the gout. It was a most -affectionate letter, and expressed great and true regret for his -inability to attend. He hoped to come and pay them a visit soon, -if they would have him; his Milton property required some looking -after, and his agent had written to him to say that his presence -was absolutely necessary; or else he had avoided coming near -Milton as long as he could, and now the only thing that would -reconcile him to this necessary visit was the idea that he should -see, and might possibly be able to comfort his old friend. - -Margaret had all the difficulty in the world to persuade her -father not to invite Mr. Thornton. She had an indescribable -repugnance to this step being taken. The night before the -funeral, came a stately note from Mrs. Thornton to Miss Hale, -saying that, at her son's desire, their carriage should attend -the funeral, if it would not be disagreeable to the family. -Margaret tossed the note to her father. - -'Oh, don't let us have these forms,' said she. 'Let us go -alone--you and me, papa. They don't care for us, or else he would -have offered to go himself, and not have proposed this sending an -empty carriage.' - -'I thought you were so extremely averse to his going, Margaret,' -said Mr. Hale in some surprise. - -'And so I am. I don't want him to come at all; and I should -especially dislike the idea of our asking him. But this seems -such a mockery of mourning that I did not expect it from him.' -She startled her father by bursting into tears. She had been so -subdued in her grief, so thoughtful for others, so gentle and -patient in all things, that he could not understand her impatient -ways to-night; she seemed agitated and restless; and at all the -tenderness which her father in his turn now lavished upon her, -she only cried the more. - -She passed so bad a night that she was ill prepared for the -additional anxiety caused by a letter received from Frederick. -Mr. Lennox was out of town; his clerk said that he would return -by the following Tuesday at the latest; that he might possibly be -at home on Monday. Consequently, after some consideration, -Frederick had determined upon remaining in London a day or two -longer. He had thought of coming down to Milton again; the -temptation had been very strong; but the idea of Mr. Bell -domesticated in his father's house, and the alarm he had received -at the last moment at the railway station, had made him resolve -to stay in London. Margaret might be assured he would take every -precaution against being tracked by Leonards. Margaret was -thankful that she received this letter while her father was -absent in her mother's room. If he had been present, he would -have expected her to read it aloud to him, and it would have -raised in him a state of nervous alarm which she would have found -it impossible to soothe away. There was not merely the fact, -which disturbed her excessively, of Frederick's detention in -London, but there were allusions to the recognition at the last -moment at Milton, and the possibility of a pursuit, which made -her blood run cold; and how then would it have affected her -father? Many a time did Margaret repent of having suggested and -urged on the plan of consulting Mr. Lennox. At the moment, it had -seemed as if it would occasion so little delay--add so little to -the apparently small chances of detection; and yet everything -that had since occurred had tended to make it so undesirable. -Margaret battled hard against this regret of hers for what could -not now be helped; this self-reproach for having said what had at -the time appeared to be wise, but which after events were proving -to have been so foolish. But her father was in too depressed a -state of mind and body to struggle healthily; he would succumb to -all these causes for morbid regret over what could not be -recalled. Margaret summoned up all her forces to her aid. Her -father seemed to have forgotten that they had any reason to -expect a letter from Frederick that morning. He was absorbed in -one idea--that the last visible token of the presence of his wife -was to be carried away from him, and hidden from his sight. He -trembled pitifully as the undertaker's man was arranging his -crape draperies around him. He looked wistfully at Margaret; and, -when released, he tottered towards her, murmuring, 'Pray for me, -Margaret. I have no strength left in me. I cannot pray. I give -her up because I must. I try to bear it: indeed I do. I know it -is God's will. But I cannot see why she died. Pray for me, -Margaret, that I may have faith to pray. It is a great strait, my -child.' - -Margaret sat by him in the coach, almost supporting him in her -arms; and repeating all the noble verses of holy comfort, or -texts expressive of faithful resignation, that she could -remember. Her voice never faltered; and she herself gained -strength by doing this. Her father's lips moved after her, -repeating the well-known texts as her words suggested them; it -was terrible to see the patient struggling effort to obtain the -resignation which he had not strength to take into his heart as a -part of himself. - -Margaret's fortitude nearly gave way as Dixon, with a slight -motion of her hand, directed her notice to Nicholas Higgins and -his daughter, standing a little aloof, but deeply attentive to -the ceremonial. Nicholas wore his usual fustian clothes, but had -a bit of black stuff sewn round his hat--a mark of mourning which -he had never shown to his daughter Bessy's memory. But Mr. Hale -saw nothing. He went on repeating to himself, mechanically as it -were, all the funeral service as it was read by the officiating -clergyman; he sighed twice or thrice when all was ended; and -then, putting his hand on Margaret's arm, he mutely entreated to -be led away, as if he were blind, and she his faithful guide. - -Dixon sobbed aloud; she covered her face with her handkerchief, -and was so absorbed in her own grief, that she did not perceive -that the crowd, attracted on such occasions, was dispersing, till -she was spoken to by some one close at hand. It was Mr. Thornton. -He had been present all the time, standing, with bent head, -behind a group of people, so that, in fact, no one had recognised -him. - -'I beg your pardon,--but, can you tell me how Mr. Hale is? And -Miss Hale, too? I should like to know how they both are.' - -'Of course, sir. They are much as is to be expected. Master is -terribly broke down. Miss Hale bears up better than likely.' - -Mr. Thornton would rather have heard that she was suffering the -natural sorrow. In the first place, there was selfishness enough -in him to have taken pleasure in the idea that his great love -might come in to comfort and console her; much the same kind of -strange passionate pleasure which comes stinging through a -mother's heart, when her drooping infant nestles close to her, -and is dependent upon her for everything. But this delicious -vision of what might have been--in which, in spite of all -Margaret's repulse, he would have indulged only a few days -ago--was miserably disturbed by the recollection of what he had -seen near the Outwood station. 'Miserably disturbed!' that is not -strong enough. He was haunted by the remembrance of the handsome -young man, with whom she stood in an attitude of such familiar -confidence; and the remembrance shot through him like an agony, -till it made him clench his hands tight in order to subdue the -pain. At that late hour, so far from home! It took a great moral -effort to galvanise his trust--erewhile so perfect--in Margaret's -pure and exquisite maidenliness, into life; as soon as the effort -ceased, his trust dropped down dead and powerless: and all sorts -of wild fancies chased each other like dreams through his mind. -Here was a little piece of miserable, gnawing confirmation. 'She -bore up better than likely' under this grief. She had then some -hope to look to, so bright that even in her affectionate nature -it could come in to lighten the dark hours of a daughter newly -made motherless. Yes! he knew how she would love. He had not -loved her without gaining that instinctive knowledge of what -capabilities were in her. Her soul would walk in glorious -sunlight if any man was worthy, by his power of loving, to win -back her love. Even in her mourning she would rest with a -peaceful faith upon his sympathy. His sympathy! Whose? That other -man's. And that it was another was enough to make Mr. Thornton's -pale grave face grow doubly wan and stern at Dixon's answer. - -'I suppose I may call,' said he coldly. 'On Mr. Hale, I mean. He -will perhaps admit me after to-morrow or so.' - -He spoke as if the answer were a matter of indifference to him. -But it was not so. For all his pain, he longed to see the author -of it. Although he hated Margaret at times, when he thought of -that gentle familiar attitude and all the attendant -circumstances, he had a restless desire to renew her picture in -his mind--a longing for the very atmosphere she breathed. He was -in the Charybdis of passion, and must perforce circle and circle -ever nearer round the fatal centre. - -'I dare say, sir, master will see you. He was very sorry to have -to deny you the other day; but circumstances was not agreeable -just then.' - -For some reason or other, Dixon never named this interview that -she had had with Mr. Thornton to Margaret. It might have been -mere chance, but so it was that Margaret never heard that he had -attended her poor mother's funeral. - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - - -FALSE AND TRUE - -'Truth will fail thee never, never! -Though thy bark be tempest-driven, -Though each plank be rent and riven, -Truth will bear thee on for ever!' -ANON. - -The 'bearing up better than likely' was a terrible strain upon -Margaret. Sometimes she thought she must give way, and cry out -with pain, as the sudden sharp thought came across her, even -during her apparently cheerful conversations with her father, -that she had no longer a mother. About Frederick, too, there was -great uneasiness. The Sunday post intervened, and interfered with -their London letters; and on Tuesday Margaret was surprised and -disheartened to find that there was still no letter. She was -quite in the dark as to his plans, and her father was miserable -at all this uncertainty. It broke in upon his lately acquired -habit of sitting still in one easy chair for half a day together. -He kept pacing up and down the room; then out of it; and she -heard him upon the landing opening and shutting the bed-room -doors, without any apparent object. She tried to tranquillise him -by reading aloud; but it was evident he could not listen for long -together. How thankful she was then, that she had kept to herself -the additional cause for anxiety produced by their encounter with -Leonards. She was thankful to hear Mr. Thornton announced. His -visit would force her father's thoughts into another channel. - -He came up straight to her father, whose hands he took and wrung -without a word--holding them in his for a minute or two, during -which time his face, his eyes, his look, told of more sympathy -than could be put into words. Then he turned to Margaret. Not -'better than likely' did she look. Her stately beauty was dimmed -with much watching and with many tears. The expression on her -countenance was of gentle patient sadness--nay of positive -present suffering. He had not meant to greet her otherwise than -with his late studied coldness of demeanour; but he could not -help going up to her, as she stood a little aside, rendered timid -by the uncertainty of his manner of late, and saying the few -necessary common-place words in so tender a voice, that her eyes -filled with tears, and she turned away to hide her emotion. She -took her work and sate down very quiet and silent. Mr. Thornton's -heart beat quick and strong, and for the time he utterly forgot -the Outwood lane. He tried to talk to Mr. Hale: and--his presence -always a certain kind of pleasure to Mr. Hale, as his power and -decision made him, and his opinions, a safe, sure port--was -unusually agreeable to her father, as Margaret saw. - -Presently Dixon came to the door and said, 'Miss Hale, you are -wanted.' - -Dixon's manner was so flurried that Margaret turned sick at -heart. Something had happened to Fred. She had no doubt of that. -It was well that her father and Mr. Thornton were so much -occupied by their conversation. - -'What is it, Dixon?' asked Margaret, the moment she had shut the -drawing-room door. - -'Come this way, miss,' said Dixon, opening the door of what had -been Mrs. Hale's bed-chamber, now Margaret's, for her father -refused to sleep there again after his wife's death. 'It's -nothing, miss,' said Dixon, choking a little. 'Only a -police-inspector. He wants to see you, miss. But I dare say, it's -about nothing at all.' - -'Did he name--' asked Margaret, almost inaudibly. - -'No, miss; he named nothing. He only asked if you lived here, and -if he could speak to you. Martha went to the door, and let him -in; she has shown him into master's study. I went to him myself, -to try if that would do; but no--it's you, miss, he wants.' - -Margaret did not speak again till her hand was on the lock of the -study door. Here she turned round and said, 'Take care papa does -not come down. Mr. Thornton is with him now.' - -The inspector was almost daunted by the haughtiness of her manner -as she entered. There was something of indignation expressed in -her countenance, but so kept down and controlled, that it gave -her a superb air of disdain. There was no surprise, no curiosity. -She stood awaiting the opening of his business there. Not a -question did she ask. - -'I beg your pardon, ma'am, but my duty obliges me to ask you a -few plain questions. A man has died at the Infirmary, in -consequence of a fall, received at Outwood station, between the -hours of five and six on Thursday evening, the twenty-sixth -instant. At the time, this fall did not seem of much consequence; -but it was rendered fatal, the doctors say, by the presence of -some internal complaint, and the man's own habit of drinking.' - -The large dark eyes, gazing straight into the inspector's face, -dilated a little. Otherwise there was no motion perceptible to -his experienced observation. Her lips swelled out into a richer -curve than ordinary, owing to the enforced tension of the -muscles, but he did not know what was their usual appearance, so -as to recognise the unwonted sullen defiance of the firm sweeping -lines. She never blenched or trembled. She fixed him with her -eye. Now--as he paused before going on, she said, almost as if -she would encourage him in telling his tale--'Well--go on!' - -'It is supposed that an inquest will have to be held; there is -some slight evidence to prove that the blow, or push, or scuffle -that caused the fall, was provoked by this poor fellow's -half-tipsy impertinence to a young lady, walking with the man who -pushed the deceased over the edge of the platform. This much was -observed by some one on the platform, who, however, thought no -more about the matter, as the blow seemed of slight consequence. -There is also some reason to identify the lady with yourself; in -which case--' - -'I was not there,' said Margaret, still keeping her -expressionless eyes fixed on his face, with the unconscious look -of a sleep-walker. - -The inspector bowed but did not speak. The lady standing before -him showed no emotion, no fluttering fear, no anxiety, no desire -to end the interview. The information he had received was very -vague; one of the porters, rushing out to be in readiness for the -train, had seen a scuffle, at the other end of the platform, -between Leonards and a gentleman accompanied by a lady, but heard -no noise; and before the train had got to its full speed after -starting, he had been almost knocked down by the headlong run of -the enraged half intoxicated Leonards, swearing and cursing -awfully. He had not thought any more about it, till his evidence -was routed out by the inspector, who, on making some farther -inquiry at the railroad station, had heard from the -station-master that a young lady and gentleman had been there -about that hour--the lady remarkably handsome--and said, by some -grocer's assistant present at the time, to be a Miss Hale, living -at Crampton, whose family dealt at his shop. There was no -certainty that the one lady and gentleman were identical with the -other pair, but there was great probability. Leonards himself had -gone, half-mad with rage and pain, to the nearest gin-palace for -comfort; and his tipsy words had not been attended to by the busy -waiters there; they, however, remembered his starting up and -cursing himself for not having sooner thought of the electric -telegraph, for some purpose unknown; and they believed that he -left with the idea of going there. On his way, overcome by pain -or drink, he had lain down in the road, where the police had -found him and taken him to the Infirmary: there he had never -recovered sufficient consciousness to give any distinct account -of his fall, although once or twice he had had glimmerings of -sense sufficient to make the authorities send for the nearest -magistrate, in hopes that he might be able to take down the dying -man's deposition of the cause of his death. But when the -magistrate had come, he was rambling about being at sea, and -mixing up names of captains and lieutenants in an indistinct -manner with those of his fellow porters at the railway; and his -last words were a curse on the 'Cornish trick' which had, he -said, made him a hundred pounds poorer than he ought to have -been. The inspector ran all this over in his mind--the vagueness -of the evidence to prove that Margaret had been at the -station--the unflinching, calm denial which she gave to such a -supposition. She stood awaiting his next word with a composure -that appeared supreme. - -'Then, madam, I have your denial that you were the lady -accompanying the gentleman who struck the blow, or gave the push, -which caused the death of this poor man?' - -A quick, sharp pain went through Margaret's brain. 'Oh God! that -I knew Frederick were safe!' A deep observer of human -countenances might have seen the momentary agony shoot out of her -great gloomy eyes, like the torture of some creature brought to -bay. But the inspector though a very keen, was not a very deep -observer. He was a little struck, notwithstanding, by the form of -the answer, which sounded like a mechanical repetition of her -first reply--not changed and modified in shape so as to meet his -last question. - -'I was not there,' said she, slowly and heavily. And all this -time she never closed her eyes, or ceased from that glassy, -dream-like stare. His quick suspicions were aroused by this dull -echo of her former denial. It was as if she had forced herself to -one untruth, and had been stunned out of all power of varying it. - -He put up his book of notes in a very deliberate manner. Then he -looked up; she had not moved any more than if she had been some -great Egyptian statue. - -'I hope you will not think me impertinent when I say, that I may -have to call on you again. I may have to summon you to appear on -the inquest, and prove an alibi, if my witnesses' (it was but one -who had recognised her) 'persist in deposing to your presence at -the unfortunate event.' He looked at her sharply. She was still -perfectly quiet--no change of colour, or darker shadow of guilt, -on her proud face. He thought to have seen her wince: he did not -know Margaret Hale. He was a little abashed by her regal -composure. It must have been a mistake of identity. He went on: - -'It is very unlikely, ma'am, that I shall have to do anything of -the kind. I hope you will excuse me for doing what is only my -duty, although it may appear impertinent.' - -Margaret bowed her head as he went towards the door. Her lips -were stiff and dry. She could not speak even the common words of -farewell. But suddenly she walked forwards, and opened the study -door, and preceded him to the door of the house, which she threw -wide open for his exit. She kept her eyes upon him in the same -dull, fixed manner, until he was fairly out of the house. She -shut the door, and went half-way into the study; then turned -back, as if moved by some passionate impulse, and locked the door -inside. - -Then she went into the study, paused--tottered forward--paused -again--swayed for an instant where she stood, and fell prone on -the floor in a dead swoon. - - -CHAPTER XXXV - - -EXPIATION - -'There's nought so finely spun -But it cometh to the sun.' - -Mr. Thornton sate on and on. He felt that his company gave -pleasure to Mr. Hale; and was touched by the half-spoken wishful -entreaty that he would remain a little longer--the plaintive -'Don't go yet,' which his poor friend put forth from time to -time. He wondered Margaret did not return; but it was with no -view of seeing her that he lingered. For the hour--and in the -presence of one who was so thoroughly feeling the nothingness of -earth--he was reasonable and self-controlled. He was deeply -interested in all her father said, - -'Of death, and of the heavy lull, -And of the brain that has grown dull.' - -It was curious how the presence of Mr. Thornton had power over -Mr. Hale to make him unlock the secret thoughts which he kept -shut up even from Margaret. Whether it was that her sympathy -would be so keen, and show itself in so lively a manner, that he -was afraid of the reaction upon himself, or whether it was that -to his speculative mind all kinds of doubts presented themselves -at such a time, pleading and crying aloud to be resolved into -certainties, and that he knew she would have shrunk from the -expression of any such doubts--nay, from him himself as capable -of conceiving them--whatever was the reason, he could unburden -himself better to Mr. Thornton than to her of all the thoughts -and fancies and fears that had been frost-bound in his brain till -now. Mr. Thornton said very little; but every sentence he uttered -added to Mr. Hale's reliance and regard for him. Was it that he -paused in the expression of some remembered agony, Mr. Thornton's -two or three words would complete the sentence, and show how -deeply its meaning was entered into. Was it a doubt--a fear--a -wandering uncertainty seeking rest, but finding none--so -tear-blinded were its eyes--Mr. Thornton, instead of being -shocked, seemed to have passed through that very stage of thought -himself, and could suggest where the exact ray of light was to be -found, which should make the dark places plain. Man of action as -he was, busy in the world's great battle, there was a deeper -religion binding him to God in his heart, in spite of his strong -wilfulness, through all his mistakes, than Mr. Hale had ever -dreamed. They never spoke of such things again, as it happened; -but this one conversation made them peculiar people to each -other; knit them together, in a way which no loose indiscriminate -talking about sacred things can ever accomplish. When all are -admitted, how can there be a Holy of Holies? - -And all this while, Margaret lay as still and white as death on -the study floor! She had sunk under her burden. It had been heavy -in weight and long carried; and she had been very meek and -patient, till all at once her faith had given way, and she had -groped in vain for help! There was a pitiful contraction of -suffering upon her beautiful brows, although there was no other -sign of consciousness remaining. The mouth--a little while ago, -so sullenly projected in defiance--was relaxed and livid. - -'E par che de la sua labbia si mova Uno spirto soave e pien -d'amore, Chi va dicendo a l'anima: sospira!' - -The first symptom of returning life was a quivering about the -lips--a little mute soundless attempt at speech; but the eyes -were still closed; and the quivering sank into stillness. Then, -feebly leaning on her arms for an instant to steady herself, -Margaret gathered herself up, and rose. Her comb had fallen out -of her hair; and with an intuitive desire to efface the traces of -weakness, and bring herself into order again, she sought for it, -although from time to time, in the course of the search, she had -to sit down and recover strength. Her head drooped forwards--her -hands meekly laid one upon the other--she tried to recall the -force of her temptation, by endeavouring to remember the details -which had thrown her into such deadly fright; but she could not. -She only understood two facts--that Frederick had been in danger -of being pursued and detected in London, as not only guilty of -manslaughter, but as the more unpardonable leader of the mutiny, -and that she had lied to save him. There was one comfort; her lie -had saved him, if only by gaining some additional time. If the -inspector came again to-morrow, after she had received the letter -she longed for to assure her of her brother's safety, she would -brave shame, and stand in her bitter penance--she, the lofty -Margaret--acknowledging before a crowded justice-room, if need -were, that she had been as 'a dog, and done this thing.' But if -he came before she heard from Frederick; if he returned, as he -had half threatened, in a few hours, why! she would tell that lie -again; though how the words would come out, after all this -terrible pause for reflection and self-reproach, without -betraying her falsehood, she did not know, she could not tell. -But her repetition of it would gain time--time for Frederick. - -She was roused by Dixon's entrance into the room; she had just -been letting out Mr. Thornton. - -He had hardly gone ten steps in the street, before a passing -omnibus stopped close by him, and a man got down, and came up to -him, touching his hat as he did so. It was the police-inspector. - -Mr. Thornton had obtained for him his first situation in the -police, and had heard from time to time of the progress of his -protege, but they had not often met, and at first Mr. Thornton -did not remember him. - -'My name is Watson--George Watson, sir, that you got----' - -'Ah, yes! I recollect. Why you are getting on famously, I hear.' - -'Yes, sir. I ought to thank you, sir. But it is on a little -matter of business I made so bold as to speak to you now. I -believe you were the magistrate who attended to take down the -deposition of a poor man who died in the Infirmary last night.' - -'Yes,' replied Mr. Thornton. 'I went and heard some kind of a -rambling statement, which the clerk said was of no great use. I'm -afraid he was but a drunken fellow, though there is no doubt he -came to his death by violence at last. One of my mother's -servants was engaged to him, I believe, and she is in great -distress to-day. What about him?' - -'Why, sir, his death is oddly mixed up with somebody in the house -I saw you coming out of just now; it was a Mr. Hale's, I -believe.' - -'Yes!' said Mr. Thornton, turning sharp round and looking into -the inspector's face with sudden interest. 'What about it?' - -'Why, sir, it seems to me that I have got a pretty distinct chain -of evidence, inculpating a gentleman who was walking with Miss -Hale that night at the Outwood station, as the man who struck or -pushed Leonards off the platform and so caused his death. But the -young lady denies that she was there at the time.' - -'Miss Hale denies she was there!' repeated Mr. Thornton, in an -altered voice. 'Tell me, what evening was it? What time?' - -'About six o'clock, on the evening of Thursday, the -twenty-sixth.' - -They walked on, side by side, in silence for a minute or two. The -inspector was the first to speak. - -'You see, sir, there is like to be a coroner's inquest; and I've -got a young man who is pretty positive,--at least he was at -first;--since he has heard of the young lady's denial, he says he -should not like to swear; but still he's pretty positive that he -saw Miss Hale at the station, walking about with a gentleman, not -five minutes before the time, when one of the porters saw a -scuffle, which he set down to some of Leonards' impudence--but -which led to the fall which caused his death. And seeing you come -out of the very house, sir, I thought I might make bold to ask -if--you see, it's always awkward having to do with cases of -disputed identity, and one doesn't like to doubt the word of a -respectable young woman unless one has strong proof to the -contrary.' - -'And she denied having been at the station that evening!' -repeated Mr. Thornton, in a low, brooding tone. - -'Yes, sir, twice over, as distinct as could be. I told her I -should call again, but seeing you just as I was on my way back -from questioning the young man who said it was her, I thought I -would ask your advice, both as the magistrate who saw Leonards on -his death-bed, and as the gentleman who got me my berth in the -force.' - -'You were quite right,' said Mr. Thornton. 'Don't take any steps -till you have seen me again.' - -'The young lady will expect me to call, from what I said.' - -'I only want to delay you an hour. It's now three. Come to my -warehouse at four.' - -'Very well, sir!' - -And they parted company. Mr. Thornton hurried to his warehouse, -and, sternly forbidding his clerks to allow any one to interrupt -him, he went his way to his own private room, and locked the -door. Then he indulged himself in the torture of thinking it all -over, and realising every detail. How could he have lulled -himself into the unsuspicious calm in which her tearful image had -mirrored itself not two hours before, till he had weakly pitied -her and yearned towards her, and forgotten the savage, -distrustful jealousy with which the sight of her--and that -unknown to him--at such an hour--in such a place--had inspired -him! How could one so pure have stooped from her decorous and -noble manner of bearing! But was it decorous--was it? He hated -himself for the idea that forced itself upon him, just for an -instant--no more--and yet, while it was present, thrilled him -with its old potency of attraction towards her image. And then -this falsehood--how terrible must be some dread of shame to be -revealed--for, after all, the provocation given by such a man as -Leonards was, when excited by drinking, might, in all -probability, be more than enough to justify any one who came -forward to state the circumstances openly and without reserve! -How creeping and deadly that fear which could bow down the -truthful Margaret to falsehood! He could almost pity her. What -would be the end of it? She could not have considered all she was -entering upon; if there was an inquest and the young man came -forward. Suddenly he started up. There should be no inquest. He -would save Margaret. He would take the responsibility of -preventing the inquest, the issue of which, from the uncertainty -of the medical testimony (which he had vaguely heard the night -before, from the surgeon in attendance), could be but doubtful; -the doctors had discovered an internal disease far advanced, and -sure to prove fatal; they had stated that death might have been -accelerated by the fall, or by the subsequent drinking and -exposure to cold. If he had but known how Margaret would have -become involved in the affair--if he had but foreseen that she -would have stained her whiteness by a falsehood, he could have -saved her by a word; for the question, of inquest or no inquest, -had hung trembling in the balance only the night before. Miss -Hale might love another--was indifferent and contemptuous to -him--but he would yet do her faithful acts of service of which -she should never know. He might despise her, but the woman whom -he had once loved should be kept from shame; and shame it would -be to pledge herself to a lie in a public court, or otherwise to -stand and acknowledge her reason for desiring darkness rather -than light. - -Very gray and stern did Mr. Thornton look, as he passed out -through his wondering clerks. He was away about half an hour; and -scarcely less stern did he look when he returned, although his -errand had been successful. - -He wrote two lines on a slip of paper, put it in an envelope, and -sealed it up. This he gave to one of the clerks, saying:-- - -'I appointed Watson--he who was a packer in the warehouse, and -who went into the police--to call on me at four o'clock. I have -just met with a gentleman from Liverpool who wishes to see me -before he leaves town. Take care to give this note to Watson he -calls.' - -The note contained these words: - -'There will be no inquest. Medical evidence not sufficient to -justify it. Take no further steps. I have not seen the corner; -but I will take the responsibility.' - -'Well,' thought Watson, 'it relieves me from an awkward job. None -of my witnesses seemed certain of anything except the young -woman. She was clear and distinct enough; the porter at the -rail-road had seen a scuffle; or when he found it was likely to -bring him in as a witness, then it might not have been a scuffle, -only a little larking, and Leonards might have jumped off the -platform himself;--he would not stick firm to anything. And -Jennings, the grocer's shopman,--well, he was not quite so bad, -but I doubt if I could have got him up to an oath after he heard -that Miss Hale flatly denied it. It would have been a troublesome -job and no satisfaction. And now I must go and tell them they -won't be wanted.' - -He accordingly presented himself again at Mr. Hale's that -evening. Her father and Dixon would fain have persuaded Margaret -to go to bed; but they, neither of them, knew the reason for her -low continued refusals to do so. Dixon had learnt part of the -truth-but only part. Margaret would not tell any human being of -what she had said, and she did not reveal the fatal termination -to Leonards' fall from the platform. So Dixon curiosity combined -with her allegiance to urge Margaret to go to rest, which her -appearance, as she lay on the sofa, showed but too clearly that -she required. She did not speak except when spoken to; she tried -to smile back in reply to her father's anxious looks and words of -tender enquiry; but, instead of a smile, the wan lips resolved -themselves into a sigh. He was so miserably uneasy that, at last, -she consented to go into her own room, and prepare for going to -bed. She was indeed inclined to give up the idea that the -inspector would call again that night, as it was already past -nine o'clock. - -She stood by her father, holding on to the back of his chair. - -'You will go to bed soon, papa, won't you? Don't sit up alone!' - -What his answer was she did not hear; the words were lost in the -far smaller point of sound that magnified itself to her fears, -and filled her brain. There was a low ring at the door-bell. - -She kissed her father and glided down stairs, with a rapidity of -motion of which no one would have thought her capable, who had -seen her the minute before. She put aside Dixon. - -'Don't come; I will open the door. I know it is him--I can--I -must manage it all myself.' - -'As you please, miss!' said Dixon testily; but in a moment -afterwards, she added, 'But you're not fit for it. You are more -dead than alive.' - -'Am I?' said Margaret, turning round and showing her eyes all -aglow with strange fire, her cheeks flushed, though her lips were -baked and livid still. - -She opened the door to the Inspector, and preceded him into the -study. She placed the candle on the table, and snuffed it -carefully, before she turned round and faced him. - -'You are late!' said she. 'Well?' She held her breath for the -answer. - -'I'm sorry to have given any unnecessary trouble, ma'am; for, -after all, they've given up all thoughts of holding an inquest. I -have had other work to do and other people to see, or I should -have been here before now.' - -'Then it is ended,' said Margaret. 'There is to be no further -enquiry.' - -'I believe I've got Mr. Thornton's note about me,' said the -Inspector, fumbling in his pocket-book. - -'Mr. Thornton's!' said Margaret. - -'Yes! he's a magistrate--ah! here it is.' She could not see to -read it--no, not although she was close to the candle. The words -swam before her. But she held it in her hand, and looked at it as -if she were intently studying it. - -'I'm sure, ma'am, it's a great weight off my mind; for the -evidence was so uncertain, you see, that the man had received any -blow at all,--and if any question of identity came in, it so -complicated the case, as I told Mr. Thornton--' - -'Mr. Thornton!' said Margaret, again. - -'I met him this morning, just as he was coming out of this house, -and, as he's an old friend of mine, besides being the magistrate -who saw Leonards last night, I made bold to tell him of my -difficulty.' - -Margaret sighed deeply. She did not want to hear any more; she -was afraid alike of what she had heard, and of what she might -hear. She wished that the man would go. She forced herself to -speak. - -'Thank you for calling. It is very late. I dare say it is past -ten o'clock. Oh! here is the note!' she continued, suddenly -interpreting the meaning of the hand held out to receive it. He -was putting it up, when she said, 'I think it is a cramped, -dazzling sort of writing. I could not read it; will you just read -it to me?' - -He read it aloud to her. - -'Thank you. You told Mr. Thornton that I was not there?' - -'Oh, of course, ma'am. I'm sorry now that I acted upon -information, which seems to have been so erroneous. At first the -young man was so positive; and now he says that he doubted all -along, and hopes that his mistake won't have occasioned you such -annoyance as to lose their shop your custom. Good night, ma'am.' - -'Good night.' She rang the bell for Dixon to show him out. As -Dixon returned up the passage Margaret passed her swiftly. - -'It is all right!' said she, without looking at Dixon; and before -the woman could follow her with further questions she had sped -up-stairs, and entered her bed-chamber, and bolted her door. - -She threw herself, dressed as she was, upon her bed. She was too -much exhausted to think. Half an hour or more elapsed before the -cramped nature of her position, and the chilliness, supervening -upon great fatigue, had the power to rouse her numbed faculties. -Then she began to recall, to combine, to wonder. The first idea -that presented itself to her was, that all this sickening alarm -on Frederick's behalf was over; that the strain was past. The -next was a wish to remember every word of the Inspector's which -related to Mr. Thornton. When had he seen him? What had he said? -What had Mr. Thornton done? What were the exact words of his -note? And until she could recollect, even to the placing or -omitting an article, the very expressions which he had used in -the note, her mind refused to go on with its progress. But the -next conviction she came to was clear enough;--Mr. Thornton had -seen her close to Outwood station on the fatal Thursday night, -and had been told of her denial that she was there. She stood as -a liar in his eyes. She was a liar. But she had no thought of -penitence before God; nothing but chaos and night surrounded the -one lurid fact that, in Mr. Thornton's eyes, she was degraded. -She cared not to think, even to herself, of how much of excuse -she might plead. That had nothing to do with Mr. Thornton; she -never dreamed that he, or any one else, could find cause for -suspicion in what was so natural as her accompanying her brother; -but what was really false and wrong was known to him, and he had -a right to judge her. 'Oh, Frederick! Frederick!' she cried, -'what have I not sacrificed for you!' Even when she fell asleep -her thoughts were compelled to travel the same circle, only with -exaggerated and monstrous circumstances of pain. - -When she awoke a new idea flashed upon her with all the -brightness of the morning. Mr. Thornton had learnt her falsehood -before he went to the coroner; that suggested the thought, that -he had possibly been influenced so to do with a view of sparing -her the repetition of her denial. But she pushed this notion on -one side with the sick wilfulness of a child. If it were so, she -felt no gratitude to him, as it only showed her how keenly he -must have seen that she was disgraced already, before he took -such unwonted pains to spare her any further trial of -truthfulness, which had already failed so signally. She would -have gone through the whole--she would have perjured herself to -save Frederick, rather--far rather--than Mr. Thornton should have -had the knowledge that prompted him to interfere to save her. -What ill-fate brought him in contact with the Inspector? What -made him be the very magistrate sent for to receive Leonards' -deposition? What had Leonards said? How much of it was -intelligible to Mr. Thornton, who might already, for aught she -knew, be aware of the old accusation against Frederick, through -their mutual friend, Mr. Bell? If so, he had striven to save the -son, who came in defiance of the law to attend his mother's -death-bed. And under this idea she could feel grateful--not yet, -if ever she should, if his interference had been prompted by -contempt. Oh! had any one such just cause to feel contempt for -her? Mr. Thornton, above all people, on whom she had looked down -from her imaginary heights till now! She suddenly found herself -at his feet, and was strangely distressed at her fall. She shrank -from following out the premises to their conclusion, and so -acknowledging to herself how much she valued his respect and good -opinion. Whenever this idea presented itself to her at the end of -a long avenue of thoughts, she turned away from following that -path--she would not believe in it. - -It was later than she fancied, for in the agitation of the -previous night, she had forgotten to wind up her watch; and Mr. -Hale had given especial orders that she was not to be disturbed -by the usual awakening. By and by the door opened cautiously, and -Dixon put her head in. Perceiving that Margaret was awake, she -came forwards with a letter. - -'Here's something to do you good, miss. A letter from Master -Frederick.' - -'Thank you, Dixon. How late it is!' - -She spoke very languidly, and suffered Dixon to lay it on the -counterpane before her, without putting out a hand to lake it. - -'You want your breakfast, I'm sure. I will bring it you in a -minute. Master has got the tray all ready, I know.' - -Margaret did not reply; she let her go; she felt that she must be -alone before she could open that letter. She opened it at last. -The first thing that caught her eye was the date two days earlier -than she received it. He had then written when he had promised, -and their alarm might have been spared. But she would read the -letter and see. It was hasty enough, but perfectly satisfactory. -He had seen Henry Lennox, who knew enough of the case to shake -his head over it, in the first instance, and tell him he had done -a very daring thing in returning to England, with such an -accusation, backed by such powerful influence, hanging over him. -But when they had come to talk it over, Mr. Lennox had -acknowledged that there might be some chance of his acquittal, if -he could but prove his statements by credible witnesses--that in -such case it might be worth while to stand his trial, otherwise -it would be a great risk. He would examine--he would take every -pains. 'It struck me' said Frederick, 'that your introduction, -little sister of mine, went a long way. Is it so? He made many -inquiries, I can assure you. He seemed a sharp, intelligent -fellow, and in good practice too, to judge from the signs of -business and the number of clerks about him. But these may be -only lawyer's dodges. I have just caught a packet on the point of -sailing--I am off in five minutes. I may have to come back to -England again on this business, so keep my visit secret. I shall -send my father some rare old sherry, such as you cannot buy in -England,--(such stuff as I've got in the bottle before me)! He -needs something of the kind--my dear love to him--God bless him. -I'm sure--here's my cab. P.S.--What an escape that was! Take care -you don't breathe of my having been--not even to the Shaws.' - -Margaret turned to the envelope; it was marked 'Too late.' The -letter had probably been trusted to some careless waiter, who had -forgotten to post it. Oh! what slight cobwebs of chances stand -between us and Temptation! Frederick had been safe, and out of -England twenty, nay, thirty hours ago; and it was only about -seventeen hours since she had told a falsehood to baffle pursuit, -which even then would have been vain. How faithless she had been! -Where now was her proud motto, 'Fais ce que dois, advienne que -pourra?' If she had but dared to bravely tell the truth as -regarded herself, defying them to find out what she refused to -tell concerning another, how light of heart she would now have -felt! Not humbled before God, as having failed in trust towards -Him; not degraded and abased in Mr. Thornton's sight. She caught -herself up at this with a miserable tremor; here was she classing -his low opinion of her alongside with the displeasure of God. How -was it that he haunted her imagination so persistently? What -could it be? Why did she care for what he thought, in spite of -all her pride in spite of herself? She believed that she could -have borne the sense of Almighty displeasure, because He knew -all, and could read her penitence, and hear her cries for help -in time to come. But Mr. Thornton--why did she tremble, and hide -her face in the pillow? What strong feeling had overtaken her at -last? - -She sprang out of bed and prayed long and earnestly. It soothed -and comforted her so to open her heart. But as soon as she -reviewed her position she found the sting was still there; that -she was not good enough, nor pure enough to be indifferent to the -lowered opinion of a fellow creature; that the thought of how he -must be looking upon her with contempt, stood between her and her -sense of wrong-doing. She took her letter in to her father as -soon as she was drest. There was so slight an allusion to their -alarm at the rail-road station, that Mr. Hale passed over it -without paying any attention to it. Indeed, beyond the mere fact -of Frederick having sailed undiscovered and unsuspected, he did -not gather much from the letter at the time, he was so uneasy -about Margaret's pallid looks. She seemed continually on the -point of weeping. - -'You are sadly overdone, Margaret. It is no wonder. But you must -let me nurse you now.' - -He made her lie down on the sofa, and went for a shawl to cover -her with. His tenderness released her tears; and she cried -bitterly. - -'Poor child!--poor child!' said he, looking fondly at her, as she -lay with her face to the wall, shaking with her sobs. After a -while they ceased, and she began to wonder whether she durst give -herself the relief of telling her father of all her trouble. But -there were more reasons against it than for it. The only one for -it was the relief to herself; and against it was the thought that -it would add materially to her father's nervousness, if it were -indeed necessary for Frederick to come to England again; that he -would dwell on the circumstance of his son's having caused the -death of a man, however unwittingly and unwillingly; that this -knowledge would perpetually recur to trouble him, in various -shapes of exaggeration and distortion from the simple truth. And -about her own great fault--he would be distressed beyond measure -at her want of courage and faith, yet perpetually troubled to -make excuses for her. Formerly Margaret would have come to him as -priest as well as father, to tell him of her temptation and her -sin; but latterly they had not spoken much on such subjects; and -she knew not how, in his change of opinions, he would reply if -the depth of her soul called unto his. No; she would keep her -secret, and bear the burden alone. Alone she would go before God, -and cry for His absolution. Alone she would endure her disgraced -position in the opinion of Mr. Thornton. She was unspeakably -touched by the tender efforts of her father to think of cheerful -subjects on which to talk, and so to take her thoughts away from -dwelling on all that had happened of late. It was some months -since he had been so talkative as he was this day. He would not -let her sit up, and offended Dixon desperately by insisting on -waiting upon her himself. - -At last she smiled; a poor, weak little smile; but it gave him -the truest pleasure. - -'It seems strange to think, that what gives us most hope for the -future should be called Dolores,' said Margaret. The remark was -more in character with her father than with her usual self; but -to-day they seemed to have changed natures. - -'Her mother was a Spaniard, I believe: that accounts for her -religion. Her father was a stiff Presbyterian when I knew him. -But it is a very soft and pretty name.' - -'How young she is!--younger by fourteen months than I am. Just, -the age that Edith was when she was engaged to Captain Lennox. -Papa, we will go and see them in Spain.' - -He shook his head. But he said, 'If you wish it, Margaret. Only -let us come back here. It would seem unfair--unkind to your -mother, who always, I'm afraid, disliked Milton so much, if we -left it now she is lying here, and cannot go with us. No, dear; -you shall go and see them, and bring me back a report of my -Spanish daughter.' - -'No, papa, I won't go without you. Who is to take care of you -when I am gone?' - -'I should like to know which of us is taking care of the other. -But if you went, I should persuade Mr. Thornton to let me give -him double lessons. We would work up the classics famously. That -would be a perpetual interest. You might go on, and see Edith at -Corfu, if you liked.' - -Margaret did not speak all at once. Then she said rather gravely: -'Thank you, papa. But I don't want to go. We will hope that Mr. -Lennox will manage so well, that Frederick may bring Dolores to -see us when they are married. And as for Edith, the regiment -won't remain much longer in Corfu. Perhaps we shall see both of -them here before another year is out.' - -Mr. Hale's cheerful subjects had come to an end. Some painful -recollection had stolen across his mind, and driven him into -silence. By-and-by Margaret said: - -'Papa--did you see Nicholas Higgins at the funeral? He was there, -and Mary too. Poor fellow! it was his way of showing sympathy. He -has a good warm heart under his bluff abrupt ways.' - -'I am sure of it,' replied Mr. Hale. 'I saw it all along, even -while you tried to persuade me that he was all sorts of bad -things. We will go and see them to-morrow, if you are strong -enough to walk so far.' - -'Oh yes. I want to see them. We did not pay Mary--or rather she -refused to take it, Dixon says. We will go so as to catch him -just after his dinner, and before he goes to his work.' - -Towards evening Mr. Hale said: - -'I half expected Mr. Thornton would have called. He spoke of a -book yesterday which he had, and which I wanted to see. He said -he would try and bring it to-day.' - -Margaret sighed. She knew he would not come. He would be too -delicate to run the chance of meeting her, while her shame must -be so fresh in his memory. The very mention of his name renewed -her trouble, and produced a relapse into the feeling of -depressed, pre-occupied exhaustion. She gave way to listless -languor. Suddenly it struck her that this was a strange manner to -show her patience, or to reward her father for his watchful care -of her all through the day. She sate up and offered to read -aloud. His eyes were failing, and he gladly accepted her -proposal. She read well: she gave the due emphasis; but had any -one asked her, when she had ended, the meaning of what she had -been reading, she could not have told. She was smitten with a -feeling of ingratitude to Mr. Thornton, inasmuch as, in the -morning, she had refused to accept the kindness he had shown her -in making further inquiry from the medical men, so as to obviate -any inquest being held. Oh! she was grateful! She had been -cowardly and false, and had shown her cowardliness and falsehood -in action that could not be recalled; but she was not ungrateful. -It sent a glow to her heart, to know how she could feel towards -one who had reason to despise her. His cause for contempt was so -just, that she should have respected him less if she had thought -he did not feel contempt. It was a pleasure to feel how -thoroughly she respected him. He could not prevent her doing -that; it was the one comfort in all this misery. - -Late in the evening, the expected book arrived, 'with Mr. -Thornton's kind regards, and wishes to know how Mr. Hale is.' - -'Say that I am much better, Dixon, but that Miss Hale--' - -'No, papa,' said Margaret, eagerly--'don't say anything about me. -He does not ask.' - -'My dear child, how you are shivering!' said her father, a few -minutes afterwards. 'You must go to bed directly. You have turned -quite pale!' - -Margaret did not refuse to go, though she was loth to leave her -father alone. She needed the relief of solitude after a day of -busy thinking, and busier repenting. - -But she seemed much as usual the next day; the lingering gravity -and sadness, and the occasional absence of mind, were not -unnatural symptoms in the early days of grief And almost in -proportion to her re-establishment in health, was her father's -relapse into his abstracted musing upon the wife he had lost, and -the past era in his life that was closed to him for ever. - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - - -UNION NOT ALWAYS STRENGTH - -'The steps of the bearers, heavy and slow, -The sobs of the mourners, deep and low.' -SHELLEY. - - -At the time arranged the previous day, they set out on their walk -to see Nicholas Higgins and his daughter. They both were reminded -of their recent loss, by a strange kind of shyness in their new -habiliments, and in the fact that it was the first time, for many -weeks, that they had deliberately gone out together. They drew -very close to each other in unspoken sympathy. - -Nicholas was sitting by the fire-side in his accustomed corner: -but he had not his accustomed pipe. He was leaning his head upon -his hand, his arm resting on his knee. He did not get up when he -saw them, though Margaret could read the welcome in his eye. - -'Sit ye down, sit ye down. Fire's welly out,' said he, giving it -a vigorous poke, as if to turn attention away from himself. He -was rather disorderly, to be sure, with a black unshaven beard of -several days' growth, making his pale face look yet paler, and a -jacket which would have been all the better for patching. - -'We thought we should have a good chance of finding you, just -after dinner-time,' said Margaret. - -'We have had our sorrow too, since we saw you,' said Mr. Hale. - -'Ay, ay. Sorrows is more plentiful than dinners just now; I -reckon, my dinner hour stretches all o'er the day; yo're pretty -sure of finding me.' - -'Are you out of work?' asked Margaret. - -'Ay,' he replied shortly. Then, after a moment's silence, he -added, looking up for the first time: 'I'm not wanting brass. -Dunno yo' think it. Bess, poor lass, had a little stock under her -pillow, ready to slip into my hand, last moment, and Mary is -fustian-cutting. But I'm out o' work a' the same.' - -'We owe Mary some money,' said Mr. Hale, before Margaret's sharp -pressure on his arm could arrest the words. - -'If hoo takes it, I'll turn her out o' doors. I'll bide inside -these four walls, and she'll bide out. That's a'.' - -'But we owe her many thanks for her kind service,' began Mr. Hale -again. - -'I ne'er thanked yo'r daughter theer for her deeds o' love to my -poor wench. I ne'er could find th' words. I'se have to begin and -try now, if yo' start making an ado about what little Mary could -sarve yo'.' - -'Is it because of the strike you're out of work?' asked Margaret -gently. - -'Strike's ended. It's o'er for this time. I'm out o' work because -I ne'er asked for it. And I ne'er asked for it, because good -words is scarce, and bad words is plentiful.' - -He was in a mood to take a surly pleasure in giving answers that -were like riddles. But Margaret saw that he would like to be -asked for the explanation. - -'And good words are--?' - -'Asking for work. I reckon them's almost the best words that men -can say. "Gi' me work" means "and I'll do it like a man." Them's -good words.' - -'And bad words are refusing you work when you ask for it.' - -'Ay. Bad words is saying "Aha, my fine chap! Yo've been true to -yo'r order, and I'll be true to mine. Yo' did the best yo' could -for them as wanted help; that's yo'r way of being true to yo'r -kind; and I'll be true to mine. Yo've been a poor fool, as knowed -no better nor be a true faithful fool. So go and be d----d to yo'. -There's no work for yo' here." Them's bad words. I'm not a fool; -and if I was, folk ought to ha' taught me how to be wise after -their fashion. I could mappen ha' learnt, if any one had tried to -teach me.' - -'Would it not be worth while,' said Mr. Hale, 'to ask your old -master if he would take you back again? It might be a poor -chance, but it would be a chance.' - -He looked up again, with a sharp glance at the questioner; and -then tittered a low and bitter laugh. - -'Measter! if it's no offence, I'll ask yo' a question or two in -my turn.' - -'You're quite welcome,' said Mr. Hale. - -'I reckon yo'n some way of earning your bread. Folk seldom lives -i' Milton lust for pleasure, if they can live anywhere else.' - -'You are quite right. I have some independent property, but my -intention in settling in Milton was to become a private tutor.' - -'To teach folk. Well! I reckon they pay yo' for teaching them, -dunnot they?' - -'Yes,' replied Mr. Hale, smiling. 'I teach in order to get paid.' - -'And them that pays yo', dun they tell yo' whatten to do, or -whatten not to do wi' the money they gives you in just payment -for your pains--in fair exchange like?' - -'No; to be sure not!' - -'They dunnot say, "Yo' may have a brother, or a friend as dear as -a brother, who wants this here brass for a purpose both yo' and -he think right; but yo' mun promise not give it to him. Yo' may -see a good use, as yo' think, to put yo'r money to; but we don't -think it good, and so if yo' spend it a-thatens we'll just leave -off dealing with yo'." They dunnot say that, dun they?' - -'No: to be sure not!' - -'Would yo' stand it if they did?' - -'It would be some very hard pressure that would make me even -think of submitting to such dictation.' - -'There's not the pressure on all the broad earth that would make -me, said Nicholas Higgins. 'Now yo've got it. Yo've hit the -bull's eye. Hamper's--that's where I worked--makes their men -pledge 'emselves they'll not give a penny to help th' Union or -keep turnouts fro' clemming. They may pledge and make pledge,' -continued he, scornfully; 'they nobbut make liars and hypocrites. -And that's a less sin, to my mind, to making men's hearts so hard -that they'll not do a kindness to them as needs it, or help on -the right and just cause, though it goes again the strong hand. -But I'll ne'er forswear mysel' for a' the work the king could -gi'e me. I'm a member o' the Union; and I think it's the only -thing to do the workman any good. And I've been a turn-out, and -known what it were to clem; so if I get a shilling, sixpence -shall go to them if they axe it from me. Consequence is, I dunnot -see where I'm to get a shilling.' - -'Is that rule about not contributing to the Union in force at all -the mills?' asked Margaret. - -'I cannot say. It's a new regulation at ourn; and I reckon -they'll find that they cannot stick to it. But it's in force now. -By-and-by they'll find out, tyrants makes liars.' - -There was a little pause. Margaret was hesitating whether she -should say what was in her mind; she was unwilling to irritate -one who was already gloomy and despondent enough. At last out it -came. But in her soft tones, and with her reluctant manner, -showing that she was unwilling to say anything unpleasant, it did -not seem to annoy Higgins, only to perplex him. - -'Do you remember poor Boucher saying that the Union was a tyrant? -I think he said it was the worst tyrant of all. And I remember at -the time I agreed with him.' - -It was a long while before he spoke. He was resting his head on -his two hands, and looking down into the fire, so she could not -read the expression on his face. - -'I'll not deny but what th' Union finds it necessary to force a -man into his own good. I'll speak truth. A man leads a dree life -who's not i' th' Union. But once i' the' Union, his interests are -taken care on better nor he could do it for himsel', or by -himsel', for that matter. It's the only way working men can get -their rights, by all joining together. More the members, more -chance for each one separate man having justice done him. -Government takes care o' fools and madmen; and if any man is -inclined to do himsel' or his neighbour a hurt, it puts a bit of -a check on him, whether he likes it or no. That's all we do i' -th' Union. We can't clap folk into prison; but we can make a -man's life so heavy to be borne, that he's obliged to come in, -and be wise and helpful in spite of himself. Boucher were a fool -all along, and ne'er a worse fool than at th' last.' - -'He did you harm?' asked Margaret. - -'Ay, that did he. We had public opinion on our side, till he and -his sort began rioting and breaking laws. It were all o'er wi' -the strike then.' - -'Then would it not have been far better to have left him alone, -and not forced him to join the Union? He did you no good; and you -drove him mad.' - -'Margaret,' said her father, in a low and warning tone, for he -saw the cloud gathering on Higgins's face. - -'I like her,' said Higgins, suddenly. 'Hoo speaks plain out -what's in her mind. Hoo doesn't comprehend th' Union for all -that. It's a great power: it's our only power. I ha' read a bit -o' poetry about a plough going o'er a daisy, as made tears come -into my eyes, afore I'd other cause for crying. But the chap -ne'er stopped driving the plough, I'se warrant, for all he were -pitiful about the daisy. He'd too much mother-wit for that. Th' -Union's the plough, making ready the land for harvest-time. Such -as Boucher--'twould be settin' him up too much to liken him to a -daisy; he's liker a weed lounging over the ground--mun just make -up their mind to be put out o' the way. I'm sore vexed wi' him -just now. So, mappen, I dunnot speak him fair. I could go o'er -him wi' a plough mysel', wi' a' the pleasure in life.' - -'Why? What has he been doing? Anything fresh?' - -'Ay, to be sure. He's ne'er out o' mischief, that man. First of -a' he must go raging like a mad fool, and kick up yon riot. Then -he'd to go into hiding, where he'd a been yet, if Thornton had -followed him out as I'd hoped he would ha' done. But Thornton, -having got his own purpose, didn't care to go on wi' the -prosecution for the riot. So Boucher slunk back again to his -house. He ne'er showed himsel' abroad for a day or two. He had -that grace. And then, where think ye that he went? Why, to -Hamper's. Damn him! He went wi' his mealy-mouthed face, that -turns me sick to look at, a-asking for work, though he knowed -well enough the new rule, o' pledging themselves to give nought -to th' Unions; nought to help the starving turn-out! Why he'd a -clemmed to death, if th' Union had na helped him in his pinch. -There he went, ossing to promise aught, and pledge himsel' to -aught--to tell a' he know'd on our proceedings, the -good-for-nothing Judas! But I'll say this for Hamper, and thank -him for it at my dying day, he drove Boucher away, and would na -listen to him--ne'er a word--though folk standing by, says the -traitor cried like a babby!' - -'Oh! how shocking! how pitiful!' exclaimed Margaret. 'Higgins, I -don't know you to-day. Don't you see how you've made Boucher what -he is, by driving him into the Union against his will--without -his heart going with it. You have made him what he is!' - -Made him what he is! What was he? - -Gathering, gathering along the narrow street, came a hollow, -measured sound; now forcing itself on their attention. Many -voices were hushed and low: many steps were heard not moving -onwards, at least not with any rapidity or steadiness of motion, -but as if circling round one spot. Yes, there was one distinct, -slow tramp of feet, which made itself a clear path through the -air, and reached their ears; the measured laboured walk of men -carrying a heavy burden. They were all drawn towards the -house-door by some irresistible impulse; impelled thither--not by -a poor curiosity, but as if by some solemn blast. - -Six men walked in the middle of the road, three of them being -policemen. They carried a door, taken off its hinges, upon their -shoulders, on which lay some dead human creature; and from each -side of the door there were constant droppings. All the street -turned out to see, and, seeing, to accompany the procession, each -one questioning the bearers, who answered almost reluctantly at -last, so often had they told the tale. - -'We found him i' th' brook in the field beyond there.' - -'Th' brook!--why there's not water enough to drown him!' - -'He was a determined chap. He lay with his face downwards. He was -sick enough o' living, choose what cause he had for it.' - -Higgins crept up to Margaret's side, and said in a weak piping -kind of voice: 'It's not John Boucher? He had na spunk enough. -Sure! It's not John Boucher! Why, they are a' looking this way! -Listen! I've a singing in my head, and I cannot hear.' - -They put the door down carefully upon the stones, and all might -see the poor drowned wretch--his glassy eyes, one half-open, -staring right upwards to the sky. Owing to the position in which -he had been found lying, his face was swollen and discoloured -besides, his skin was stained by the water in the brook, which -had been used for dyeing purposes. The fore part of his head was -bald; but the hair grew thin and long behind, and every separate -lock was a conduit for water. Through all these disfigurements, -Margaret recognised John Boucher. It seemed to her so -sacrilegious to be peering into that poor distorted, agonised -face, that, by a flash of instinct, she went forwards and softly -covered the dead man's countenance with her handkerchief. The -eyes that saw her do this followed her, as she turned away from -her pious office, and were thus led to the place where Nicholas -Higgins stood, like one rooted to the spot. The men spoke -together, and then one of them came up to Higgins, who would have -fain shrunk back into his house. - -'Higgins, thou knowed him! Thou mun go tell the wife. Do it -gently, man, but do it quick, for we canna leave him here long.' - -'I canna go,' said Higgins. 'Dunnot ask me. I canna face her.' - -'Thou knows her best,' said the man. 'We'n done a deal in -bringing him here--thou take thy share.' - -'I canna do it,' said Higgins. 'I'm welly felled wi' seeing him. -We wasn't friends; and now he's dead.' - -'Well, if thou wunnot thou wunnot. Some one mun, though. It's a -dree task; but it's a chance, every minute, as she doesn't hear -on it in some rougher way nor a person going to make her let on -by degrees, as it were.' - -'Papa, do you go,' said Margaret, in a low voice. - -'If I could--if I had time to think of what I had better say; but -all at once----' Margaret saw that her father was indeed unable. -He was trembling from head to foot. - -'I will go,' said she. - -'Bless yo', miss, it will be a kind act; for she's been but a -sickly sort of body, I hear, and few hereabouts know much on -her.' - -Margaret knocked at the closed door; but there was such a noise, -as of many little ill-ordered children, that she could hear no -reply; indeed, she doubted if she was heard, and as every moment -of delay made her recoil from her task more and more, she opened -the door and went in, shutting it after her, and even, unseen to -the woman, fastening the bolt. - -Mrs. Boucher was sitting in a rocking-chair, on the other side of -the ill-redd-up fireplace; it looked as if the house had been -untouched for days by any effort at cleanliness. - -Margaret said something, she hardly knew what, her throat and -mouth were so dry, and the children's noise completely prevented -her from being heard. She tried again. - -'How are you, Mrs. Boucher? But very poorly, I'm afraid.' - -'I've no chance o' being well,' said she querulously. 'I'm left -alone to manage these childer, and nought for to give 'em for to -keep 'em quiet. John should na ha' left me, and me so poorly.' - -'How long is it since he went away?' - -'Four days sin'. No one would give him work here, and he'd to go -on tramp toward Greenfield. But he might ha' been back afore -this, or sent me some word if he'd getten work. He might----' - -'Oh, don't blame him,' said Margaret. 'He felt it deeply, I'm -sure----' - -'Willto' hold thy din, and let me hear the lady speak!' -addressing herself, in no very gentle voice, to a little urchin -of about a year old. She apologetically continued to Margaret, -'He's always mithering me for "daddy" and "butty;" and I ha' no -butties to give him, and daddy's away, and forgotten us a', I -think. He's his father's darling, he is,' said she, with a sudden -turn of mood, and, dragging the child up to her knee, she began -kissing it fondly. - -Margaret laid her hand on the woman's arm to arrest her -attention. Their eyes met. - -'Poor little fellow!' said Margaret, slowly; 'he _was_ his -father's darling.' - -'He _is_ his father's darling,' said the woman, rising hastily, -and standing face to face with Margaret. Neither of them spoke -for a moment or two. Then Mrs. Boucher began in a low, growling -tone, gathering in wildness as she went on: He _is_ his father's -darling, I say. Poor folk can love their childer as well as rich. -Why dunno yo' speak? Why dun yo' stare at me wi' your great -pitiful eyes? Where's John?' Weak as she was, she shook Margaret -to force out an answer. 'Oh, my God!' said she, understanding the -meaning of that tearful look. She sank hack into the chair. -Margaret took up the child and put him into her arms. - -'He loved him,' said she. - -'Ay,' said the woman, shaking her head, 'he loved us a'. We had -some one to love us once. It's a long time ago; but when he were -in life and with us, he did love us, he did. He loved this babby -mappen the best on us; but he loved me and I loved him, though I -was calling him five minutes agone. Are yo' sure he's dead?' said -she, trying to get up. 'If it's only that he's ill and like to -die, they may bring him round yet. I'm but an ailing creature -mysel'--I've been ailing this long time.' - -'But he is dead--he is drowned!' - -'Folk are brought round after they're dead-drowned. Whatten was I -thinking of, to sit still when I should be stirring mysel'? Here, -whisth thee, child--whisth thee! tak' this, tak' aught to play -wi', but dunnot cry while my heart's breaking! Oh, where is my -strength gone to? Oh, John--husband!' - -Margaret saved her from falling by catching her in her arms. She -sate down in the rocking chair, and held the woman upon her -knees, her head lying on Margaret's shoulder. The other children, -clustered together in affright, began to understand the mystery -of the scene; but the ideas came slowly, for their brains were -dull and languid of perception. They set up such a cry of despair -as they guessed the truth, that Margaret knew not how to bear it. -Johnny's cry was loudest of them all, though he knew not why he -cried, poor little fellow. - -The mother quivered as she lay in Margaret's arms. Margaret heard -a noise at the door. - -'Open it. Open it quick,' said she to the eldest child. 'It's -bolted; make no noise--be very still. Oh, papa, let them go -upstairs very softly and carefully, and perhaps she will not hear -them. She has fainted--that's all.' - -'It's as well for her, poor creature,' said a woman following in -the wake of the bearers of the dead. 'But yo're not fit to hold -her. Stay, I'll run fetch a pillow and we'll let her down easy on -the floor.' - -This helpful neighbour was a great relief to Margaret; she was -evidently a stranger to the house, a new-comer in the district, -indeed; but she was so kind and thoughtful that Margaret felt she -was no longer needed; and that it would be better, perhaps, to -set an example of clearing the house, which was filled with idle, -if sympathising gazers. - -She looked round for Nicholas Higgins. He was not there. So she -spoke to the woman who had taken the lead in placing Mrs. Boucher -on the floor. - -'Can you give all these people a hint that they had better leave -in quietness? So that when she comes round, she should only find -one or two that she knows about her. Papa, will you speak to the -men, and get them to go away? She cannot breathe, poor thing, -with this crowd about her.' - -Margaret was kneeling down by Mrs. Boucher and bathing he face -with vinegar; but in a few minutes she was surprised at the gush -of fresh air. She looked round, and saw a smile pass between her -father and the woman. - -'What is it?' asked she. - -'Only our good friend here,' replied her father, 'hit on a -capital expedient for clearing the place.' - -'I bid 'em begone, and each take a child with 'em, and to mind -that they were orphans, and their mother a widow. It was who -could do most, and the childer are sure of a bellyful to-day, and -of kindness too. Does hoo know how he died?' - -'No,' said Margaret; 'I could not tell her all at once.' - -'Hoo mun be told because of th' Inquest. See! Hoo's coming round; -shall you or I do it? or mappen your father would be best?' - -'No; you, you,' said Margaret. - -They awaited her perfect recovery in silence. Then the neighbour -woman sat down on the floor, and took Mrs. Boucher's head and -shoulders on her lap. - -'Neighbour,' said she, 'your man is dead. Guess yo' how he died?' - -'He were drowned,' said Mrs. Boucher, feebly, beginning to cry -for the first time, at this rough probing of her sorrows. - -'He were found drowned. He were coming home very hopeless o' -aught on earth. He thought God could na be harder than men; -mappen not so hard; mappen as tender as a mother; mappen -tenderer. I'm not saying he did right, and I'm not saying he did -wrong. All I say is, may neither me nor mine ever have his sore -heart, or we may do like things.' - -'He has left me alone wi' a' these children!' moaned the widow, -less distressed at the manner of the death than Margaret -expected; but it was of a piece with her helpless character to -feel his loss as principally affecting herself and her children. - -'Not alone,' said Mr. Hale, solemnly. 'Who is with you? Who will -take up your cause?' The widow opened her eyes wide, and looked -at the new speaker, of whose presence she had not been aware till -then. - -'Who has promised to be a father to the fatherless?' continued -he. - -'But I've getten six children, sir, and the eldest not eight -years of age. I'm not meaning for to doubt His power, sir,--only -it needs a deal o' trust;' and she began to cry afresh. - -'Hoo'll be better able to talk to-morrow, sir,' said the -neighbour. 'Best comfort now would be the feel of a child at her -heart. I'm sorry they took the babby.' - -'I'll go for it,' said Margaret. And in a few minutes she -returned, carrying Johnnie, his face all smeared with eating, and -his hands loaded with treasures in the shape of shells, and bits -of crystal, and the head of a plaster figure. She placed him in -his mother's arms. - -'There!' said the woman, 'now you go. They'll cry together, and -comfort together, better nor any one but a child can do. I'll -stop with her as long as I'm needed, and if yo' come to-morrow, -yo' can have a deal o' wise talk with her, that she's not up to -to-day.' - -As Margaret and her father went slowly up the street, she paused -at Higgins's closed door. - -'Shall we go in?' asked her father. 'I was thinking of him too.' - -They knocked. There was no answer, so they tried the door. It was -bolted, but they thought they heard him moving within. - -'Nicholas!' said Margaret. There was no answer, and they might -have gone away, believing the house to be empty, if there had not -been some accidental fall, as of a book, within. - -'Nicholas!' said Margaret again. 'It is only us. Won't you let us -come in?' - -'No,' said he. 'I spoke as plain as I could, 'bout using words, -when I bolted th' door. Let me be, this day.' - -Mr. Hale would have urged their desire, but Margaret placed her -finger on his lips. - -'I don't wonder at it,' said she. 'I myself long to be alone. It -seems the only thing to do one good after a day like this.' - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - - -LOOKING SOUTH - -'A spade! a rake! a hoe! -A pickaxe or a bill! -A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow, -A flail, or what ye will-- -And here's a ready hand -To ply the needful tool, -And skill'd enough, by lessons rough, -In Labour's rugged school.' -HOOD. - -Higgins's door was locked the next day, when they went to pay -their call on the widow Boucher: but they learnt this time from -an officious neighbour, that he was really from home. He had, -however, been in to see Mrs. Boucher, before starting on his -day's business, whatever that was. It was but an unsatisfactory -visit to Mrs. Boucher; she considered herself as an ill-used -woman by her poor husband's suicide; and there was quite germ of -truth enough in this idea to make it a very difficult one to -refute. Still, it was unsatisfactory to see how completely her -thoughts were turned upon herself and her own position, and this -selfishness extended even to her relations with her children, -whom she considered as incumbrances, even in the very midst of -her somewhat animal affection for them. Margaret tried to make -acquaintances with one or two of them, while her father strove to -raise the widow's thoughts into some higher channel than that of -mere helpless querulousness. She found that the children were -truer and simpler mourners than the widow. Daddy had been a kind -daddy to them; each could tell, in their eager stammering way, of -some tenderness shown some indulgence granted by the lost father. - -'Is yon thing upstairs really him? it doesna look like him. I'm -feared on it, and I never was feared o' daddy.' - -Margaret's heart bled to hear that the mother, in her selfish -requirement of sympathy, had taken her children upstairs to see -their disfigured father. It was intermingling the coarseness of -horror with the profoundness of natural grief She tried to turn -their thoughts in some other direction; on what they could do for -mother; on what--for this was a more efficacious way of putting -it--what father would have wished them to do. Margaret was more -successful than Mr. Hale in her efforts. The children seeing -their little duties lie in action close around them, began to try -each one to do something that she suggested towards redding up -the slatternly room. But her father set too high a standard, and -too abstract a view, before the indolent invalid. She could not -rouse her torpid mind into any vivid imagination of what her -husband's misery might have been before he had resorted to the -last terrible step; she could only look upon it as it affected -herself; she could not enter into the enduring mercy of the God -who had not specially interposed to prevent the water from -drowning her prostrate husband; and although she was secretly -blaming her husband for having fallen into such drear despair, -and denying that he had any excuse for his last rash act, she was -inveterate in her abuse of all who could by any possibility be -supposed to have driven him to such desperation. The masters--Mr. -Thornton in particular, whose mill had been attacked by Boucher, -and who, after the warrant had been issued for his apprehension -on the charge of rioting, had caused it to be withdrawn,--the -Union, of which Higgins was the representative to the poor -woman,--the children so numerous, so hungry, and so noisy--all -made up one great army of personal enemies, whose fault it was -that she was now a helpless widow. - -Margaret heard enough of this unreasonableness to dishearten her; -and when they came away she found it impossible to cheer her -father. - -'It is the town life,' said she. 'Their nerves are quickened by -the haste and bustle and speed of everything around them, to say -nothing of the confinement in these pent-up houses, which of -itself is enough to induce depression and worry of spirits. Now -in the country, people live so much more out of doors, even -children, and even in the winter.' - -'But people must live in towns. And in the country some get such -stagnant habits of mind that they are almost fatalists.' - -'Yes; I acknowledge that. I suppose each mode of life produces -its own trials and its own temptations. The dweller in towns must -find it as difficult to be patient and calm, as the country-bred -man must find it to be active, and equal to unwonted emergencies. -Both must find it hard to realise a future of any kind; the one -because the present is so living and hurrying and close around -him; the other because his life tempts him to revel in the mere -sense of animal existence, not knowing of, and consequently not -caring for any pungency of pleasure for the attainment of which -he can plan, and deny himself and look forward.' - -'And thus both the necessity for engrossment, and the stupid -content in the present, produce the same effects. But this poor -Mrs. Boucher! how little we can do for her.' - -'And yet we dare not leave her without our efforts, although they -may seem so useless. Oh papa! it's a hard world to live in!' - -'So it is, my child. We feel it so just now, at any rate; but we -have been very happy, even in the midst of our sorrow. What a -pleasure Frederick's visit was!' - -'Yes, that it was,' said Margaret; brightly. 'It was such a -charming, snatched, forbidden thing.' But she suddenly stopped -speaking. She had spoiled the remembrance of Frederick's visit to -herself by her own cowardice. Of all faults the one she most -despised in others was the want of bravery; the meanness of heart -which leads to untruth. And here had she been guilty of it! Then -came the thought of Mr. Thornton's cognisance of her falsehood. -She wondered if she should have minded detection half so much -from any one else. She tried herself in imagination with her Aunt -Shaw and Edith; with her father; with Captain and Mr. Lennox; -with Frederick. The thought of the last knowing what she had -done, even in his own behalf, was the most painful, for the -brother and sister were in the first flush of their mutual regard -and love; but even any fall in Frederick's opinion was as nothing -to the shame, the shrinking shame she felt at the thought of -meeting Mr. Thornton again. And yet she longed to see him, to get -it over; to understand where she stood in his opinion. Her cheeks -burnt as she recollected how proudly she had implied an objection -to trade (in the early days of their acquaintance), because it -too often led to the deceit of passing off inferior for superior -goods, in the one branch; of assuming credit for wealth and -resources not possessed, in the other. She remembered Mr. -Thornton's look of calm disdain, as in few words he gave her to -understand that, in the great scheme of commerce, all -dishonourable ways of acting were sure to prove injurious in the -long run, and that, testing such actions simply according to the -poor standard of success, there was folly and not wisdom in all -such, and every kind of deceit in trade, as well as in other -things. She remembered--she, then strong in her own untempted -truth--asking him, if he did not think that buying in the -cheapest and selling in the dearest market proved some want of -the transparent justice which is so intimately connected with the -idea of truth: and she had used the word chivalric--and her -father had corrected her with the higher word, Christian; and so -drawn the argument upon himself, while she sate silent by with a -slight feeling of contempt. - -No more contempt for her!--no more talk about the chivalric! -Henceforward she must feel humiliated and disgraced in his sight. -But when should she see him? Her heart leaped up in apprehension -at every ring of the door-bell; and yet when it fell down to -calmness, she felt strangely saddened and sick at heart at each -disappointment. It was very evident that her father expected to -see him, and was surprised that he did not come. The truth was, -that there were points in their conversation the other night on -which they had no time then to enlarge; but it had been -understood that if possible on the succeeding evening--if not -then, at least the very first evening that Mr. Thornton could -command,--they should meet for further discussion. Mr. Hale had -looked forward to this meeting ever since they had parted. He had -not yet resumed the instruction to his pupils, which he had -relinquished at the commencement of his wife's more serious -illness, so he had fewer occupations than usual; and the great -interest of the last day or so (Boucher's suicide) had driven him -back with more eagerness than ever upon his speculations. He was -restless all evening. He kept saying, 'I quite expected to have -seen Mr. Thornton. I think the messenger who brought the book -last night must have had some note, and forgot to deliver it. Do -you think there has been any message left to-day?' - -'I will go and inquire, papa,' said Margaret, after the changes -on these sentences had been rung once or twice. 'Stay, there's a -ring!' She sate down instantly, and bent her head attentively -over her work. She heard a step on the stairs, but it was only -one, and she knew it was Dixon's. She lifted up her head and -sighed, and believed she felt glad. - -'It's that Higgins, sir. He wants to see you, or else Miss Hale. -Or it might be Miss Hale first, and then you, sir; for he's in a -strange kind of way. - -'He had better come up here, Dixon; and then he can see us both, -and choose which he likes for his listener.' - -'Oh! very well, sir. I've no wish to hear what he's got to say, -I'm sure; only, if you could see his shoes, I'm sure you'd say -the kitchen was the fitter place. - -'He can wipe them, I suppose, said Mr. Hale. So Dixon flung off, -to bid him walk up-stairs. She was a little mollified, however, -when he looked at his feet with a hesitating air; and then, -sitting down on the bottom stair, he took off the offending -shoes, and without a word walked up-stairs. - -'Sarvant, sir!' said he, slicking his hair down when he came into -the room. 'If hoo'l excuse me (looking at Margaret) for being i' -my stockings; I'se been tramping a' day, and streets is none o' -th' cleanest.' - -Margaret thought that fatigue might account for the change in his -manner, for he was unusually quiet and subdued; and he had -evidently some difficulty in saying what he came to say. - -Mr. Hale's ever-ready sympathy with anything of shyness or -hesitation, or want of self-possession, made him come to his aid. - -'We shall have tea up directly, and then you'll take a cup with -us, Mr. Higgins. I am sure you are tired, if you've been out much -this wet relaxing day. Margaret, my dear, can't you hasten tea?' - -Margaret could only hasten tea by taking the preparation of it -into her own hands, and so offending Dixon, who was emerging out -of her sorrow for her late mistress into a very touchy, irritable -state. But Martha, like all who came in contact with -Margaret--even Dixon herself, in the long run--felt it a pleasure -and an honour to forward any of her wishes; and her readiness, -and Margaret's sweet forbearance, soon made Dixon ashamed of -herself. - -'Why master and you must always be asking the lower classes -up-stairs, since we came to Milton, I cannot understand. Folk at -Helstone were never brought higher than the kitchen; and I've let -one or two of them know before now that they might think it an -honour to be even there.' - -Higgins found it easier to unburden himself to one than to two. -After Margaret left the room, he went to the door and assured -himself that it was shut. Then he came and stood close to Mr. -Hale. - -'Master,' said he, 'yo'd not guess easy what I've been tramping -after to-day. Special if yo' remember my manner o' talk -yesterday. I've been a seeking work. I have' said he. 'I said to -mysel', I'd keep a civil tongue in my head, let who would say -what 'em would. I'd set my teeth into my tongue sooner nor speak -i' haste. For that man's sake--yo' understand,' jerking his thumb -back in some unknown direction. - -'No, I don't,' said Mr. Hale, seeing he waited for some kind of -assent, and completely bewildered as to who 'that man' could be. - -'That chap as lies theer,' said he, with another jerk. 'Him as -went and drownded himself, poor chap! I did na' think he'd got it -in him to lie still and let th' water creep o'er him till he -died. Boucher, yo' know.' - -'Yes, I know now,' said Mr. Hale. 'Go back to what you were -saying: you'd not speak in haste----' - -'For his sake. Yet not for his sake; for where'er he is, and -whate'er, he'll ne'er know other clemming or cold again; but for -the wife's sake, and the bits o' childer.' - -'God bless you!' said Mr. Hale, starting up; then, calming down, -he said breathlessly, 'What do you mean? Tell me out.' - -'I have telled yo',' said Higgins, a little surprised at Mr. -Hale's agitation. 'I would na ask for work for mysel'; but them's -left as a charge on me. I reckon, I would ha guided Boucher to a -better end; but I set him off o' th' road, and so I mun answer -for him.' - -Mr. Hale got hold of Higgins's hand and shook it heartily, -without speaking. Higgins looked awkward and ashamed. - -'Theer, theer, master! Theer's ne'er a man, to call a man, -amongst us, but what would do th' same; ay, and better too; for, -belie' me, I'se ne'er got a stroke o' work, nor yet a sight of -any. For all I telled Hamper that, let alone his pledge--which I -would not sign--no, I could na, not e'en for this--he'd ne'er ha' -such a worker on his mill as I would be--he'd ha' none o' me--no -more would none o' th' others. I'm a poor black feckless -sheep--childer may clem for aught I can do, unless, parson, yo'd -help me?' - -'Help you! How? I would do anything,--but what can I do?' - -'Miss there'--for Margaret had re-entered the room, and stood -silent, listening--'has often talked grand o' the South, and the -ways down there. Now I dunnot know how far off it is, but I've -been thinking if I could get 'em down theer, where food is cheap -and wages good, and all the folk, rich and poor, master and man, -friendly like; yo' could, may be, help me to work. I'm not -forty-five, and I've a deal o' strength in me, measter.' - -'But what kind of work could you do, my man?' - -'Well, I reckon I could spade a bit----' - -'And for that,' said Margaret, stepping forwards, 'for anything -you could do, Higgins, with the best will in the world, you -would, may be, get nine shillings a week; may be ten, at the -outside. Food is much the same as here, except that you might -have a little garden----' - -'The childer could work at that,' said he. 'I'm sick o' Milton -anyways, and Milton is sick o' me.' - -'You must not go to the South,' said Margaret, 'for all that. You -could not stand it. You would have to be out all weathers. It -would kill you with rheumatism. The mere bodily work at your time -of life would break you down. The fare is far different to what -you have been accustomed to.' - -'I'se nought particular about my meat,' said he, as if offended. - -'But you've reckoned on having butcher's meat once a day, if -you're in work; pay for that out of your ten shillings, and keep -those poor children if you can. I owe it to you--since it's my -way of talking that has set you off on this idea--to put it all -clear before you. You would not bear the dulness of the life; you -don't know what it is; it would eat you away like rust. Those -that have lived there all their lives, are used to soaking in the -stagnant waters. They labour on, from day to day, in the great -solitude of steaming fields--never speaking or lifting up their -poor, bent, downcast heads. The hard spade-work robs their brain -of life; the sameness of their toil deadens their imagination; -they don't care to meet to talk over thoughts and speculations, -even of the weakest, wildest kind, after their work is done; they -go home brutishly tired, poor creatures! caring for nothing but -food and rest. You could not stir them up into any companionship, -which you get in a town as plentiful as the air you breathe, -whether it be good or bad--and that I don't know; but I do know, -that you of all men are not one to bear a life among such -labourers. What would be peace to them would be eternal fretting -to you. Think no more of it, Nicholas, I beg. Besides, you could -never pay to get mother and children all there--that's one good -thing.' - -'I've reckoned for that. One house mun do for us a', and the -furniture o' t'other would go a good way. And men theer mun have -their families to keep--mappen six or seven childer. God help -'em!' said he, more convinced by his own presentation of the -facts than by all Margaret had said, and suddenly renouncing the -idea, which had but recently formed itself in a brain worn out by -the day's fatigue and anxiety. 'God help 'em! North an' South -have each getten their own troubles. If work's sure and steady -theer, labour's paid at starvation prices; while here we'n rucks -o' money coming in one quarter, and ne'er a farthing th' next. -For sure, th' world is in a confusion that passes me or any other -man to understand; it needs fettling, and who's to fettle it, if -it's as yon folks say, and there's nought but what we see?' - -Mr. Hale was busy cutting bread and butter; Margaret was glad of -this, for she saw that Higgins was better left to himself: that -if her father began to speak ever so mildly on the subject of -Higgins's thoughts, the latter would consider himself challenged -to an argument, and would feel himself bound to maintain his own -ground. She and her father kept up an indifferent conversation -until Higgins, scarcely aware whether he ate or not, had made a -very substantial meal. Then he pushed his chair away from the -table, and tried to take an interest in what they were saying; -but it was of no use; and he fell back into dreamy gloom. -Suddenly, Margaret said (she had been thinking of it for some -time, but the words had stuck in her throat), 'Higgins, have you -been to Marlborough Mills to seek for work?' - -'Thornton's?' asked he. 'Ay, I've been at Thornton's.' - -'And what did he say?' - -'Such a chap as me is not like to see the measter. Th' o'erlooker -bid me go and be d----d.' - -'I wish you had seen Mr. Thornton,' said Mr. Hale. 'He might not -have given you work, but he would not have used such language.' - -'As to th' language, I'm welly used to it; it dunnot matter to -me. I'm not nesh mysel' when I'm put out. It were th' fact that I -were na wanted theer, no more nor ony other place, as I minded.' - -'But I wish you had seen Mr. Thornton,' repeated Margaret. 'Would -you go again--it's a good deal to ask, I know--but would you go -to-morrow and try him? I should be so glad if you would.' - -'I'm afraid it would be of no use,' said Mr. Hale, in a low -voice. 'It would be better to let me speak to him.' Margaret -still looked at Higgins for his answer. Those grave soft eyes of -hers were difficult to resist. He gave a great sigh. - -'It would tax my pride above a bit; if it were for mysel', I -could stand a deal o' clemming first; I'd sooner knock him down -than ask a favour from him. I'd a deal sooner be flogged mysel'; -but yo're not a common wench, axing yo'r pardon, nor yet have yo' -common ways about yo'. I'll e'en make a wry face, and go at it -to-morrow. Dunna yo' think that he'll do it. That man has it in -him to be burnt at the stake afore he'll give in. I do it for -yo'r sake, Miss Hale, and it's first time in my life as e'er I -give way to a woman. Neither my wife nor Bess could e'er say that -much again me.' - -'All the more do I thank you,' said Margaret, smiling. 'Though I -don't believe you: I believe you have just given way to wife and -daughter as much as most men.' - -'And as to Mr. Thornton,' said Mr. Hale, 'I'll give you a note to -him, which, I think I may venture to say, will ensure you a -hearing.' - -'I thank yo' kindly, sir, but I'd as lief stand on my own bottom. -I dunnot stomach the notion of having favour curried for me, by -one as doesn't know the ins and outs of the quarrel. Meddling -'twixt master and man is liker meddling 'twixt husband and wife -than aught else: it takes a deal o' wisdom for to do ony good. -I'll stand guard at the lodge door. I'll stand there fro' six in -the morning till I get speech on him. But I'd liefer sweep th' -streets, if paupers had na' got hold on that work. Dunna yo' -hope, miss. There'll be more chance o' getting milk out of a -flint. I wish yo' a very good night, and many thanks to yo'.' - -'You'll find your shoe's by the kitchen fire; I took them there -to dry,' said Margaret. - -He turned round and looked at her steadily, and then he brushed -his lean hand across his eyes and went his way. - -'How proud that man is!' said her father, who was a little -annoyed at the manner in which Higgins had declined his -intercession with Mr. Thornton. - -'He is,' said Margaret; 'but what grand makings of a man there -are in him, pride and all.' - -'It's amusing to see how he evidently respects the part in Mr. -Thornton's character which is like his own.' - -'There's granite in all these northern people, papa, is there -not?' - -'There was none in poor Boucher, I am afraid; none in his wife -either.' - -'I should guess from their tones that they had Irish blood in -them. I wonder what success he'll have to-morrow. If he and Mr. -Thornton would speak out together as man to man--if Higgins would -forget that Mr. Thornton was a master, and speak to him as he -does to us--and if Mr. Thornton would be patient enough to listen -to him with his human heart, not with his master's ears--' - -'You are getting to do Mr. Thornton justice at last, Margaret,' -said her father, pinching her ear. - -Margaret had a strange choking at her heart, which made her -unable to answer. 'Oh!' thought she, 'I wish I were a man, that I -could go and force him to express his disapprobation, and tell -him honestly that I knew I deserved it. It seems hard to lose him -as a friend just when I had begun to feel his value. How tender -he was with dear mamma! If it were only for her sake, I wish he -would come, and then at least I should know how much I was abased -in his eyes.' - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - - -PROMISES FULFILLED - -'Then proudly, proudly up she rose, -Tho' the tear was in her e'e, -"Whate'er ye say, think what ye may, -Ye's get na word frae me!"' -SCOTCH BALLAD. - -It was not merely that Margaret was known to Mr. Thornton to have -spoken falsely,--though she imagined that for this reason only -was she so turned in his opinion,--but that this falsehood of -hers bore a distinct reference in his mind to some other lover. -He could not forget the fond and earnest look that had passed -between her and some other man--the attitude of familiar -confidence, if not of positive endearment. The thought of this -perpetually stung him; it was a picture before his eyes, wherever -he went and whatever he was doing. In addition to this (and he -ground his teeth as he remembered it), was the hour, dusky -twilight; the place, so far away from home, and comparatively -unfrequented. His nobler self had said at first, that all this -last might be accidental, innocent, justifiable; but once allow -her right to love and be beloved (and had he any reason to deny -her right?--had not her words been severely explicit when she -cast his love away from her?), she might easily have been -beguiled into a longer walk, on to a later hour than she had -anticipated. But that falsehood! which showed a fatal -consciousness of something wrong, and to be concealed, which was -unlike her. He did her that justice, though all the time it would -have been a relief to believe her utterly unworthy of his esteem. -It was this that made the misery--that he passionately loved her, -and thought her, even with all her faults, more lovely and more -excellent than any other woman; yet he deemed her so attached to -some other man, so led away by her affection for him as to -violate her truthful nature. The very falsehood that stained her, -was a proof how blindly she loved another--this dark, slight, -elegant, handsome man--while he himself was rough, and stern, and -strongly made. He lashed himself into an agony of fierce -jealousy. He thought of that look, that attitude!--how he would -have laid his life at her feet for such tender glances, such fond -detention! He mocked at himself, for having valued the mechanical -way in which she had protected him from the fury of the mob; now -he had seen how soft and bewitching she looked when with a man -she really loved. He remembered, point by point, the sharpness of -her words--'There was not a man in all that crowd for whom she -would not have done as much, far more readily than for him.' He -shared with the mob, in her desire of averting bloodshed from -them; but this man, this hidden lover, shared with nobody; he had -looks, words, hand-cleavings, lies, concealment, all to himself. - -Mr. Thornton was conscious that he had never been so irritable as -he was now, in all his life long; he felt inclined to give a short -abrupt answer, more like a bark than a speech, to every one that -asked him a question; and this consciousness hurt his pride he -had always piqued himself on his self-control, and control -himself he would. So the manner was subdued to a quiet -deliberation, but the matter was even harder and sterner than -common. He was more than usually silent at home; employing his -evenings in a continual pace backwards and forwards, which would -have annoyed his mother exceedingly if it had been practised by -any one else; and did not tend to promote any forbearance on her -part even to this beloved son. - -'Can you stop--can you sit down for a moment? I have something to -say to you, if you would give up that everlasting walk, walk, -walk.' - -He sat down instantly, on a chair against the wall. - -'I want to speak to you about Betsy. She says she must leave us; -that her lover's death has so affected her spirits she can't give -her heart to her work.' - -'Very well. I suppose other cooks are to be met with.' - -'That's so like a man. It's not merely the cooking, it is that -she knows all the ways of the house. Besides, she tells me -something about your friend Miss Hale.' - -'Miss Hale is no friend of mine. Mr. Hale is my friend.' - -'I am glad to hear you say so, for if she had been your friend, -what Betsy says would have annoyed you.' - -'Let me hear it,' said he, with the extreme quietness of manner -he had been assuming for the last few days. - -'Betsy says, that the night on which her lover--I forget his -name--for she always calls him "he"----' - -'Leonards.' - -'The night on which Leonards was last seen at the station--when -he was last seen on duty, in fact--Miss Hale was there, walking -about with a young man who, Betsy believes, killed Leonards by -some blow or push.' - -'Leonards was not killed by any blow or push.' - -'How do you know?' - -'Because I distinctly put the question to the surgeon of the -Infirmary. He told me there was an internal disease of long -standing, caused by Leonards' habit of drinking to excess; that -the fact of his becoming rapidly worse while in a state of -intoxication, settled the question as to whether the last fatal -attack was caused by excess of drinking, or the fall.' - -'The fall! What fall?' - -'Caused by the blow or push of which Betsy speaks.' - -'Then there was a blow or push?' - -'I believe so.' - -'And who did it?' - -'As there was no inquest, in consequence of the doctor's opinion, -I cannot tell you.' - -'But Miss Hale was there?' - -No answer. - -'And with a young man?' - -Still no answer. At last he said: 'I tell you, mother, that there -was no inquest--no inquiry. No judicial inquiry, I mean.' - -'Betsy says that Woolmer (some man she knows, who is in a -grocer's shop out at Crampton) can swear that Miss Hale was at -the station at that hour, walking backwards and forwards with a -young man.' - -'I don't see what we have to do with that. Miss Hale is at -liberty to please herself.' - -'I'm glad to hear you say so,' said Mrs. Thornton, eagerly. 'It -certainly signifies very little to us--not at all to you, after -what has passed! but I--I made a promise to Mrs. Hale, that I -would not allow her daughter to go wrong without advising and -remonstrating with her. I shall certainly let her know my opinion -of such conduct.' - -'I do not see any harm in what she did that evening,' said Mr. -Thornton, getting up, and coming near to his mother; he stood by -the chimney-piece with his face turned away from the room. - -'You would not have approved of Fanny's being seen out, after -dark, in rather a lonely place, walking about with a young man. I -say nothing of the taste which could choose the time, when her -mother lay unburied, for such a promenade. Should you have liked -your sister to have been noticed by a grocer's assistant for -doing so?' - -'In the first place, as it is not many years since I myself was a -draper's assistant, the mere circumstance of a grocer's assistant -noticing any act does not alter the character of the act to me. -And in the next place, I see a great deal of difference between -Miss Hale and Fanny. I can imagine that the one may have weighty -reasons, which may and ought to make her overlook any seeming -Impropriety in her conduct. I never knew Fanny have weighty -reasons for anything. Other people must guard her. I believe Miss -Hale is a guardian to herself.' - -'A pretty character of your sister, indeed! Really, John, one -would have thought Miss Hale had done enough to make you -clear-sighted. She drew you on to an offer, by a bold display of -pretended regard for you,--to play you off against this very -young man, I've no doubt. Her whole conduct is clear to me now. -You believe he is her lover, I suppose--you agree to that.' - -He turned round to his mother; his face was very gray and grim. -'Yes, mother. I do believe he is her lover.' When he had spoken, -he turned round again; he writhed himself about, like one in -bodily pain. He leant his face against his hand. Then before she -could speak, he turned sharp again: - -'Mother. He is her lover, whoever he is; but she may need help -and womanly counsel;--there may be difficulties or temptations -which I don't know. I fear there are. I don't want to know what -they are; but as you have ever been a good--ay! and a tender -mother to me, go to her, and gain her confidence, and tell her -what is best to be done. I know that something is wrong; some -dread, must be a terrible torture to her.' - -'For God's sake, John!' said his mother, now really shocked, -'what do you mean? What do you mean? What do you know?' - -He did not reply to her. - -'John! I don't know what I shan't think unless you speak. You -have no right to say what you have done against her.' - -'Not against her, mother! I _could_ not speak against her.' - -'Well! you have no right to say what you have done, unless you -say more. These half-expressions are what ruin a woman's -character.' - -'Her character! Mother, you do not dare--' he faced about, and -looked into her face with his flaming eyes. Then, drawing himself -up into determined composure and dignity, he said, 'I will not -say any more than this, which is neither more nor less than the -simple truth, and I am sure you believe me,--I have good reason -to believe, that Miss Hale is in some strait and difficulty -connected with an attachment which, of itself, from my knowledge -of Miss Hale's character, is perfectly innocent and right. What -my reason is, I refuse to tell. But never let me hear any one say -a word against her, implying any more serious imputation than -that she now needs the counsel of some kind and gentle woman. You -promised Mrs. Hale to be that woman!' - -No!' said Mrs. Thornton. 'I am happy to say, I did not promise -kindness and gentleness, for I felt at the time that it might be -out of my power to render these to one of Miss Hale's character -and disposition. I promised counsel and advice, such as I would -give to my own daughter; I shall speak to her as I would do to -Fanny, if she had gone gallivanting with a young man in the dusk. -I shall speak with relation to the circumstances I know, without -being influenced either one way or another by the "strong -reasons" which you will not confide to me. Then I shall have -fulfilled my promise, and done my duty.' - -'She will never bear it,' said he passionately. - -'She will have to bear it, if I speak in her dead mother's name.' - -'Well!' said he, breaking away, 'don't tell me any more about it. -I cannot endure to think of it. It will be better that you should -speak to her any way, than that she should not be spoken to at -all.--Oh! that look of love!' continued he, between his teeth, as -he bolted himself into his own private room. 'And that cursed -lie; which showed some terrible shame in the background, to be -kept from the light in which I thought she lived perpetually! Oh, -Margaret, Margaret! Mother, how you have tortured me! Oh! -Margaret, could you not have loved me? I am but uncouth and hard, -but I would never have led you into any falsehood for me.' - -The more Mrs. Thornton thought over what her son had said, in -pleading for a merciful judgment for Margaret's indiscretion, the -more bitterly she felt inclined towards her. She took a savage -pleasure in the idea of 'speaking her mind' to her, in the guise -of fulfilment of a duty. She enjoyed the thought of showing -herself untouched by the 'glamour,' which she was well aware -Margaret had the power of throwing over many people. She snorted -scornfully over the picture of the beauty of her victim; her jet -black hair, her clear smooth skin, her lucid eyes would not help -to save her one word of the just and stern reproach which Mrs. -Thornton spent half the night in preparing to her mind. - -'Is Miss Hale within?' She knew she was, for she had seen her at -the window, and she had her feet inside the little hall before -Martha had half answered her question. - -Margaret was sitting alone, writing to Edith, and giving her many -particulars of her mother's last days. It was a softening -employment, and she had to brush away the unbidden tears as Mrs. -Thornton was announced. - -She was so gentle and ladylike in her mode of reception that her -visitor was somewhat daunted; and it became impossible to utter -the speech, so easy of arrangement with no one to address it to. -Margaret's low rich voice was softer than usual; her manner more -gracious, because in her heart she was feeling very grateful to -Mrs. Thornton for the courteous attention of her call. She -exerted herself to find subjects of interest for conversation; -praised Martha, the servant whom Mrs. Thornton had found for -them; had asked Edith for a little Greek air, about which she had -spoken to Miss Thornton. Mrs. Thornton was fairly discomfited. -Her sharp Damascus blade seemed out of place, and useless among -rose-leaves. She was silent, because she was trying to task -herself up to her duty At last, she stung herself into its -performance by a suspicion which, in spite of all probability, -she allowed to cross her mind, that all this sweetness was put on -with a view of propitiating Mr. Thornton; that, somehow, the -other attachment had fallen through, and that it suited Miss -Hale's purpose to recall her rejected lover. Poor Margaret! there -was perhaps so much truth in the suspicion as this: that Mrs. -Thornton was the mother of one whose regard she valued, and -feared to have lost; and this thought unconsciously added to her -natural desire of pleasing one who was showing her kindness by -her visit. Mrs. Thornton stood up to go, but yet she seemed to -have something more to say. She cleared her throat and began: - -'Miss Hale, I have a duty to perform. I promised your poor mother -that, as far as my poor judgment went, I would not allow you to -act in any way wrongly, or (she softened her speech down a little -here) inadvertently, without remonstrating; at least, without -offering advice, whether you took it or not.' - -Margaret stood before her, blushing like any culprit, with her -eyes dilating as she gazed at Mrs. Thornton. She thought she had -come to speak to her about the falsehood she had told--that Mr. -Thornton had employed her to explain the danger she had exposed -herself to, of being confuted in full court! and although her -heart sank to think he had not rather chosen to come himself, and -upbraid her, and receive her penitence, and restore her again to -his good opinion, yet she was too much humbled not to bear any -blame on this subject patiently and meekly. - -Mrs. Thornton went on: - -'At first, when I heard from one of my servants, that you had -been seen walking about with a gentleman, so far from home as the -Outwood station, at such a time of the evening, I could hardly -believe it. But my son, I am sorry to say, confirmed her story. -It was indiscreet, to say the least; many a young woman has lost -her character before now----' - -Margaret's eyes flashed fire. This was a new idea--this was too -insulting. If Mrs. Thornton had spoken to her about the lie she -had told, well and good--she would have owned it, and humiliated -herself But to interfere with her conduct--to speak of her -character! she--Mrs. Thornton, a mere stranger--it was too -impertinent! She would not answer her--not one word. Mrs. -Thornton saw the battle-spirit in Margaret's eyes, and it called -up her combativeness also. - -'For your mother's sake, I have thought it right to warn you -against such improprieties; they must degrade you in the long run -in the estimation of the world, even if in fact they do not lead -you to positive harm.' - -'For my mother's sake,' said Margaret, in a tearful voice, 'I -will bear much; but I cannot bear everything. She never meant me -to be exposed to insult, I am sure.' - -'Insult, Miss Hale!' - -'Yes, madam,' said Margaret more steadily, 'it is insult. What do -you know of me that should lead you to suspect--Oh!' said she, -breaking down, and covering her face with her hands--'I know now, -Mr. Thornton has told you----' - -'No, Miss Hale,' said Mrs. Thornton, her truthfulness causing her -to arrest the confession Margaret was on the point of making, -though her curiosity was itching to hear it. 'Stop. Mr. Thornton -has told me nothing. You do not know my son. You are not worthy -to know him. He said this. Listen, young lady, that you may -understand, if you can, what sort of a man you rejected. This -Milton manufacturer, his great tender heart scorned as it was -scorned, said to me only last night, "Go to her. I have good -reason to know that she is in some strait, arising out of some -attachment; and she needs womanly counsel." I believe those were -his very words. Farther than that--beyond admitting the fact of -your being at the Outwood station with a gentleman, on the -evening of the twenty-sixth--he has said nothing--not one word -against you. If he has knowledge of anything which should make -you sob so, he keeps it to himself.' - -Margaret's face was still hidden in her hands, the fingers of -which were wet with tears. Mrs. Thornton was a little mollified. - -'Come, Miss Hale. There may be circumstances, I'll allow, that, -if explained, may take off from the seeming impropriety.' - -Still no answer. Margaret was considering what to say; she wished -to stand well with Mrs. Thornton; and yet she could not, might -not, give any explanation. Mrs. Thornton grew impatient. - -'I shall be sorry to break off an acquaintance; but for Fanny's -sake--as I told my son, if Fanny had done so we should consider -it a great disgrace--and Fanny might be led away----' - -'I can give you no explanation,' said Margaret, in a low voice. -'I have done wrong, but not in the way you think or know about. I -think Mr. Thornton judges me more mercifully than you;'--she had -hard work to keep herself from choking with her tears--'but, I -believe, madam, you mean to do rightly.' - -'Thank you,' said Mrs. Thornton, drawing herself up; 'I was not -aware that my meaning was doubted. It is the last time I shall -interfere. I was unwilling to consent to do it, when your mother -asked me. I had not approved of my son's attachment to you, while -I only suspected it. You did not appear to me worthy of him. But -when you compromised yourself as you did at the time of the riot, -and exposed yourself to the comments of servants and workpeople, -I felt it was no longer right to set myself against my son's wish -of proposing to you--a wish, by the way, which he had always -denied entertaining until the day of the riot.' Margaret winced, -and drew in her breath with a long, hissing sound; of which, -however, Mrs. Thornton took no notice. 'He came; you had -apparently changed your mind. I told my son yesterday, that I -thought it possible, short as was the interval, you might have -heard or learnt something of this other lover----' - -'What must you think of me, madam?' asked Margaret, throwing her -head back with proud disdain, till her throat curved outwards -like a swan's. 'You can say nothing more, Mrs. Thornton. I -decline every attempt to justify myself for anything. You must -allow me to leave the room.' - -And she swept out of it with the noiseless grace of an offended -princess. Mrs. Thornton had quite enough of natural humour to -make her feel the ludicrousness of the position in which she was -left. There was nothing for it but to show herself out. She was -not particularly annoyed at Margaret's way of behaving. She did -not care enough for her for that. She had taken Mrs. Thornton's -remonstrance to the full as keenly to heart as that lady -expected; and Margaret's passion at once mollified her visitor, -far more than any silence or reserve could have done. It showed -the effect of her words. 'My young lady,' thought Mrs. Thornton -to herself; 'you've a pretty good temper of your own. If John and -you had come together, he would have had to keep a tight hand -over you, to make you know your place. But I don't think you will -go a-walking again with your beau, at such an hour of the day, in -a hurry. You've too much pride and spirit in you for that. I like -to see a girl fly out at the notion of being talked about. It -shows they're neither giddy, nor hold by nature. As for that -girl, she might be hold, but she'd never be giddy. I'll do her -that justice. Now as to Fanny, she'd be giddy, and not bold. -She's no courage in her, poor thing!' - -Mr. Thornton was not spending the morning so satisfactorily as -his mother. She, at any rate, was fulfilling her determined -purpose. He was trying to understand where he stood; what damage -the strike had done him. A good deal of his capital was locked up -in new and expensive machinery; and he had also bought cotton -largely, with a view to some great orders which he had in hand. -The strike had thrown him terribly behindhand, as to the -completion of these orders. Even with his own accustomed and -skilled workpeople, he would have had some difficulty in -fulfilling his engagements; as it was, the incompetence of the -Irish hands, who had to be trained to their work, at a time -requiring unusual activity, was a daily annoyance. - -It was not a favourable hour for Higgins to make his request. But -he had promised Margaret to do it at any cost. So, though every -moment added to his repugnance, his pride, and his sullenness of -temper, he stood leaning against the dead wall, hour after hour, -first on one leg, then on the other. At last the latch was -sharply lifted, and out came Mr. Thornton. - -'I want for to speak to yo', sir.' - -'Can't stay now, my man. I'm too late as it is.' - -'Well, sir, I reckon I can wait till yo' come back.' - -Mr. Thornton was half way down the street. Higgins sighed. But it -was no use. To catch him in the street was his only chance of -seeing 'the measter;' if he had rung the lodge bell, or even gone -up to the house to ask for him, he would have been referred to -the overlooker. So he stood still again, vouchsafing no answer, -but a short nod of recognition to the few men who knew and spoke -to him, as the crowd drove out of the millyard at dinner-time, -and scowling with all his might at the Irish 'knobsticks' who had -just been imported. At last Mr. Thornton returned. - -'What! you there still!' - -'Ay, sir. I mun speak to yo'.' - -'Come in here, then. Stay, we'll go across the yard; the men are -not come back, and we shall have it to ourselves. These good -people, I see, are at dinner;' said he, closing the door of the -porter's lodge. - -He stopped to speak to the overlooker. The latter said in a low -tone: - -'I suppose you know, sir, that that man is Higgins, one of the -leaders of the Union; he that made that speech in Hurstfield.' - -'No, I didn't,' said Mr. Thornton, looking round sharply at his -follower. Higgins was known to him by name as a turbulent spirit. - -'Come along,' said he, and his tone was rougher than before. 'It -is men such as this,' thought he, 'who interrupt commerce and -injure the very town they live in: mere demagogues, lovers of -power, at whatever cost to others.' - -'Well, sir! what do you want with me?' said Mr. Thornton, facing -round at him, as soon as they were in the counting-house of the -mill. - -'My name is Higgins'-- - -'I know that,' broke in Mr. Thornton. 'What do you want, Mr. -Higgins? That's the question.' - -'I want work.' - -'Work! You're a pretty chap to come asking me for work. You don't -want impudence, that's very clear.' - -'I've getten enemies and backbiters, like my betters; but I ne'er -heerd o' ony of them calling me o'er-modest,' said Higgins. His -blood was a little roused by Mr. Thornton's manner, more than by -his words. - -Mr. Thornton saw a letter addressed to himself on the table. He -took it up and read it through. At the end, he looked up and -said, 'What are you waiting for?' - -'An answer to the question I axed.' - -'I gave it you before. Don't waste any more of your time.' - -'Yo' made a remark, sir, on my impudence: but I were taught that -it was manners to say either "yes" or "no," when I were axed a -civil question. I should be thankfu' to yo' if yo'd give me work. -Hamper will speak to my being a good hand.' - -'I've a notion you'd better not send me to Hamper to ask for a -character, my man. I might hear more than you'd like.' - -'I'd take th' risk. Worst they could say of me is, that I did -what I thought best, even to my own wrong.' - -'You'd better go and try them, then, and see whether they'll give -you work. I've turned off upwards of a hundred of my best hands, -for no other fault than following you and such as you; and d'ye -think I'll take you on? I might as well put a firebrand into the -midst of the cotton-waste.' - -Higgins turned away; then the recollection of Boucher came over -him, and he faced round with the greatest concession he could -persuade himself to make. - -'I'd promise yo', measter, I'd not speak a word as could do harm, -if so be yo' did right by us; and I'd promise more: I'd promise -that when I seed yo' going wrong, and acting unfair, I'd speak to -yo' in private first; and that would be a fair warning. If yo' -and I did na agree in our opinion o' your conduct, yo' might turn -me off at an hour's notice.' - -'Upon my word, you don't think small beer of yourself! Hamper has -had a loss of you. How came he to let you and your wisdom go?' - -'Well, we parted wi' mutual dissatisfaction. I wouldn't gi'e the -pledge they were asking; and they wouldn't have me at no rate. So -I'm free to make another engagement; and as I said before, though -I should na' say it, I'm a good hand, measter, and a steady -man--specially when I can keep fro' drink; and that I shall do -now, if I ne'er did afore.' - -'That you may have more money laid up for another strike, I -suppose?' - -'No! I'd be thankful if I was free to do that; it's for to keep -th' widow and childer of a man who was drove mad by them -knobsticks o' yourn; put out of his place by a Paddy that did na -know weft fro' warp.' - -'Well! you'd better turn to something else, if you've any such -good intention in your head. I shouldn't advise you to stay in -Milton: you're too well known here.' - -'If it were summer,' said Higgins, 'I'd take to Paddy's work, and -go as a navvy, or haymaking, or summut, and ne'er see Milton -again. But it's winter, and th' childer will clem.' - -'A pretty navvy you'd make! why, you couldn't do half a day's -work at digging against an Irishman.' - -'I'd only charge half-a-day for th' twelve hours, if I could only -do half-a-day's work in th' time. Yo're not knowing of any place, -where they could gi' me a trial, away fro' the mills, if I'm such -a firebrand? I'd take any wage they thought I was worth, for the -sake of those childer.' - -'Don't you see what you would be? You'd be a knobstick. You'd be -taking less wages than the other labourers--all for the sake of -another man's children. Think how you'd abuse any poor fellow who -was willing to take what he could get to keep his own children. -You and your Union would soon be down upon him. No! no! if it's -only for the recollection of the way in which you've used the -poor knobsticks before now, I say No! to your question. I'll not -give you work. I won't say, I don't believe your pretext for -coming and asking for work; I know nothing about it. It may be -true, or it may not. It's a very unlikely story, at any rate. Let -me pass. I'll not give you work. There's your answer.' - -'I hear, sir. I would na ha' troubled yo', but that I were bid to -come, by one as seemed to think yo'd getten some soft place in, -yo'r heart. Hoo were mistook, and I were misled. But I'm not the -first man as is misled by a woman.' - -'Tell her to mind her own business the next time, instead of -taking up your time and mine too. I believe women are at the -bottom of every plague in this world. Be off with you.' - -'I'm obleeged to yo' for a' yo'r kindness, measter, and most of -a' for yo'r civil way o' saying good-bye.' - -Mr. Thornton did not deign a reply. But, looking out of the -window a minute after, he was struck with the lean, bent figure -going out of the yard: the heavy walk was in strange contrast -with the resolute, clear determination of the man to speak to -him. He crossed to the porter's lodge: - -'How long has that man Higgins been waiting to speak to me?' - -'He was outside the gate before eight o'clock, sir. I think he's -been there ever since.' - -'And it is now--?' - -'Just one, sir.' - -'Five hours,' thought Mr. Thornton; 'it's a long time for a man -to wait, doing nothing but first hoping and then fearing.' - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - - -MAKING FRIENDS - -'Nay, I have done; you get no more of me: -And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart, -That thus so clearly I myself am free.' -DRAYTON. - -Margaret shut herself up in her own room, after she had quitted -Mrs. Thornton. She began to walk backwards and forwards, in her -old habitual way of showing agitation; but, then, remembering -that in that slightly-built house every step was heard from one -room to another, she sate down until she heard Mrs. Thornton go -safely out of the house. She forced herself to recollect all the -conversation that had passed between them; speech by speech, she -compelled her memory to go through with it. At the end, she rose -up, and said to herself, in a melancholy tone: - -'At any rate, her words do not touch me; they fall off from me; -for I am innocent of all the motives she attributes to me. But -still, it is hard to think that any one--any woman--can believe -all this of another so easily. It is hard and sad. Where I have -done wrong, she does not accuse me--she does not know. He never -told her: I might have known he would not!' - -She lifted up her head, as if she took pride in any delicacy of -feeling which Mr. Thornton had shown. Then, as a new thought came -across her, she pressed her hands tightly together. - -'He, too, must take poor Frederick for some lover.' (She blushed -as the word passed through her mind.) 'I see it now. It is not -merely that he knows of my falsehood, but he believes that some -one else cares for me; and that I----Oh dear!--oh dear! What -shall I do? What do I mean? Why do I care what he thinks, beyond -the mere loss of his good opinion as regards my telling the truth -or not? I cannot tell. But I am very miserable! Oh, how unhappy -this last year has been! I have passed out of childhood into old -age. I have had no youth--no womanhood; the hopes of womanhood -have closed for me--for I shall never marry; and I anticipate -cares and sorrows just as if I were an old woman, and with the -same fearful spirit. I am weary of this continual call upon me -for strength. I could bear up for papa; because that is a -natural, pious duty. And I think I could bear up against--at any -rate, I could have the energy to resent, Mrs. Thornton's unjust, -impertinent suspicions. But it is hard to feel how completely he -must misunderstand me. What has happened to make me so morbid -to-day? I do not know. I only know I cannot help it. I must give -way sometimes. No, I will not, though,' said she, springing to -her feet. 'I will not--I _will_ not think of myself and my own -position. I won't examine into my own feelings. It would be of no -use now. Some time, if I live to be an old woman, I may sit over -the fire, and, looking into the embers, see the life that might -have been.' - -All this time, she was hastily putting on her things to go out, -only stopping from time to time to wipe her eyes, with an -impatience of gesture at the tears that would come, in spite of -all her bravery. - -'I dare say, there's many a woman makes as sad a mistake as I -have done, and only finds it out too late. And how proudly and -impertinently I spoke to him that day! But I did not know then. -It has come upon me little by little, and I don't know where it -began. Now I won't give way. I shall find it difficult to behave -in the same way to him, with this miserable consciousness upon -me; but I will be very calm and very quiet, and say very little. -But, to be sure, I may not see him; he keeps out of our way -evidently. That would be worse than all. And yet no wonder that -he avoids me, believing what he must about me.' - -She went out, going rapidly towards the country, and trying to -drown reflection by swiftness of motion. - -As she stood on the door-step, at her return, her father came up: - -'Good girl!' said he. 'You've been to Mrs. Boucher's. I was just -meaning to go there, if I had time, before dinner.' - -'No, papa; I have not,' said Margaret, reddening. 'I never -thought about her. But I will go directly after dinner; I will go -while you are taking your nap. - -Accordingly Margaret went. Mrs. Boucher was very ill; really -ill--not merely ailing. The kind and sensible neighbour, who had -come in the other day, seemed to have taken charge of everything. -Some of the children were gone to the neighbours. Mary Higgins -had come for the three youngest at dinner-time; and since then -Nicholas had gone for the doctor. He had not come as yet; Mrs. -Boucher was dying; and there was nothing to do but to wait. -Margaret thought that she should like to know his opinion, and -that she could not do better than go and see the Higginses in the -meantime. She might then possibly hear whether Nicholas had been -able to make his application to Mr. Thornton. - -She found Nicholas busily engaged in making a penny spin on the -dresser, for the amusement of three little children, who were -clinging to him in a fearless manner. He, as well as they, was -smiling at a good long spin; and Margaret thought, that the happy -look of interest in his occupation was a good sign. When the -penny stopped spinning, 'lile Johnnie' began to cry. - -'Come to me,' said Margaret, taking him off the dresser, and -holding him in her arms; she held her watch to his ear, while she -asked Nicholas if he had seen Mr. Thornton. - -The look on his face changed instantly. - -'Ay!' said he. 'I've seen and heerd too much on him.' - -'He refused you, then?' said Margaret, sorrowfully. - -'To be sure. I knew he'd do it all long. It's no good expecting -marcy at the hands o' them measters. Yo're a stranger and a -foreigner, and aren't likely to know their ways; but I knowed -it.' - -'I am sorry I asked you. Was he angry? He did not speak to you as -Hamper did, did he?' - -'He weren't o'er-civil!' said Nicholas, spinning the penny again, -as much for his own amusement as for that of the children. 'Never -yo' fret, I'm only where I was. I'll go on tramp to-morrow. I -gave him as good as I got. I telled him, I'd not that good -opinion on him that I'd ha' come a second time of mysel'; but -yo'd advised me for to come, and I were beholden to yo'.' - -'You told him I sent you?' - -'I dunno' if I ca'd yo' by your name. I dunnot think I did. I -said, a woman who knew no better had advised me for to come and -see if there was a soft place in his heart.' - -'And he--?' asked Margaret. - -'Said I were to tell yo' to mind yo'r own business.--That's the -longest spin yet, my lads.--And them's civil words to what he -used to me. But ne'er mind. We're but where we was; and I'll -break stones on th' road afore I let these little uns clem.' - -Margaret put the struggling Johnnie out of her arms, back into -his former place on the dresser. - -'I am sorry I asked you to go to Mr. Thornton's. I am -disappointed in him.' - -There was a slight noise behind her. Both she and Nicholas turned -round at the same moment, and there stood Mr. Thornton, with a -look of displeased surprise upon his face. Obeying her swift -impulse, Margaret passed out before him, saying not a word, only -bowing low to hide the sudden paleness that she felt had come -over her face. He bent equally low in return, and then closed the -door after her. As she hurried to Mrs. Boucher's, she heard the -clang, and it seemed to fill up the measure of her mortification. -He too was annoyed to find her there. He had tenderness in his -heart--'a soft place,' as Nicholas Higgins called it; but he had -some pride in concealing it; he kept it very sacred and safe, and -was jealous of every circumstance that tried to gain admission. -But if he dreaded exposure of his tenderness, he was equally -desirous that all men should recognise his justice; and he felt -that he had been unjust, in giving so scornful a hearing to any -one who had waited, with humble patience, for five hours, to -speak to him. That the man had spoken saucily to him when he had -the opportunity, was nothing to Mr. Thornton. He rather liked him -for it; and he was conscious of his own irritability of temper at -the time, which probably made them both quits. It was the five -hours of waiting that struck Mr. Thornton. He had not five hours -to spare himself; but one hour--two hours, of his hard -penetrating intellectual, as well as bodily labour, did he give -up to going about collecting evidence as to the truth of -Higgins's story, the nature of his character, the tenor of his -life. He tried not to be, but was convinced that all that Higgins -had said was true. And then the conviction went in, as if by -some spell, and touched the latent tenderness of his heart; the -patience of the man, the simple generosity of the motive (for he -had learnt about the quarrel between Boucher and Higgins), made -him forget entirely the mere reasonings of justice, and overleap -them by a diviner instinct. He came to tell Higgins he would give -him work; and he was more annoyed to find Margaret there than by -hearing her last words, for then he understood that she was the -woman who had urged Higgins to come to him; and he dreaded the -admission of any thought of her, as a motive to what he was doing -solely because it was right. - -'So that was the lady you spoke of as a woman?' said he -indignantly to Higgins. 'You might have told me who she was. - -'And then, maybe, yo'd ha' spoken of her more civil than yo' did; -yo'd getten a mother who might ha' kept yo'r tongue in check when -yo' were talking o' women being at the root o' all the plagues.' - -'Of course you told that to Miss Hale?' - -'In coorse I did. Leastways, I reckon I did. I telled her she -weren't to meddle again in aught that concerned yo'.' - -'Whose children are those--yours?' Mr. Thornton had a pretty good -notion whose they were, from what he had heard; but he felt -awkward in turning the conversation round from this unpromising -beginning. - -'They're not mine, and they are mine.' - -'They are the children you spoke of to me this morning?' - -'When yo' said,' replied Higgins, turning round, with -ill-smothered fierceness, 'that my story might be true or might -not, bur it were a very unlikely one. Measter, I've not -forgetten.' - -Mr. Thornton was silent for a moment; then he said: 'No more have -I. I remember what I said. I spoke to you about those children in -a way I had no business to do. I did not believe you. I could not -have taken care of another man's children myself, if he had acted -towards me as I hear Boucher did towards you. But I know now that -you spoke truth. I beg your pardon.' - -Higgins did not turn round, or immediately respond to this. But -when he did speak, it was in a softened tone, although the words -were gruff enough. - -'Yo've no business to go prying into what happened between -Boucher and me. He's dead, and I'm sorry. That's enough.' - -'So it is. Will you take work with me? That's what I came to -ask.' - -Higgins's obstinacy wavered, recovered strength, and stood firm. -He would not speak. Mr. Thornton would not ask again. Higgins's -eye fell on the children. - -'Yo've called me impudent, and a liar, and a mischief-maker, and -yo' might ha' said wi' some truth, as I were now and then given -to drink. An' I ha' called you a tyrant, an' an oud bull-dog, and -a hard, cruel master; that's where it stands. But for th' -childer. Measter, do yo' think we can e'er get on together?' - -'Well!' said Mr. Thornton, half-laughing, 'it was not my proposal -that we should go together. But there's one comfort, on your own -showing. We neither of us can think much worse of the other than -we do now.' - -'That's true,' said Higgins, reflectively. 'I've been thinking, -ever sin' I saw you, what a marcy it were yo' did na take me on, -for that I ne'er saw a man whom I could less abide. But that's -maybe been a hasty judgment; and work's work to such as me. So, -measter, I'll come; and what's more, I thank yo'; and that's a -deal fro' me,' said he, more frankly, suddenly turning round and -facing Mr. Thornton fully for the first time. - -'And this is a deal from me,' said Mr. Thornton, giving Higgins's -hand a good grip. 'Now mind you come sharp to your time,' -continued he, resuming the master. 'I'll have no laggards at my -mill. What fines we have, we keep pretty sharply. And the first -time I catch you making mischief, off you go. So now you know -where you are.' - -'Yo' spoke of my wisdom this morning. I reckon I may bring it wi' -me; or would yo' rayther have me 'bout my brains?' - -''Bout your brains if you use them for meddling with my business; -with your brains if you can keep them to your own.' - -'I shall need a deal o' brains to settle where my business ends -and yo'rs begins.' - -'Your business has not begun yet, and mine stands still for me. -So good afternoon.' - -Just before Mr. Thornton came up to Mrs. Boucher's door, Margaret -came out of it. She did not see him; and he followed her for -several yards, admiring her light and easy walk, and her tall and -graceful figure. But, suddenly, this simple emotion of pleasure -was tainted, poisoned by jealousy. He wished to overtake her, and -speak to her, to see how she would receive him, now she must know -he was aware of some other attachment. He wished too, but of this -wish he was rather ashamed, that she should know that he had -justified her wisdom in sending Higgins to him to ask for work; -and had repented him of his morning's decision. He came up to -her. She started. - -'Allow me to say, Miss Hale, that you were rather premature in -expressing your disappointment. I have taken Higgins on.' - -'I am glad of it,' said she, coldly. - -'He tells me, he repeated to you, what I said this morning -about--' Mr. Thornton hesitated. Margaret took it up: - -'About women not meddling. You had a perfect right to express -your opinion, which was a very correct one, I have no doubt. -But,' she went on a little more eagerly, 'Higgins did not quite -tell you the exact truth.' The word 'truth,' reminded her of her -own untruth, and she stopped short, feeling exceedingly -uncomfortable. - -Mr. Thornton at first was puzzled to account for her silence; and -then he remembered the lie she had told, and all that was -foregone. 'The exact truth!' said he. 'Very few people do speak -the exact truth. I have given up hoping for it. Miss Hale, have -you no explanation to give me? You must perceive what I cannot -but think.' - -Margaret was silent. She was wondering whether an explanation of -any kind would be consistent with her loyalty to Frederick. - -'Nay,' said he, 'I will ask no farther. I may be putting -temptation in your way. At present, believe me, your secret is -safe with me. But you run great risks, allow me to say, in being -so indiscreet. I am now only speaking as a friend of your -father's: if I had any other thought or hope, of course that is -at an end. I am quite disinterested.' - -'I am aware of that,' said Margaret, forcing herself to speak in -an indifferent, careless way. 'I am aware of what I must appear -to you, but the secret is another person's, and I cannot explain -it without doing him harm.' - -'I have not the slightest wish to pry into the gentleman's -secrets,' he said, with growing anger. 'My own interest in you -is--simply that of a friend. You may not believe me, Miss Hale, -but it is--in spite of the persecution I'm afraid I threatened -you with at one time--but that is all given up; all passed away. -You believe me, Miss Hale?' - -'Yes,' said Margaret, quietly and sadly. - -'Then, really, I don't see any occasion for us to go on walking -together. I thought, perhaps you might have had something to say, -but I see we are nothing to each other. If you're quite -convinced, that any foolish passion on my part is entirely over, -I will wish you good afternoon.' He walked off very hastily. - -'What can he mean?' thought Margaret,--'what could he mean by -speaking so, as if I were always thinking that he cared for me, -when I know he does not; he cannot. His mother will have said all -those cruel things about me to him. But I won't care for him. I -surely am mistress enough of myself to control this wild, -strange, miserable feeling, which tempted me even to betray my -own dear Frederick, so that I might but regain his good -opinion--the good opinion of a man who takes such pains to tell -me that I am nothing to him. Come poor little heart! be cheery -and brave. We'll be a great deal to one another, if we are thrown -off and left desolate.' - -Her father was almost startled by her merriment this afternoon. -She talked incessantly, and forced her natural humour to an -unusual pitch; and if there was a tinge of bitterness in much of -what she said; if her accounts of the old Harley Street set were -a little sarcastic, her father could not bear to check her, as he -would have done at another time--for he was glad to see her shake -off her cares. In the middle of the evening, she was called down -to speak to Mary Higgins; and when she came back, Mr. Hale -imagined that he saw traces of tears on her cheeks. But that -could not be, for she brought good news--that Higgins had got -work at Mr. Thornton's mill. Her spirits were damped, at any -rate, and she found it very difficult to go on talking at all, -much more in the wild way that she had done. For some days her -spirits varied strangely; and her father was beginning to be -anxious about her, when news arrived from one or two quarters -that promised some change and variety for her. Mr. Hale received -a letter from Mr. Bell, in which that gentleman volunteered a -visit to them; and Mr. Hale imagined that the promised society of -his old Oxford friend would give as agreeable a turn to -Margaret's ideas as it did to his own. Margaret tried to take an -interest in what pleased her father; but she was too languid to -care about any Mr. Bell, even though he were twenty times her -godfather. She was more roused by a letter from Edith, full of -sympathy about her aunt's death; full of details about herself, -her husband, and child; and at the end saying, that as the -climate did not suit, the baby, and as Mrs. Shaw was talking of -returning to England, she thought it probable that Captain Lennox -might sell out, and that they might all go and live again in the -old Harley Street house; which, however, would seem very -incomplete with-out Margaret. Margaret yearned after that old -house, and the placid tranquillity of that old well-ordered, -monotonous life. She had found it occasionally tiresome while it -lasted; but since then she had been buffeted about, and felt so -exhausted by this recent struggle with herself, that she thought -that even stagnation would be a rest and a refreshment. So she -began to look towards a long visit to the Lennoxes, on their -return to England, as to a point--no, not of hope--but of -leisure, in which she could regain her power and command over -herself. At present it seemed to her as if all subjects tended -towards Mr. Thornton; as if she could not for-get him with all -her endeavours. If she went to see the Higginses, she heard of -him there; her father had resumed their readings together, and -quoted his opinions perpetually; even Mr. Bell's visit brought -his tenant's name upon the tapis; for he wrote word that he -believed he must be occupied some great part of his time with Mr. -Thornton, as a new lease was in preparation, and the terms of it -must be agreed upon. - - -CHAPTER XL - - -OUT OF TUNE - -'I have no wrong, where I can claim no right, -Naught ta'en me fro, where I have nothing had, -Yet of my woe I cannot so be quite; -Namely, since that another may be glad -With that, that thus in sorrow makes me sad.' -WYATT. - -Margaret had not expected much pleasure to herself from Mr. -Bell's visit--she had only looked forward to it on her father's -account, but when her godfather came, she at once fell into the -most natural position of friendship in the world. He said she had -no merit in being what she was, a girl so entirely after his own -heart; it was an hereditary power which she had, to walk in and -take possession of his regard; while she, in reply, gave him much -credit for being so fresh and young under his Fellow's cap and -gown. - -'Fresh and young in warmth and kindness, I mean. I'm afraid I -must own, that I think your opinions are the oldest and mustiest -I have met with this long time.' - -'Hear this daughter of yours, Hale Her residence in Milton has -quite corrupted her. She's a democrat, a red republican, a member -of the Peace Society, a socialist--' - -'Papa, it's all because I'm standing up for the progress of -commerce. Mr. Bell would have had it keep still at exchanging -wild-beast skins for acorns.' - -'No, no. I'd dig the ground and grow potatoes. And I'd shave the -wild-beast skins and make the wool into broad cloth. Don't -exaggerate, missy. But I'm tired of this bustle. Everybody -rushing over everybody, in their hurry to get rich.' - -'It is not every one who can sit comfortably in a set of college -rooms, and let his riches grow without any exertion of his own. -No doubt there is many a man here who would be thankful if his -property would increase as yours has done, without his taking any -trouble about it,' said Mr. Hale. - -'I don't believe they would. It's the bustle and the struggle -they like. As for sitting still, and learning from the past, or -shaping out the future by faithful work done in a prophetic -spirit--Why! Pooh! I don't believe there's a man in Milton who -knows how to sit still; and it is a great art.' - -'Milton people, I suspect, think Oxford men don't know how to -move. It would be a very good thing if they mixed a little more.' - -'It might be good for the Miltoners. Many things might be good -for them which would be very disagreeable for other people.' - -'Are you not a Milton man yourself?' asked Margaret. 'I should -have thought you would have been proud of your town.' - -'I confess, I don't see what there is to be proud of If you'll -only come to Oxford, Margaret, I will show you a place to glory -in.' - -'Well!' said Mr. Hale, 'Mr. Thornton is coming to drink tea with -us to-night, and he is as proud of Milton as you of Oxford. You -two must try and make each other a little more liberal-minded.' - -'I don't want to be more liberal-minded, thank you,' said Mr. -Bell. - -'Is Mr. Thornton coming to tea, papa?' asked Margaret in a low -voice. - -'Either to tea or soon after. He could not tell. He told us not -to wait.' - -Mr. Thornton had determined that he would make no inquiry of his -mother as to how far she had put her project into execution of -speaking to Margaret about the impropriety of her conduct. He -felt pretty sure that, if this interview took place, his mother's -account of what passed at it would only annoy and chagrin him, -though he would all the time be aware of the colouring which it -received by passing through her mind. He shrank from hearing -Margaret's very name mentioned; he, while he blamed her--while he -was jealous of her--while he renounced her--he loved her sorely, -in spite of himself. He dreamt of her; he dreamt she came dancing -towards him with outspread arms, and with a lightness and gaiety -which made him loathe her, even while it allured him. But the -impression of this figure of Margaret--with all Margaret's -character taken out of it, as completely as if some evil spirit -had got possession of her form--was so deeply stamped upon his -imagination, that when he wakened he felt hardly able to separate -the Una from the Duessa; and the dislike he had to the latter -seemed to envelope and disfigure the former Yet he was too proud -to acknowledge his weakness by avoiding the sight of her. He -would neither seek an opportunity of being in her company nor -avoid it. To convince himself of his power of self-control, he -lingered over every piece of business this afternoon; he forced -every movement into unnatural slowness and deliberation; and it -was consequently past eight o'clock before he reached Mr. Hale's. -Then there were business arrangements to be transacted in the -study with Mr. Bell; and the latter kept on, sitting over the -fire, and talking wearily, long after all business was -transacted, and when they might just as well have gone upstairs. -But Mr. Thornton would not say a word about moving their -quarters; he chafed and chafed, and thought Mr. Bell a most prosy -companion; while Mr. Bell returned the compliment in secret, by -considering Mr. Thornton about as brusque and curt a fellow as he -had ever met with, and terribly gone off both in intelligence and -manner. At last, some slight noise in the room above suggested -the desirableness of moving there. They found Margaret with a -letter open before her, eagerly discussing its contents with her -father. On the entrance of the gentlemen, it was immediately put -aside; but Mr. Thornton's eager senses caught some few words of -Mr. Hale's to Mr. Bell. - -'A letter from Henry Lennox. It makes Margaret very hopeful.' - -Mr. Bell nodded. Margaret was red as a rose when Mr. Thornton -looked at her. He had the greatest mind in the world to get up -and go out of the room that very instant, and never set foot in -the house again. - -'We were thinking,' said Mr. Hale, 'that you and Mr. Thornton had -taken Margaret's advice, and were each trying to convert the -other, you were so long in the study.' - -'And you thought there would be nothing left of us but an -opinion, like the Kilkenny cat's tail. Pray whose opinion did you -think would have the most obstinate vitality?' - -Mr. Thornton had not a notion what they were talking about, and -disdained to inquire. Mr. Hale politely enlightened him. - -'Mr. Thornton, we were accusing Mr. Bell this morning of a kind -of Oxonian mediaeval bigotry against his native town; and -we--Margaret, I believe--suggested that it would do him good to -associate a little with Milton manufacturers.' - -'I beg your pardon. Margaret thought it would do the Milton -manufacturers good to associate a little more with Oxford men. -Now wasn't it so, Margaret?' - -'I believe I thought it would do both good to see a little more -of the other,--I did not know it was my idea any more than -papa's.' - -'And so you see, Mr. Thornton, we ought to have been improving -each other down-stairs, instead of talking over vanished families -of Smiths and Harrisons. However, I am willing to do my part now. -I wonder when you Milton men intend to live. All your lives seem -to be spent in gathering together the materials for life.' - -'By living, I suppose you mean enjoyment.' - -'Yes, enjoyment,--I don't specify of what, because I trust we -should both consider mere pleasure as very poor enjoyment.' - -'I would rather have the nature of the enjoyment defined.' - -'Well! enjoyment of leisure--enjoyment of the power and influence -which money gives. You are all striving for money. What do you -want it for?' - -Mr. Thornton was silent. Then he said, 'I really don't know. But -money is not what _I_ strive for.' - -'What then?' - -'It is a home question. I shall have to lay myself open to such a -catechist, and I am not sure that I am prepared to do it.' - -'No!' said Mr. Hale; 'don't let us be personal in our catechism. -You are neither of you representative men; you are each of you -too individual for that.' - -'I am not sure whether to consider that as a compliment or not. I -should like to be the representative of Oxford, with its beauty -and its learning, and its proud old history. What do you say, -Margaret; ought I to be flattered?' - -'I don't know Oxford. But there is a difference between being the -representative of a city and the representative man of its -inhabitants.' - -'Very true, Miss Margaret. Now I remember, you were against me -this morning, and were quite Miltonian and manufacturing in your -preferences.' Margaret saw the quick glance of surprise that Mr. -Thornton gave her, and she was annoyed at the construction which -he might put on this speech of Mr. Bell's. Mr. Bell went on-- - -'Ah! I wish I could show you our High Street--our Radcliffe -Square. I am leaving out our colleges, just as I give Mr. -Thornton leave to omit his factories in speaking of the charms of -Milton. I have a right to abuse my birth-place. Remember I am a -Milton man. - -Mr. Thornton was annoyed more than he ought to have been at all -that Mr. Bell was saying. He was not in a mood for joking. At -another time, he could have enjoyed Mr. Bell's half testy -condemnation of a town where the life was so at variance with -every habit he had formed; but now, he was galled enough to -attempt to defend what was never meant to be seriously attacked. - -'I don't set up Milton as a model of a town.' - -'Not in architecture?' slyly asked Mr. Bell. - -'No! We've been too busy to attend to mere outward appearances.' - -'Don't say _mere_ outward appearances,' said Mr. Hale, gently. -'They impress us all, from childhood upward--every day of our -life.' - -'Wait a little while,' said Mr. Thornton. 'Remember, we are of a -different race from the Greeks, to whom beauty was everything, -and to whom Mr. Bell might speak of a life of leisure and serene -enjoyment, much of which entered in through their outward senses. -I don't mean to despise them, any more than I would ape them. But -I belong to Teutonic blood; it is little mingled in this part of -England to what it is in others; we retain much of their -language; we retain more of their spirit; we do not look upon -life as a time for enjoyment, but as a time for action and -exertion. Our glory and our beauty arise out of our inward -strength, which makes us victorious over material resistance, and -over greater difficulties still. We are Teutonic up here in -Darkshire in another way. We hate to have laws made for us at a -distance. We wish people would allow us to right ourselves, -instead of continually meddling, with their imperfect -legislation. We stand up for self-government, and oppose -centralisation.' - -'In short, you would like the Heptarchy back again. Well, at any -rate, I revoke what I said this morning--that you Milton people -did not reverence the past. You are regular worshippers of Thor.' - -'If we do not reverence the past as you do in Oxford, it is -because we want something which can apply to the present more -directly. It is fine when the study of the past leads to a -prophecy of the future. But to men groping in new circumstances, -it would be finer if the words of experience could direct us how -to act in what concerns us most intimately and immediately; which -is full of difficulties that must be encountered; and upon the -mode in which they are met and conquered--not merely pushed aside -for the time--depends our future. Out of the wisdom of the past, -help us over the present. But no! People can speak of Utopia much -more easily than of the next day's duty; and yet when that duty -is all done by others, who so ready to cry, "Fie, for shame!"' - -'And all this time I don't see what you are talking about. Would -you Milton men condescend to send up your to-day's difficulty to -Oxford? You have not tried us yet.' - -Mr. Thornton laughed outright at this. 'I believe I was talking -with reference to a good deal that has been troubling us of late; -I was thinking of the strikes we have gone through, which are -troublesome and injurious things enough, as I am finding to my -cost. And yet this last strike, under which I am smarting, has -been respectable.' - -'A respectable strike!' said Mr. Bell. 'That sounds as if you -were far gone in the worship of Thor.' - -Margaret felt, rather than saw, that Mr. Thornton was chagrined -by the repeated turning into jest of what he was feeling as very -serious. She tried to change the conversation from a subject -about which one party cared little, while, to the other, it was -deeply, because personally, interesting. She forced herself to -say something. - -'Edith says she finds the printed calicoes in Corfu better and -cheaper than in London.' - -'Does she?' said her father. 'I think that must be one of Edith's -exaggerations. Are you sure of it, Margaret?' - -'I am sure she says so, papa.' - -'Then I am sure of the fact,' said Mr. Bell. 'Margaret, I go so -far in my idea of your truthfulness, that it shall cover your -cousin's character. I don't believe a cousin of yours could -exaggerate.' - -'Is Miss Hale so remarkable for truth?' said Mr. Thornton, -bitterly. The moment he had done so, he could have bitten his -tongue out. What was he? And why should he stab her with her -shame in this way? How evil he was to-night; possessed by -ill-humour at being detained so long from her; irritated by the -mention of some name, because he thought it belonged to a more -successful lover; now ill-tempered because he had been unable to -cope, with a light heart, against one who was trying, by gay and -careless speeches, to make the evening pass pleasantly away,--the -kind old friend to all parties, whose manner by this time might -be well known to Mr. Thornton, who had been acquainted with him -for many years. And then to speak to Margaret as he had done! She -did not get up and leave the room, as she had done in former -days, when his abruptness or his temper had annoyed her. She sat -quite still, after the first momentary glance of grieved -surprise, that made her eyes look like some child's who has met -with an unexpected rebuff; they slowly dilated into mournful, -reproachful sadness; and then they fell, and she bent over her -work, and did not speak again. But he could not help looking at -her, and he saw a sigh tremble over her body, as if she quivered -in some unwonted chill. He felt as the mother would have done, in -the midst of 'her rocking it, and rating it,' had she been called -away before her slow confiding smile, implying perfect trust in -mother's love, had proved the renewing of its love. He gave short -sharp answers; he was uneasy and cross, unable to discern between -jest and earnest; anxious only for a look, a word of hers, before -which to prostrate himself in penitent humility. But she neither -looked nor spoke. Her round taper fingers flew in and out of her -sewing, as steadily and swiftly as if that were the business of -her life. She could not care for him, he thought, or else the -passionate fervour of his wish would have forced her to raise -those eyes, if but for an instant, to read the late repentance in -his. He could have struck her before he left, in order that by -some strange overt act of rudeness, he might earn the privilege -of telling her the remorse that gnawed at his heart. It was well -that the long walk in the open air wound up this evening for him. -It sobered him back into grave resolution, that henceforth he -would see as little of her as possible,--since the very sight of -that face arid form, the very sounds of that voice (like the soft -winds of pure melody) had such power to move him from his -balance. Well! He had known what love was--a sharp pang, a fierce -experience, in the midst of whose flames he was struggling! but, -through that furnace he would fight his way out into the serenity -of middle age,--all the richer and more human for having known -this great passion. - -When he had somewhat abruptly left the room, Margaret rose from -her seat, and began silently to fold up her work; The long seams -were heavy, and had an unusual weight for her languid arms. The -round lines in her face took a lengthened, straighter form, and -her whole appearance was that of one who had gone through a day -of great fatigue. As the three prepared for bed, Mr. Bell -muttered forth a little condemnation of Mr. Thornton. - -'I never saw a fellow so spoiled by success. He can't bear a -word; a jest of any kind. Everything seems to touch on the -soreness of his high dignity. Formerly, he was as simple and -noble as the open day; you could not offend him, because he had -no vanity.' - -'He is not vain now,' said Margaret, turning round from the -table, and speaking with quiet distinctness. 'To-night he has not -been like himself Something must have annoyed him before he came -here.' - -Mr. Bell gave her one of his sharp glances from above his -spectacles. She stood it quite calmly; but, after she had left -the room, he suddenly asked,-- - -'Hale! did it ever strike you that Thornton and your daughter -have what the French call a tendresse for each other?' - -'Never!' said Mr. Hale, first startled and then flurried by the -new idea. 'No, I am sure you are wrong. I am almost certain you -are mistaken. If there is anything, it is all on Mr. Thornton's -side. Poor fellow! I hope and trust he is not thinking of her, -for I am sure she would not have him.' - -'Well! I'm a bachelor, and have steered clear of love affairs all -my life; so perhaps my opinion is not worth having. Or else I -should say there were very pretty symptoms about her!' - -'Then I am sure you are wrong,' said Mr. Hale. 'He may care for -her, though she really has been almost rude to him at times. But -she!--why, Margaret would never think of him, I'm sure! Such a -thing has never entered her head.' - -'Entering her heart would do. But I merely threw out a suggestion -of what might be. I dare say I was wrong. And whether I was wrong -or right, I'm very sleepy; so, having disturbed your night's rest -(as I can see) with my untimely fancies, I'll betake myself with -an easy mind to my own.' - -But Mr. Hale resolved that he would not be disturbed by any such -nonsensical idea; so he lay awake, determining not to think about -it. - -Mr. Bell took his leave the next day, bidding Margaret look to -him as one who had a right to help and protect her in all her -troubles, of whatever nature they might be. To Mr. Hale he -said,-- - -'That Margaret of yours has gone deep into my heart. Take care of -her, for she is a very precious creature,--a great deal too good -for Milton,--only fit for Oxford, in fact. The town, I mean; not -the men. I can't match her yet. When I can, I shall bring my -young man to stand side by side with your young woman, just as -the genie in the Arabian Nights brought Prince Caralmazan to -match with the fairy's Princess Badoura.' - -'I beg you'll do no such thing. Remember the misfortunes that -ensued; and besides, I can't spare Margaret.' - -'No; on second thoughts, we'll have her to nurse us ten years -hence, when we shall be two cross old invalids. Seriously, Hale! -I wish you'd leave Milton; which is a most unsuitable place for -you, though it was my recommendation in the first instance. If -you would; I'd swallow my shadows of doubts, and take a college -living; and you and Margaret should come and live at the -parsonage--you to be a sort of lay curate, and take the unwashed -off my hands; and she to be our housekeeper--the village Lady -Bountiful--by day; and read us to sleep in the evenings. I could -be very happy in such a life. What do you think of it?' - -'Never!' said Mr. Hale, decidedly. 'My one great change has been -made and my price of suffering paid. Here I stay out my life; and -here will I be buried, and lost in the crowd.' - -'I don't give up my plan yet. Only I won't bait you with it any -more just now. Where's the Pearl? Come, Margaret, give me a -farewell kiss; and remember, my dear, where you may find a true -friend, as far as his capability goes. You are my child, -Margaret. Remember that, and 'God bless you!' - -So they fell back into the monotony of the quiet life they would -henceforth lead. There was no invalid to hope and fear about; -even the Higginses--so long a vivid interest--seemed to have -receded from any need of immediate thought. The Boucher children, -left motherless orphans, claimed what of Margaret's care she -could bestow; and she went pretty often to see Mary Higgins, who -had charge of them. The two families were living in one house: -the elder children were at humble schools, the younger ones were -tended, in Mary's absence at her work, by the kind neighbour -whose good sense had struck Margaret at the time of Boucher's -death. Of course she was paid for her trouble; and indeed, in all -his little plans and arrangements for these orphan children, -Nicholas showed a sober judgment, and regulated method of -thinking, which were at variance with his former more eccentric -jerks of action. He was so steady at his work, that Margaret did -not often see him during these winter months; but when she did, -she saw that he winced away from any reference to the father of -those children, whom he had so fully and heartily taken under his -care. He did not speak easily of Mr. Thornton. - -'To tell the truth,' said he, 'he fairly bamboozles me. He's two -chaps. One chap I knowed of old as were measter all o'er. T'other -chap hasn't an ounce of measter's flesh about him. How them two -chaps is bound up in one body, is a craddy for me to find out. -I'll not be beat by it, though. Meanwhile he comes here pretty -often; that's how I know the chap that's a man, not a measter. -And I reckon he's taken aback by me pretty much as I am by him; -for he sits and listens and stares, as if I were some strange -beast newly caught in some of the zones. But I'm none daunted. It -would take a deal to daunt me in my own house, as he sees. And I -tell him some of my mind that I reckon he'd ha' been the better -of hearing when he were a younger man.' - -'And does he not answer you?' asked Mr. Hale. - -'Well! I'll not say th' advantage is all on his side, for all I -take credit for improving him above a bit. Sometimes he says a -rough thing or two, which is not agreeable to look at at first, -but has a queer smack o' truth in it when yo' come to chew it. -He'll be coming to-night, I reckon, about them childer's -schooling. He's not satisfied wi' the make of it, and wants for -t' examine 'em.' - -'What are they'--began Mr. Hale; but Margaret, touching his arm, -showed him her watch. - -'It is nearly seven,' she said. 'The evenings are getting longer -now. Come, papa.' She did not breathe freely till they were some -distance from the house. Then, as she became more calm, she -wished that she had not been in so great a hurry; for, somehow, -they saw Mr. Thornton but very seldom now; and he might have come -to see Higgins, and for the old friendship's sake she should like -to have seen him to-night. - -Yes! he came very seldom, even for the dull cold purpose of -lessons. Mr. Hale was disappointed in his pupil's lukewarmness -about Greek literature, which had but a short time ago so great -an interest for him. And now it often happened that a hurried -note from Mr. Thornton would arrive, just at the last moment, -saying that he was so much engaged that he could not come to read -with Mr. Hale that evening. And though other pupils had taken -more than his place as to time, no one was like his first scholar -in Mr. Hale's heart. He was depressed and sad at this partial -cessation of an intercourse which had become dear to him; and he -used to sit pondering over the reason that could have occasioned -this change. - -He startled Margaret, one evening as she sate at her work, by -suddenly asking: - -'Margaret! had you ever any reason for thinking that Mr. Thornton -cared for you?' - -He almost blushed as he put this question; but Mr. Bell's scouted -idea recurred to him, and the words were out of his mouth before -he well knew what he was about. - -Margaret did not answer immediately; but by the bent drooping of -her head, he guessed what her reply would be. - -'Yes; I believe--oh papa, I should have told you.' And she -dropped her work, and hid her face in her hands. - -'No, dear; don't think that I am impertinently curious. I am sure -you would have told me if you had felt that you could return his -regard. Did he speak to you about it?' - -No answer at first; but by-and-by a little gentle reluctant -'Yes.' - -'And you refused him?' - -A long sigh; a more helpless, nerveless attitude, and another -'Yes.' But before her father could speak, Margaret lifted up her -face, rosy with some beautiful shame, and, fixing her eyes upon -him, said: - -'Now, papa, I have told you this, and I cannot tell you more; and -then the whole thing is so painful to me; every word and action -connected with it is so unspeakably bitter, that I cannot bear to -think of it. Oh, papa, I am sorry to have lost you this friend, -but I could not help it--but oh! I am very sorry.' She sate down -on the ground, and laid her head on his knees. - -'I too, am sorry, my dear. Mr. Bell quite startled me when he -said, some idea of the kind--' - -'Mr. Bell! Oh, did Mr. Bell see it?' - -'A little; but he took it into his head that you--how shall I say -it?--that you were not ungraciously disposed towards Mr. -Thornton. I knew that could never be. I hoped the whole thing was -but an imagination; but I knew too well what your real feelings -were to suppose that you could ever like Mr. Thornton in that -way. But I am very sorry.' - -They were very quiet and still for some minutes. But, on stroking -her cheek in a caressing way soon after, he was almost shocked to -find her face wet with tears. As he touched her, she sprang up, -and smiling with forced brightness, began to talk of the Lennoxes -with such a vehement desire to turn the conversation, that Mr. -Hale was too tender-hearted to try to force it back into the old -channel. - -'To-morrow--yes, to-morrow they will be back in Harley Street. -Oh, how strange it will be! I wonder what room they will make -into the nursery? Aunt Shaw will be happy with the baby. Fancy -Edith a mamma! And Captain Lennox--I wonder what he will do with -himself now he has sold out!' - -'I'll tell you what,' said her father, anxious to indulge her in -this fresh subject of interest, 'I think I must spare you for a -fortnight just to run up to town and see the travellers. You -could learn more, by half an hour's conversation with Mr. Henry -Lennox, about Frederick's chances, than in a dozen of these -letters of his; so it would, in fact, be uniting business with -pleasure.' - -'No, papa, you cannot spare me, and what's more, I won't be -spared.' Then after a pause, she added: 'I am losing hope sadly -about Frederick; he is letting us down gently, but I can see that -Mr. Lennox himself has no hope of hunting up the witnesses under -years and years of time. No,' said she, 'that bubble was very -pretty, and very dear to our hearts; but it has burst like many -another; and we must console ourselves with being glad that -Frederick is so happy, and with being a great deal to each other. -So don't offend me by talking of being able to spare me, papa, -for I assure you you can't.' - -But the idea of a change took root and germinated in Margaret's -heart, although not in the way in which her father proposed it at -first. She began to consider how desirable something of the kind -would be to her father, whose spirits, always feeble, now became -too frequently depressed, and whose health, though he never -complained, had been seriously affected by his wife's illness and -death. There were the regular hours of reading with his pupils, -but that all giving and no receiving could no longer be called -companion-ship, as in the old days when Mr. Thornton came to -study under him. Margaret was conscious of the want under which -he was suffering, unknown to himself; the want of a man's -intercourse with men. At Helstone there had been perpetual -occasions for an interchange of visits with neighbouring -clergymen; and the poor labourers in the fields, or leisurely -tramping home at eve, or tending their cattle in the forest, were -always at liberty to speak or be spoken to. But in Milton every -one was too busy for quiet speech, or any ripened intercourse of -thought; what they said was about business, very present and -actual; and when the tension of mind relating to their daily -affairs was over, they sunk into fallow rest until next morning. -The workman was not to be found after the day's work was done; he -had gone away to some lecture, or some club, or some beer-shop, -according to his degree of character. Mr. Hale thought of trying -to deliver a course of lectures at some of the institutions, but -he contemplated doing this so much as an effort of duty, and with -so little of the genial impulse of love towards his work and its -end, that Margaret was sure that it would not be well done until -he could look upon it with some kind of zest. - - -CHAPTER XLI - - -THE JOURNEY'S END - -'I see my way as birds their trackless way-- -I shall arrive! what time, what circuit first, -I ask not: but unless God send his hail -Or blinding fire-balls, sleet, or stifling snow, -In some time--his good time--I shall arrive; -He guides me and the bird. In His good time!' -BROWNING'S PARACELSUS. - -So the winter was getting on, and the days were beginning to -lengthen, without bringing with them any of the brightness of -hope which usually accompanies the rays of a February sun. Mrs. -Thornton had of course entirely ceased to come to the house. Mr. -Thornton came occasionally, but his visits were addressed to her -father, and were confined to the study. Mr. Hale spoke of him as -always the same; indeed, the very rarity of their intercourse -seemed to make Mr. Hale set only the higher value on it. And from -what Margaret could gather of what Mr. Thornton had said, there -was nothing in the cessation of his visits which could arise from -any umbrage or vexation. His business affairs had become -complicated during the strike, and required closer attention than -he had given to them last winter. Nay, Margaret could even -discover that he spoke from time to time of her, and always, as -far as she could learn, in the same calm friendly way, never -avoiding and never seeking any mention of her name. - -She was not in spirits to raise her father's tone of mind. The -dreary peacefulness of the present time had been preceded by so -long a period of anxiety and care--even intermixed with -storms--that her mind had lost its elasticity. She tried to find -herself occupation in teaching the two younger Boucher children, -and worked hard at goodness; hard, I say most truly, for her -heart seemed dead to the end of all her efforts; and though she -made them punctually and painfully, yet she stood as far off as -ever from any cheerfulness; her life seemed still bleak and -dreary. The only thing she did well, was what she did out of -unconscious piety, the silent comforting and consoling of her -father. Not a mood of his but what found a ready sympathiser in -Margaret; not a wish of his that she did not strive to forecast, -and to fulfil. They were quiet wishes to be sure, and hardly -named without hesitation and apology. All the more complete and -beautiful was her meek spirit of obedience. March brought the -news of Frederick's marriage. He and Dolores wrote; she in -Spanish-English, as was but natural, and he with little turns and -inversions of words which proved how far the idioms of his -bride's country were infecting him. - -On the receipt of Henry Lennox's letter, announcing how little -hope there was of his ever clearing himself at a court-martial, -in the absence of the missing witnesses, Frederick had written to -Margaret a pretty vehement letter, containing his renunciation of -England as his country; he wished he could unnative himself, and -declared that he would not take his pardon if it were offered -him, nor live in the country if he had permission to do so. All -of which made Margaret cry sorely, so unnatural did it seem to -her at the first opening; but on consideration, she saw rather in -such expression the poignancy of the disappointment which had -thus crushed his hopes; and she felt that there was nothing for -it but patience. In the next letter, Frederick spoke so joyfully -of the future that he had no thought for the past; and Margaret -found a use in herself for the patience she had been craving for -him. She would have to be patient. But the pretty, timid, girlish -letters of Dolores were beginning to have a charm for both -Margaret and her father. The young Spaniard was so evidently -anxious to make a favourable impression upon her lover's English -relations, that her feminine care peeped out at every erasure; -and the letters announcing the marriage, were accompanied by a -splendid black lace mantilla, chosen by Dolores herself for her -unseen sister-in-law, whom Frederick had represented as a paragon -of beauty, wisdom and virtue. Frederick's worldly position was -raised by this marriage on to as high a level as they could -desire. Barbour and Co. was one of the most extensive Spanish -houses, and into it he was received as a junior partner. Margaret -smiled a little, and then sighed as she remembered afresh her old -tirades against trade. Here was her preux chevalier of a brother -turned merchant, trader! But then she rebelled against herself, -and protested silently against the confusion implied between a -Spanish merchant and a Milton mill-owner. Well! trade or no -trade, Frederick was very, very happy. Dolores must be charming, -and the mantilla was exquisite! And then she returned to the -present life. - -Her father had occasionally experienced a difficulty in breathing -this spring, which had for the time distressed him exceedingly. -Margaret was less alarmed, as this difficulty went off completely -in the intervals; but she still was so desirous of his shaking -off the liability altogether, as to make her very urgent that he -should accept Mr. Bell's invitation to visit him at Oxford this -April. Mr. Bell's invitation included Margaret. Nay more, he -wrote a special letter commanding her to come; but she felt as if -it would be a greater relief to her to remain quietly at home, -entirely free from any responsibility whatever, and so to rest -her mind and heart in a manner which she had not been able to do -for more than two years past. - -When her father had driven off on his way to the railroad, -Margaret felt how great and long had been the pressure on her -time and her spirits. It was astonishing, almost stunning, to -feel herself so much at liberty; no one depending on her for -cheering care, if not for positive happiness; no invalid to plan -and think for; she might be idle, and silent, and forgetful,--and -what seemed worth more than all the other privileges--she might -be unhappy if she liked. For months past, all her own personal -cares and troubles had had to be stuffed away into a dark -cupboard; but now she had leisure to take them out, and mourn -over them, and study their nature, and seek the true method of -subduing them into the elements of peace. All these weeks she had -been conscious of their existence in a dull kind of way, though -they were hidden out of sight. Now, once for all she would -consider them, and appoint to each of them its right work in her -life. So she sat almost motionless for hours in the drawing-room, -going over the bitterness of every remembrance with an unwincing -resolution. Only once she cried aloud, at the stinging thought of -the faithlessness which gave birth to that abasing falsehood. - -She now would not even acknowledge the force of the temptation; -her plans for Frederick had all failed, and the temptation lay -there a dead mockery,--a mockery which had never had life in it; -the lie had been so despicably foolish, seen by the light of the -ensuing events, and faith in the power of truth so infinitely the -greater wisdom! - -In her nervous agitation, she unconsciously opened a book of her -father's that lay upon the table,--the words that caught her eye -in it, seemed almost made for her present state of acute -self-abasement:-- - - 'Je ne voudrois pas reprendre mon coeur en ceste sorte: - meurs de honte, aveugle, impudent, traistre et desloyal a - ton Dieu, et sembables choses; mais je voudrois le corriger - par voye de compassion. Or sus, mon pauvre coeur, nous - voila tombez dans la fosse, laquelle nous avions tant - resolu d' eschapper. Ah! relevons-nous, et quittons-la pour - jamais, reclamons la misericorde de Dieu, et esperons en - elle qu'elle nous assistera pour desormais estre plus - fermes; et remettons-nous au chemin de l'humilite. Courage, - soyons meshuy sur nos gardes, Dieu nous aydera.' - -'The way of humility. Ah,' thought Margaret, 'that is what I have -missed! But courage, little heart. We will turn back, and by -God's help we may find the lost path.' - -So she rose up, and determined at once to set to on some work -which should take her out of herself. To begin with, she called -in Martha, as she passed the drawing-room door in going -up-stairs, and tried to find out what was below the grave, -respectful, servant-like manner, which crusted over her -individual character with an obedience that was almost -mechanical. She found it difficult to induce Martha to speak of -any of her personal interests; but at last she touched the right -chord, in naming Mrs. Thornton. Martha's whole face brightened, -and, on a little encouragement, out came a long story, of how her -father had been in early life connected with Mrs. Thornton's -husband--nay, had even been in a position to show him some -kindness; what, Martha hardly knew, for it had happened when she -was quite a little child; and circumstances had intervened to -separate the two families until Martha was nearly grown up, when, -her father having sunk lower and lower from his original -occupation as clerk in a warehouse, and her mother being dead, -she and her sister, to use Martha's own expression, would have -been 'lost' but for Mrs. Thornton; who sought them out, and -thought for them, and cared for them. - -'I had had the fever, and was but delicate; and Mrs. Thornton, -and Mr. Thornton too, they never rested till they had nursed me -up in their own house, and sent me to the sea and all. The -doctors said the fever was catching, but they cared none for -that--only Miss Fanny, and she went a-visiting these folk that -she is going to marry into. So, though she was afraid at the -time, it has all ended well.' - -'Miss Fanny going to be married!' exclaimed Margaret. - -'Yes; and to a rich gentleman, too, only he's a deal older than -she is. His name is Watson; and his mills are somewhere out beyond -Hayleigh; it's a very good marriage, for all he's got such gray -hair.' - -At this piece of information, Margaret was silent long enough for -Martha to recover her propriety, and, with it, her habitual -shortness of answer. She swept up the hearth, asked at what time -she should prepare tea, and quitted the room with the same wooden -face with which she had entered it. Margaret had to pull herself -up from indulging a bad trick, which she had lately fallen into, -of trying to imagine how every event that she heard of in -relation to Mr. Thornton would affect him: whether he would like -it or dislike it. - -The next day she had the little Boucher children for their -lessons, and took a long walk, and ended by a visit to Mary -Higgins. Somewhat to Margaret's surprise, she found Nicholas -already come home from his work; the lengthening light had -deceived her as to the lateness of the evening. He too seemed, by -his manners, to have entered a little more on the way of -humility; he was quieter, and less self-asserting. - -'So th' oud gentleman's away on his travels, is he?' said he. -'Little 'uns telled me so. Eh! but they're sharp 'uns, they are; -I a'most think they beat my own wenches for sharpness, though -mappen it's wrong to say so, and one on 'em in her grave. There's -summut in th' weather, I reckon, as sets folk a-wandering. My -measter, him at th' shop yonder, is spinning about th' world -somewhere.' - -'Is that the reason you're so soon at home to-night?' asked -Margaret innocently. - -'Thou know'st nought about it, that's all,' said he, -contemptuously. 'I'm not one wi' two faces--one for my measter, -and t'other for his back. I counted a' th' clocks in the town -striking afore I'd leave my work. No! yon Thornton's good enough -for to fight wi', but too good for to be cheated. It were you as -getten me the place, and I thank yo' for it. Thornton's is not a -bad mill, as times go. Stand down, lad, and say yo'r pretty hymn -to Miss Margaret. That's right; steady on thy legs, and right arm -out as straight as a shewer. One to stop, two to stay, three mak' -ready, and four away!' - -The little fellow repeated a Methodist hymn, far above his -comprehension in point of language, but of which the swinging -rhythm had caught his ear, and which he repeated with all the -developed cadence of a member of parliament. When Margaret had -duly applauded, Nicholas called for another, and yet another, -much to her surprise, as she found him thus oddly and -unconsciously led to take an interest in the sacred things which -he had formerly scouted. - -It was past the usual tea-time when she reached home; but she had -the comfort of feeling that no one had been kept waiting for her; -and of thinking her own thoughts while she rested, instead of -anxiously watching another person to learn whether to be grave or -gay. After tea she resolved to examine a large packet of letters, -and pick out those that were to be destroyed. - -Among them she came to four or five of Mr. Henry Lennox's, -relating to Frederick's affairs; and she carefully read them over -again, with the sole intention, when she began, to ascertain -exactly on how fine a chance the justification of her brother -hung. But when she had finished the last, and weighed the pros -and cons, the little personal revelation of character contained -in them forced itself on her notice. It was evident enough, from -the stiffness of the wording, that Mr. Lennox had never forgotten -his relation to her in any interest he might feel in the subject -of the correspondence. They were clever letters; Margaret saw -that in a twinkling; but she missed out of them all hearty and -genial atmosphere. They were to be preserved, however, as -valuable; so she laid them carefully on one side. When this -little piece of business was ended, she fell into a reverie; and -the thought of her absent father ran strangely in Margaret's head -this night. She almost blamed herself for having felt her -solitude (and consequently his absence) as a relief; but these -two days had set her up afresh, with new strength and brighter -hope. Plans which had lately appeared to her in the guise of -tasks, now appeared like pleasures. The morbid scales had fallen -from her eyes, and she saw her position and her work more truly. -If only Mr. Thornton would restore her the lost friendship,--nay, -if he would only come from time to time to cheer her father as in -former days,--though she should never see him, she felt as if the -course of her future life, though not brilliant in prospect, -might lie clear and even before her. She sighed as she rose up to -go to bed. In spite of the 'One step's enough for me,'--in spite -of the one plain duty of devotion to her father,--there lay at -her heart an anxiety and a pang of sorrow. - -And Mr. Hale thought of Margaret, that April evening, just as -strangely and as persistently as she was thinking of him. He had -been fatigued by going about among his old friends and old -familiar places. He had had exaggerated ideas of the change which -his altered opinions might make in his friends' reception of him; -but although some of them might have felt shocked or grieved or -indignant at his falling off in the abstract, as soon as they saw -the face of the man whom they had once loved, they forgot his -opinions in himself; or only remembered them enough to give an -additional tender gravity to their manner. For Mr. Hale had not -been known to many; he had belonged to one of the smaller -colleges, and had always been shy and reserved; but those who in -youth had cared to penetrate to the delicacy of thought and -feeling that lay below his silence and indecision, took him to -their hearts, with something of the protecting kindness which -they would have shown to a woman. And the renewal of this -kindliness, after the lapse of years, and an interval of so much -change, overpowered him more than any roughness or expression of -disapproval could have done. - -'I'm afraid we've done too much,' said Mr. Bell. 'You're -suffering now from having lived so long in that Milton air. - -'I am tired,' said Mr. Hale. 'But it is not Milton air. I'm -fifty-five years of age, and that little fact of itself accounts -for any loss of strength.' - -'Nonsense! I'm upwards of sixty, and feel no loss of strength, -either bodily or mental. Don't let me hear you talking so. -Fifty-five! why, you're quite a young man.' - -Mr. Hale shook his head. 'These last few years!' said he. But -after a minute's pause, he raised himself from his half recumbent -position, in one of Mr. Bell's luxurious easy-chairs, and said -with a kind of trembling earnestness: - -'Bell! you're not to think, that if I could have foreseen all -that would come of my change of opinion, and my resignation of my -living--no! not even if I could have known how _she_ would have -suffered,--that I would undo it--the act of open acknowledgment -that I no longer held the same faith as the church in which I was -a priest. As I think now, even if I could have foreseen that -cruellest martyrdom of suffering, through the sufferings of one -whom I loved, I would have done just the same as far as that step -of openly leaving the church went. I might have done differently, -and acted more wisely, in all that I subsequently did for my -family. But I don't think God endued me with over-much wisdom or -strength,' he added, falling hack into his old position. - -Mr. Bell blew his nose ostentatiously before answering. Then he -said: - -'He gave you strength to do what your conscience told you was -right; and I don't see that we need any higher or holier strength -than that; or wisdom either. I know I have not that much; and yet -men set me down in their fool's books as a wise man; an -independent character; strong-minded, and all that cant. The -veriest idiot who obeys his own simple law of right, if it be but -in wiping his shoes on a door-mat, is wiser and stronger than I. -But what gulls men are!' - -There was a pause. Mr. Hale spoke first, in continuation of his -thought: - -'About Margaret.' - -'Well! about Margaret. What then?' - -'If I die----' - -'Nonsense!' - -'What will become of her--I often think? I suppose the Lennoxes -will ask her to live with them. I try to think they will. Her -aunt Shaw loved her well in her own quiet way; but she forgets to -love the absent.' - -'A very common fault. What sort of people are the Lennoxes?' - -'He, handsome, fluent, and agreeable. Edith, a sweet little -spoiled beauty. Margaret loves her with all her heart, and Edith -with as much of her heart as she can spare.' - -'Now, Hale; you know that girl of yours has got pretty nearly all -my heart. I told you that before. Of course, as your daughter, as -my god-daughter, I took great interest in her before I saw her -the last time. But this visit that I paid to you at Milton made -me her slave. I went, a willing old victim, following the car of -the conqueror. For, indeed, she looks as grand and serene as one -who has struggled, and may be struggling, and yet has the victory -secure in sight. Yes, in spite of all her present anxieties, that -was the look on her face. And so, all I have is at her service, -if she needs it; and will be hers, whether she will or no, when I -die. Moreover, I myself, will be her preux chevalier, sixty and -gouty though I be. Seriously, old friend, your daughter shall be -my principal charge in life, and all the help that either my wit -or my wisdom or my willing heart can give, shall be hers. I don't -choose her out as a subject for fretting. Something, I know of -old, you must have to worry yourself about, or you wouldn't be -happy. But you're going to outlive me by many a long year. You -spare, thin men are always tempting and always cheating Death! -It's the stout, florid fellows like me, that always go off -first.' - -If Mr. Bell had had a prophetic eye he might have seen the torch -all but inverted, and the angel with the grave and composed face -standing very nigh, beckoning to his friend. That night Mr. Hale -laid his head down on the pillow on which it never more should -stir with life. The servant who entered his room in the morning, -received no answer to his speech; drew near the bed, and saw the -calm, beautiful face lying white and cold under the ineffaceable -seal of death. The attitude was exquisitely easy; there had been -no pain--no struggle. The action of the heart must have ceased as -he lay down. - -Mr. Bell was stunned by the shock; and only recovered when the -time came for being angry at every suggestion of his man's. - -'A coroner's inquest? Pooh. You don't think I poisoned him! Dr. -Forbes says it is just the natural end of a heart complaint. Poor -old Hale! You wore out that tender heart of yours before its -time. Poor old friend! how he talked of his----Wallis, pack up a -carpet-bag for me in five minutes. Here have I been talking. Pack -it up, I say. I must go to Milton by the next train.' - -The bag was packed, the cab ordered, the railway reached, in -twenty minutes from the moment of this decision. The London train -whizzed by, drew back some yards, and in Mr. Bell was hurried by -the impatient guard. He threw himself back in his seat, to try, -with closed eyes, to understand how one in life yesterday could -be dead to-day; and shortly tears stole out between his grizzled -eye-lashes, at the feeling of which he opened his keen eyes, and -looked as severely cheerful as his set determination could make -him. He was not going to blubber before a set of strangers. Not -he! - -There was no set of strangers, only one sitting far from him on -the same side. By and bye Mr. Bell peered at him, to discover -what manner of man it was that might have been observing his -emotion; and behind the great sheet of the outspread 'Times,' he -recognised Mr. Thornton. - -'Why, Thornton! is that you?' said he, removing hastily to a -closer proximity. He shook Mr. Thornton vehemently by the hand, -until the gripe ended in a sudden relaxation, for the hand was -wanted to wipe away tears. He had last seen Mr. Thornton in his -friend Hale's company. - -'I'm going to Milton, bound on a melancholy errand. Going to -break to Hale's daughter the news of his sudden death!' - -'Death! Mr. Hale dead!' - -'Ay; I keep saying it to myself, "Hale is dead!" but it doesn't -make it any the more real. Hale is dead for all that. He went to -bed well, to all appearance, last night, and was quite cold this -morning when my servant went to call him.' - -'Where? I don't understand!' - -'At Oxford. He came to stay with me; hadn't been in Oxford this -seventeen years--and this is the end of it.' - -Not one word was spoken for above a quarter of an hour. Then Mr. -Thornton said: - -'And she!' and stopped full short. - -'Margaret you mean. Yes! I am going to tell her. Poor fellow! how -full his thoughts were of her all last night! Good God! Last -night only. And how immeasurably distant he is now! But I take -Margaret as my child for his sake. I said last night I would take -her for her own sake. Well, I take her for both.' - -Mr. Thornton made one or two fruitless attempts to speak, before -he could get out the words: - -'What will become of her!' - -'I rather fancy there will be two people waiting for her: myself -for one. I would take a live dragon into my house to live, if, by -hiring such a chaperon, and setting up an establishment of my -own, I could make my old age happy with having Margaret for a -daughter. But there are those Lennoxes!' - -'Who are they?' asked Mr. Thornton with trembling interest. - -'Oh, smart London people, who very likely will think they've the -best right to her. Captain Lennox married her cousin--the girl -she was brought up with. Good enough people, I dare say. And -there's her aunt, Mrs. Shaw. There might be a way open, perhaps, -by my offering to marry that worthy lady! but that would be quite -a pis aller. And then there's that brother!' - -'What brother? A brother of her aunt's?' - -'No, no; a clever Lennox, (the captain's a fool, you must -understand) a young barrister, who will be setting his cap at -Margaret. I know he has had her in his mind this five years or -more: one of his chums told me as much; and he was only kept back -by her want of fortune. Now that will be done away with.' - -'How?' asked Mr. Thornton, too earnestly curious to be aware of -the impertinence of his question. - -'Why, she'll have my money at my death. And if this Henry Lennox -is half good enough for her, and she likes him--well! I might -find another way of getting a home through a marriage. I'm -dreadfully afraid of being tempted, at an unguarded moment, by -the aunt.' - -Neither Mr. Bell nor Mr. Thornton was in a laughing humour; so -the oddity of any of the speeches which the former made was -unnoticed by them. Mr. Bell whistled, without emitting any sound -beyond a long hissing breath; changed his seat, without finding -comfort or rest while Mr. Thornton sat immoveably still, his eyes -fixed on one spot in the newspaper, which he had taken up in -order to give himself leisure to think. - -'Where have you been?' asked Mr. Bell, at length. - -'To Havre. Trying to detect the secret of the great rise in the -price of cotton.' - -'Ugh! Cotton, and speculations, and smoke, well-cleansed and -well-cared-for machinery, and unwashed and neglected hands. Poor -old Hale! Poor old Hale! If you could have known the change which -it was to him from Helstone. Do you know the New Forest at all?' - -'Yes.' (Very shortly). - -'Then you can fancy the difference between it and Milton. What -part were you in? Were you ever at Helstone? a little picturesque -village, like some in the Odenwald? You know Helstone?' - -'I have seen it. It was a great change to leave it and come to -Milton.' - -He took up his newspaper with a determined air, as if resolved to -avoid further conversation; and Mr. Bell was fain to resort to -his former occupation of trying to find out how he could best -break the news to Margaret. - -She was at an up-stairs window; she saw him alight; she guessed -the truth with an instinctive flash. She stood in the middle of -the drawing-room, as if arrested in her first impulse to rush -downstairs, and as if by the same restraining thought she had -been turned to stone; so white and immoveable was she. - -'Oh! don't tell me! I know it from your face! You would have -sent--you would not have left him--if he were alive! Oh papa, -papa!' - - -CHAPTER XLII - - -ALONE! ALONE! - -'When some beloved voice that was to you -Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, -And silence, against which you dare not cry, -Aches round you like a strong disease and new-- -What hope? what help? what music will undo -That silence to your sense?' -MRS. BROWNING. - -The shock had been great. Margaret fell into a state of -prostration, which did not show itself in sobs and tears, or even -find the relief of words. She lay on the sofa, with her eyes -shut, never speaking but when spoken to, and then replying in -whispers. Mr. Bell was perplexed. He dared not leave her; he -dared not ask her to accompany him back to Oxford, which had been -one of the plans he had formed on the journey to Milton, her -physical exhaustion was evidently too complete for her to -undertake any such fatigue--putting the sight that she would have -to encounter out of the question. Mr. Bell sate over the fire, -considering what he had better do. Margaret lay motionless, and -almost breathless by him. He would not leave her, even for the -dinner which Dixon had prepared for him down-stairs, and, with -sobbing hospitality, would fain have tempted him to eat. He had a -plateful of something brought up to him. In general, he was -particular and dainty enough, and knew well each shade of flavour -in his food, but now the devilled chicken tasted like sawdust. He -minced up some of the fowl for Margaret, and peppered and salted -it well; but when Dixon, following his directions, tried to feed -her, the languid shake of head proved that in such a state as -Margaret was in, food would only choke, not nourish her. - -Mr. Bell gave a great sigh; lifted up his stout old limbs (stiff -with travelling) from their easy position, and followed Dixon out -of the room. - -'I can't leave her. I must write to them at Oxford, to see that -the preparations are made: they can be getting on with these till -I arrive. Can't Mrs. Lennox come to her? I'll write and tell her -she must. The girl must have some woman-friend about her, if only -to talk her into a good fit of crying.' - -Dixon was crying--enough for two; but, after wiping her eyes and -steadying her voice, she managed to tell Mr. Bell, that Mrs. -Lennox was too near her confinement to be able to undertake any -journey at present. - -'Well! I suppose we must have Mrs. Shaw; she's come back to -England, isn't she?' - -'Yes, sir, she's come back; but I don't think she will like to -leave Mrs. Lennox at such an interesting time,' said Dixon, who -did not much approve of a stranger entering the household, to -share with her in her ruling care of Margaret. - -'Interesting time be--' Mr. Bell restricted himself to coughing -over the end of his sentence. 'She could be content to be at -Venice or Naples, or some of those Popish places, at the last -"interesting time," which took place in Corfu, I think. And what -does that little prosperous woman's "interesting time" signify, -in comparison with that poor creature there,--that helpless, -homeless, friendless Margaret--lying as still on that sofa as if -it were an altar-tomb, and she the stone statue on it. I tell -you, Mrs. Shaw shall come. See that a room, or whatever she -wants, is got ready for her by to-morrow night. I'll take care -she comes.' - -Accordingly Mr. Bell wrote a letter, which Mrs. Shaw declared, -with many tears, to be so like one of the dear general's when he -was going to have a fit of the gout, that she should always value -and preserve it. If he had given her the option, by requesting or -urging her, as if a refusal were possible, she might not have -come--true and sincere as was her sympathy with Margaret. It -needed the sharp uncourteous command to make her conquer her vis -inertiae, and allow herself to be packed by her maid, after the -latter had completed the boxes. Edith, all cap, shawls, and -tears, came out to the top of the stairs, as Captain Lennox was -taking her mother down to the carriage: - -'Don't forget, mamma; Margaret must come and live with us. Sholto -will go to Oxford on Wednesday, and you must send word by Mr. -Bell to him when we're to expect you. And if you want Sholto, he -can go on from Oxford to Milton. Don't forget, mamma; you are to -bring back Margaret.' - -Edith re-entered the drawing-room. Mr. Henry Lennox was there, -cutting open the pages of a new Review. Without lifting his head, -he said, 'If you don't like Sholto to be so long absent from you, -Edith, I hope you will let me go down to Milton, and give what -assistance I can.' - -'Oh, thank you,' said Edith, 'I dare say old Mr. Bell will do -everything he can, and more help may not be needed. Only one does -not look for much savoir-faire from a resident Fellow. Dear, -darling Margaret! won't it be nice to have her here, again? You -were both great allies, years ago.' - -'Were we?' asked he indifferently, with an appearance of being -interested in a passage in the Review. - -'Well, perhaps not--I forget. I was so full of Sholto. But -doesn't it fall out well, that if my uncle was to die, it should -be just now, when we are come home, and settled in the old house, -and quite ready to receive Margaret? Poor thing! what a change it -will be to her from Milton! I'll have new chintz for her bedroom, -and make it look new and bright, and cheer her up a little.' - -In the same spirit of kindness, Mrs. Shaw journeyed to Milton, -occasionally dreading the first meeting, and wondering how it -would be got over; but more frequently planning how soon she -could get Margaret away from 'that horrid place,' and back into -the pleasant comforts of Harley Street. - -'Oh dear!' she said to her maid; 'look at those chimneys! My poor -sister Hale! I don't think I could have rested at Naples, if I -had known what it was! I must have come and fetched her and -Margaret away.' And to herself she acknowledged, that she had -always thought her brother-in-law rather a weak man, but never so -weak as now, when she saw for what a place he had exchanged the -lovely Helstone home. - -Margaret had remained in the same state; white, motionless, -speechless, tearless. They had told her that her aunt Shaw was -coming; but she had not expressed either surprise or pleasure, or -dislike to the idea. Mr. Bell, whose appetite had returned, and -who appreciated Dixon's endeavours to gratify it, in vain urged -upon her to taste some sweetbreads stewed with oysters; she shook -her head with the same quiet obstinacy as on the previous day; -and he was obliged to console himself for her rejection, by -eating them all himself But Margaret was the first to hear the -stopping of the cab that brought her aunt from the railway -station. Her eyelids quivered, her lips coloured and trembled. -Mr. Bell went down to meet Mrs. Shaw; and when they came up, -Margaret was standing, trying to steady her dizzy self; and when -she saw her aunt, she went forward to the arms open to receive -her, and first found the passionate relief of tears on her aunt's -shoulder. All thoughts of quiet habitual love, of tenderness for -years, of relationship to the dead,--all that inexplicable -likeness in look, tone, and gesture, that seem to belong to one -family, and which reminded Margaret so forcibly at this moment of -her mother,--came in to melt and soften her numbed heart into the -overflow of warm tears. - -Mr. Bell stole out of the room, and went down into the study, -where he ordered a fire, and tried to divert his thoughts by -taking down and examining the different books. Each volume -brought a remembrance or a suggestion of his dead friend. It -might be a change of employment from his two days' work of -watching Margaret, but it was no change of thought. He was glad -to catch the sound of Mr. Thornton's voice, making enquiry at the -door. Dixon was rather cavalierly dismissing him; for with the -appearance of Mrs. Shaw's maid, came visions of former grandeur, -of the Beresford blood, of the 'station' (so she was pleased to -term it) from which her young lady had been ousted, and to which -she was now, please God, to be restored. These visions, which she -had been dwelling on with complacency in her conversation with -Mrs. Shaw's maid (skilfully eliciting meanwhile all the -circumstances of state and consequence connected with the Harley -Street establishment, for the edification of the listening -Martha), made Dixon rather inclined to be supercilious in her -treatment of any inhabitant of Milton; so, though she always -stood rather in awe of Mr. Thornton, she was as curt as she durst -be in telling him that he could see none of the inmates of the -house that night. It was rather uncomfortable to be contradicted -in her statement by Mr. Bell's opening the study-door, and -calling out: - -'Thornton! is that you? Come in for a minute or two; I want to -speak to you.' So Mr. Thornton went into the study, and Dixon had -to retreat into the kitchen, and reinstate herself in her own -esteem by a prodigious story of Sir John Beresford's coach and -six, when he was high sheriff. - -'I don't know what I wanted to say to you after all. Only it's -dull enough to sit in a room where everything speaks to you of a -dead friend. Yet Margaret and her aunt must have the drawing-room -to themselves!' - -'Is Mrs.--is her aunt come?' asked Mr. Thornton. - -'Come? Yes! maid and all. One would have thought she might have -come by herself at such a time! And now I shall have to turn out -and find my way to the Clarendon.' - -'You must not go to the Clarendon. We have five or six empty -bed-rooms at home.' - -'Well aired?' - -'I think you may trust my mother for that.' - -'Then I'll only run up-stairs and wish that wan girl good-night, -and make my bow to her aunt, and go off with you straight.' - -Mr. Bell was some time up-stairs. Mr. Thornton began to think it -long, for he was full of business, and had hardly been able to -spare the time for running up to Crampton, and enquiring how Miss -Hale was. - -When they had set out upon their walk, Mr. Bell said: - -'I was kept by those women in the drawing-room. Mrs. Shaw is -anxious to get home--on account of her daughter, she says--and -wants Margaret to go off with her at once. Now she is no more fit -for travelling than I am for flying. Besides, she says, and very -justly, that she has friends she must see--that she must wish -good-bye to several people; and then her aunt worried her about -old claims, and was she forgetful of old friends? And she said, -with a great burst of crying, she should be glad enough to go -from a place where she had suffered so much. Now I must return to -Oxford to-morrow, and I don't know on which side of the scale to -throw in my voice.' - -He paused, as if asking a question; but he received no answer -from his companion, the echo of whose thoughts kept repeating-- - -'Where she had suffered so much.' Alas! and that was the way in -which this eighteen months in Milton--to him so unspeakably -precious, down to its very bitterness, which was worth all the -rest of life's sweetness--would be remembered. Neither loss of -father, nor loss of mother, dear as she was to Mr. Thornton, -could have poisoned the remembrance of the weeks, the days, the -hours, when a walk of two miles, every step of which was -pleasant, as it brought him nearer and nearer to her, took him to -her sweet presence--every step of which was rich, as each -recurring moment that bore him away from her made him recall some -fresh grace in her demeanour, or pleasant pungency in her -character. Yes! whatever had happened to him, external to his -relation to her, he could never have spoken of that time, when he -could have seen her every day--when he had her within his grasp, -as it were--as a time of suffering. It had been a royal time of -luxury to him, with all its stings and contumelies, compared to -the poverty that crept round and clipped the anticipation of the -future down to sordid fact, and life without an atmosphere of -either hope or fear. - -Mrs. Thornton and Fanny were in the dining-room; the latter in a -flutter of small exultation, as the maid held up one glossy -material after another, to try the effect of the wedding-dresses -by candlelight. Her mother really tried to sympathise with her, -but could not. Neither taste nor dress were in her line of -subjects, and she heartily wished that Fanny had accepted her -brother's offer of having the wedding clothes provided by some -first-rate London dressmaker, without the endless troublesome -discussions, and unsettled wavering, that arose out of Fanny's -desire to choose and superintend everything herself. Mr. Thornton -was only too glad to mark his grateful approbation of any -sensible man, who could be captivated by Fanny's second-rate airs -and graces, by giving her ample means for providing herself with -the finery, which certainly rivalled, if it did not exceed, the -lover in her estimation. When her brother and Mr. Bell came in, -Fanny blushed and simpered, and fluttered over the signs of her -employment, in a way which could not have failed to draw -attention from any one else but Mr. Bell. If he thought about her -and her silks and satins at all, it was to compare her and them -with the pale sorrow he had left behind him, sitting motionless, -with bent head and folded hands, in a room where the stillness -was so great that you might almost fancy the rush in your -straining ears was occasioned by the spirits of the dead, yet -hovering round their beloved. For, when Mr. Bell had first gone -up-stairs, Mrs. Shaw lay asleep on the sofa; and no sound broke -the silence. - -Mrs. Thornton gave Mr. Bell her formal, hospitable welcome. She -was never so gracious as when receiving her Son's friends in her -son's house; and the more unexpected they were, the more honour -to her admirable housekeeping preparations for comfort. - -'How is Miss Hale?' she asked. - -'About as broken down by this last stroke as she can be.' - -'I am sure it is very well for her that she has such a friend as -you.' - -'I wish I were her only friend, madam. I daresay it sounds very -brutal; but here have I been displaced, and turned out of my post -of comforter and adviser by a fine lady aunt; and there are -cousins and what not claiming her in London, as if she were a -lap-dog belonging to them. And she is too weak and miserable to -have a will of her own.' - -'She must indeed be weak,' said Mrs. Thornton, with an implied -meaning which her son understood well. 'But where,' continued -Mrs. Thornton, 'have these relations been all this time that Miss -Hale has appeared almost friendless, and has certainly had a good -deal of anxiety to bear?' But she did not feel interest enough in -the answer to her question to wait for it. She left the room to -make her household arrangements. - -'They have been living abroad. They have some kind of claim upon -her. I will do them that justice. The aunt brought her up, and -she and the cousin have been like sisters. The thing vexing me, -you see, is that I wanted to take her for a child of my own; and -I am jealous of these people, who don't seem to value the -privilege of their right. Now it would be different if Frederick -claimed her.' - -'Frederick!' exclaimed Mr. Thornton. 'Who is he? What right--?' -Me stopped short in his vehement question. - -'Frederick,' said Mr. Bell in surprise. 'Why don't you know? He's -her brother. Have you not heard--' - -'I never heard his name before. Where is he? Who is he?' - -'Surely I told you about him, when the family first came to -Milton--the son who was concerned in that mutiny.' - -'I never heard of him till this moment. Where does he live?' - -'In Spain. He's liable to be arrested the moment he sets foot on -English ground. Poor fellow! he will grieve at not being able to -attend his father's funeral. We must be content with Captain -Lennox; for I don't know of any other relation to summon.' - -'I hope I may be allowed to go?' - -'Certainly; thankfully. You're a good fellow, after all, -Thornton. Hale liked you. He spoke to me, only the other day, -about you at Oxford. He regretted he had seen so little of you -lately. I am obliged to you for wishing to show him respect.' - -'But about Frederick. Does he never come to England?' - -'Never.' - -'He was not over here about the time of Mrs. Hale's death?' - -'No. Why, I was here then. I hadn't seen Hale for years and years -and, if you remember, I came--No, it was some time after that -that I came. But poor Frederick Hale was not here then. What made -you think he was?' - -'I saw a young man walking with Miss Hale one day,' replied Mr. -Thornton, 'and I think it was about that time.' - -'Oh, that would be this young Lennox, the Captain's brother. He's -a lawyer, and they were in pretty constant correspondence with -him; and I remember Mr. Hale told me he thought he would come -down. Do you know,' said Mr. Bell, wheeling round, and shutting -one eye, the better to bring the forces of the other to bear with -keen scrutiny on Mr. Thornton's face, 'that I once fancied you -had a little tenderness for Margaret?' - -No answer. No change of countenance. - -'And so did poor Hale. Not at first, and not till I had put it -into his head.' - -'I admired Miss Hale. Every one must do so. She is a beautiful -creature,' said Mr. Thornton, driven to bay by Mr. Bell's -pertinacious questioning. - -'Is that all! You can speak of her in that measured way, as -simply a "beautiful creature"--only something to catch the eye. I -did hope you had had nobleness enough in you to make you pay her -the homage of the heart. Though I believe--in fact I know, she -would have rejected you, still to have loved her without return -would have lifted you higher than all those, be they who they -may, that have never known her to love. "Beautiful creature" -indeed! Do you speak of her as you would of a horse or a dog?' - -Mr. Thornton's eyes glowed like red embers. - -'Mr. Bell,' said he, 'before you speak so, you should remember -that all men are not as free to express what they feel as you -are. Let us talk of something else.' For though his heart leaped -up, as at a trumpet-call, to every word that Mr. Bell had said, -and though he knew that what he had said would henceforward bind -the thought of the old Oxford Fellow closely up with the most -precious things of his heart, yet he would not be forced into any -expression of what he felt towards Margaret. He was no -mocking-bird of praise, to try because another extolled what he -reverenced and passionately loved, to outdo him in laudation. So -he turned to some of the dry matters of business that lay between -Mr. Bell and him, as landlord and tenant. - -'What is that heap of brick and mortar we came against in the -yard? Any repairs wanted?' - -'No, none, thank you.' - -'Are you building on your own account? If you are, I'm very much -obliged to you.' - -'I'm building a dining-room--for the men I mean--the hands.' - -'I thought you were hard to please, if this room wasn't good -enough to satisfy you, a bachelor.' - -'I've got acquainted with a strange kind of chap, and I put one -or two children in whom he is interested to school. So, as I -happened to be passing near his house one day, I just went there -about some trifling payment to be made; and I saw such a -miserable black frizzle of a dinner--a greasy cinder of meat, as -first set me a-thinking. But it was not till provisions grew so -high this winter that I bethought me how, by buying things -wholesale, and cooking a good quantity of provisions together, -much money might be saved, and much comfort gained. So I spoke to -my friend--or my enemy--the man I told you of--and he found fault -with every detail of my plan; and in consequence I laid it aside, -both as impracticable, and also because if I forced it into -operation I should be interfering with the independence of my -men; when, suddenly, this Higgins came to me and graciously -signified his approval of a scheme so nearly the same as mine, -that I might fairly have claimed it; and, moreover, the approval -of several of his fellow-workmen, to whom he had spoken. I was a -little "riled," I confess, by his manner, and thought of throwing -the whole thing overboard to sink or swim. But it seemed childish -to relinquish a plan which I had once thought wise and well-laid, -just because I myself did not receive all the honour and -consequence due to the originator. So I coolly took the part -assigned to me, which is something like that of steward to a -club. I buy in the provisions wholesale, and provide a fitting -matron or cook.' - -'I hope you give satisfaction in your new capacity. Are you a -good judge of potatoes and onions? But I suppose Mrs. Thornton -assists you in your marketing.' - -'Not a bit,' replied Mr. Thornton. 'She disapproves of the whole -plan, and now we never mention it to each other. But I manage -pretty well, getting in great stocks from Liverpool, and being -served in butcher's meat by our own family butcher. I can assure -you, the hot dinners the matron turns out are by no means to be -despised.' - -'Do you taste each dish as it goes in, in virtue of your office? -I hope you have a white wand.' - -'I was very scrupulous, at first, in confining myself to the mere -purchasing part, and even in that I rather obeyed the men's -orders conveyed through the housekeeper, than went by my own -judgment. At one time, the beef was too large, at another the -mutton was not fat enough. I think they saw how careful I was to -leave them free, and not to intrude my own ideas upon them; so, -one day, two or three of the men--my friend Higgins among -them--asked me if I would not come in and take a snack. It was a -very busy day, but I saw that the men would be hurt if, after -making the advance, I didn't meet them half-way, so I went in, -and I never made a better dinner in my life. I told them (my next -neighbours I mean, for I'm no speech-maker) how much I'd enjoyed -it; and for some time, whenever that especial dinner recurred in -their dietary, I was sure to be met by these men, with a "Master, -there's hot-pot for dinner to-day, win yo' come?" If they had not -asked me, I would no more have intruded on them than I'd have -gone to the mess at the barracks without invitation.' - -'I should think you were rather a restraint on your hosts' -conversation. They can't abuse the masters while you're there. I -suspect they take it out on non-hot-pot days.' - -'Well! hitherto we've steered clear of all vexed questions. But -if any of the old disputes came up again, I would certainly speak -out my mind next hot-pot day. But you are hardly acquainted with -our Darkshire fellows, for all you're a Darkshire man yourself -They have such a sense of humour, and such a racy mode of -expression! I am getting really to know some of them now, and -they talk pretty freely before me.' - -'Nothing like the act of eating for equalising men. Dying is -nothing to it. The philosopher dies sententiously--the pharisee -ostentatiously--the simple-hearted humbly--the poor idiot -blindly, as the sparrow falls to the ground; the philosopher and -idiot, publican and pharisee, all eat after the same -fashion--given an equally good digestion. There's theory for -theory for you!' - -'Indeed I have no theory; I hate theories.' - -'I beg your pardon. To show my penitence, will you accept a ten -pound note towards your marketing, and give the poor fellows a -feast?' - -'Thank you; but I'd rather not. They pay me rent for the oven and -cooking-places at the back of the mill: and will have to pay more -for the new dining-room. I don't want it to fall into a charity. -I don't want donations. Once let in the principle, and I should -have people going, and talking, and spoiling the simplicity of -the whole thing.' - -'People will talk about any new plan. You can't help that.' - -'My enemies, if I have any, may make a philanthropic fuss about -this dinner-scheme; but you are a friend, and I expect you will -pay my experiment the respect of silence. It is but a new broom -at present, and sweeps clean enough. But by-and-by we shall meet -with plenty of stumbling-blocks, no doubt.' - - -CHAPTER XLIII - - -MARGARET'S FLITTIN' - -'The meanest thing to which we bid adieu, -Loses its meanness in the parting hour.' -ELLIOTT. - -Mrs. Shaw took as vehement a dislike as it was possible for one -of her gentle nature to do, against Milton. It was noisy, and -smoky, and the poor people whom she saw in the streets were -dirty, and the rich ladies over-dressed, and not a man that she -saw, high or low, had his clothes made to fit him. She was sure -Margaret would never regain her lost strength while she stayed in -Milton; and she herself was afraid of one of her old attacks of -the nerves. Margaret must return with her, and that quickly. -This, if not the exact force of her words, was at any rate the -spirit of what she urged on Margaret, till the latter, weak, -weary, and broken-spirited, yielded a reluctant promise that, as -soon as Wednesday was over she would prepare to accompany her -aunt back to town, leaving Dixon in charge of all the -arrangements for paying bills, disposing of furniture, and -shutting up the house. Before that Wednesday--that mournful -Wednesday, when Mr. Hale was to be interred, far away from either -of the homes he had known in life, and far away from the wife who -lay lonely among strangers (and this last was Margaret's great -trouble, for she thought that if she had not given way to that -overwhelming stupor during the first sad days, she could have -arranged things otherwise)--before that Wednesday, Margaret -received a letter from Mr. Bell. - -'MY DEAR MARGARET:--I did mean to have returned to Milton on -Thursday, but unluckily it turns out to be one of the rare -occasions when we, Plymouth Fellows, are called upon to perform -any kind of duty, and I must not be absent from my post. Captain -Lennox and Mr. Thornton are here. The former seems a smart, -well-meaning man; and has proposed to go over to Milton, and -assist you in any search for the will; of course there is none, -or you would have found it by this time, if you followed my -directions. Then the Captain declares he must take you and his -mother-in-law home; and, in his wife's present state, I don't see -how you can expect him to remain away longer than Friday. -However, that Dixon of yours is trusty; and can hold her, or your -own, till I come. I will put matters into the hands of my Milton -attorney if there is no will; for I doubt this smart captain is -no great man of business. Nevertheless, his moustachios are -splendid. There will have to be a sale, so select what things you -wish reserved. Or you can send a list afterwards. Now two things -more, and I have done. You know, or if you don't, your poor -father did, that you are to have my money and goods when I die. -Not that I mean to die yet; but I name this lust to explain what -is coming. These Lennoxes seem very fond of you now; and perhaps -may continue to be; perhaps not. So it is best to start with a -formal agreement; namely, that you are to pay them two hundred -and fifty pounds a year, as long as you and they find it pleasant -to live together. (This, of course, includes Dixon; mind you -don't be cajoled into paying any more for her.) Then you won't be -thrown adrift, if some day the captain wishes to have his house -to himself, but you can carry yourself and your two hundred and -fifty pounds off somewhere else; if, indeed, I have not claimed -you to come and keep house for me first. Then as to dress, and -Dixon, and personal expenses, and confectionery (all young ladies -eat confectionery till wisdom comes by age), I shall consult some -lady of my acquaintance, and see how much you will have from your -father before fixing this. Now, Margaret, have you flown out -before you have read this far, and wondered what right the old -man has to settle your affairs for you so cavalierly? I make no -doubt you have. Yet the old man has a right. He has loved your -father for five and thirty years; he stood beside him on his -wedding-day; he closed his eyes in death. Moreover, he is your -godfather; and as he cannot do you much good spiritually, having -a hidden consciousness of your superiority in such things, he -would fain do you the poor good of endowing you materially. And -the old man has not a known relation on earth; "who is there to -mourn for Adam Bell?" and his whole heart is set and bent upon -this one thing, and Margaret Hale is not the girl to say him nay. -Write by return, if only two lines, to tell me your answer. But -_no thanks_.' - -Margaret took up a pen and scrawled with trembling hand, -'Margaret Hale is not the girl to say him nay.' In her weak state -she could not think of any other words, and yet she was vexed to -use these. But she was so much fatigued even by this slight -exertion, that if she could have thought of another form of -acceptance, she could not have sate up to write a syllable of it. -She was obliged to lie down again, and try not to think. - -'My dearest child! Has that letter vexed or troubled you?' - -'No!' said Margaret feebly. 'I shall be better when to-morrow is -over.' - -'I feel sure, darling, you won't be better till I get you out of -this horrid air. How you can have borne it this two years I can't -imagine.' - -'Where could I go to? I could not leave papa and mamma.' - -'Well! don't distress yourself, my dear. I dare say it was all -for the best, only I had no conception of how you were living. -Our butler's wife lives in a better house than this.' - -'It is sometimes very pretty--in summer; you can't judge by what -it is now. I have been very happy here,' and Margaret closed her -eyes by way of stopping the conversation. - -The house teemed with comfort now, compared to what it had done. -The evenings were chilly, and by Mrs. Shaw's directions fires -were lighted in every bedroom. She petted Margaret in every -possible way, and bought every delicacy, or soft luxury in which -she herself would have burrowed and sought comfort. But Margaret -was indifferent to all these things; or, if they forced -themselves upon her attention, it was simply as causes for -gratitude to her aunt, who was putting herself so much out of her -way to think of her. She was restless, though so weak. All the -day long, she kept herself from thinking of the ceremony which -was going on at Oxford, by wandering from room to room, and -languidly setting aside such articles as she wished to retain. -Dixon followed her by Mrs. Shaw's desire, ostensibly to receive -instructions, but with a private injunction to soothe her into -repose as soon as might be. - -'These books, Dixon, I will keep. All the rest will you send to -Mr. Bell? They are of a kind that he will value for themselves, -as well as for papa's sake. This----I should like you to take -this to Mr. Thornton, after I am gone. Stay; I will write a note -with it.' And she sate down hastily, as if afraid of thinking, -and wrote: - -'DEAR SIR,--The accompanying book I am sure will be valued by you -for the sake of my father, to whom it belonged. - -'Yours sincerely, - -'MARGARET HALE.' - -She set out again upon her travels through the house, turning -over articles, known to her from her childhood, with a sort of -caressing reluctance to leave them--old-fashioned, worn and -shabby, as they might be. But she hardly spoke again; and Dixon's -report to Mrs. Shaw was, that 'she doubted whether Miss Hale -heard a word of what she said, though she talked the whole time, -in order to divert her attention.' The consequence of being on -her feet all day was excessive bodily weariness in the evening, -and a better night's rest than she had had since she had heard of -Mr. Hale's death. - -At breakfast time the next day, she expressed her wish to go and -bid one or two friends good-bye. Mrs. Shaw objected: - -'I am sure, my dear, you can have no friends here with whom you -are sufficiently intimate to justify you in calling upon them so -soon; before you have been at church.' - -'But to-day is my only day; if Captain Lennox comes this -afternoon, and if we must--if I must really go to-morrow----' - -'Oh, yes; we shall go to-morrow. I am more and more convinced -that this air is bad for you, and makes you look so pale and ill; -besides, Edith expects us; and she may be waiting me; and you -cannot be left alone, my dear, at your age. No; if you must pay -these calls, I will go with you. Dixon can get us a coach, I -suppose?' - -So Mrs. Shaw went to take care of Margaret, and took her maid -with her to, take care of the shawls and air-cushions. Margaret's -face was too sad to lighten up into a smile at all this -preparation for paying two visits, that she had often made by -herself at all hours of the day. She was half afraid of owning -that one place to which she was going was Nicholas Higgins'; all -she could do was to hope her aunt would be indisposed to get out -of the coach, and walk up the court, and at every breath of wind -have her face slapped by wet clothes, hanging out to dry on ropes -stretched from house to house. - -There was a little battle in Mrs. Shaw's mind between ease and a -sense of matronly propriety; but the former gained the day; and -with many an injunction to Margaret to be careful of herself, and -not to catch any fever, such as was always lurking in such -places, her aunt permitted her to go where she had often been -before without taking any precaution or requiring any permission. - -Nicholas was out; only Mary and one or two of the Boucher -children at home. Margaret was vexed with herself for not having -timed her visit better. Mary had a very blunt intellect, although -her feelings were warm and kind; and the instant she understood -what Margaret's purpose was in coming to see them, she began to -cry and sob with so little restraint that Margaret found it -useless to say any of the thousand little things which had -suggested themselves to her as she was coming along in the coach. -She could only try to comfort her a little by suggesting the -vague chance of their meeting again, at some possible time, in -some possible place, and bid her tell her father how much she -wished, if he could manage it, that he should come to see her -when he had done his work in the evening. - -As she was leaving the place, she stopped and looked round; then -hesitated a little before she said: - -'I should like to have some little thing to remind me of Bessy.' - -Instantly Mary's generosity was keenly alive. What could they -give? And on Margaret's singling out a little common -drinking-cup, which she remembered as the one always standing by -Bessy's side with drink for her feverish lips, Mary said: - -'Oh, take summut better; that only cost fourpence!' - -'That will do, thank you,' said Margaret; and she went quickly -away, while the light caused by the pleasure of having something -to give yet lingered on Mary's face. - -'Now to Mrs. Thornton's,' thought she to herself. 'It must be -done.' But she looked rather rigid and pale at the thought of it, -and had hard work to find the exact words in which to explain to -her aunt who Mrs. Thornton was, and why she should go to bid her -farewell. - -They (for Mrs. Shaw alighted here) were shown into the -drawing-room, in which a fire had only just been kindled. Mrs. -Shaw huddled herself up in her shawl, and shivered. - -'What an icy room!' she said. - -They had to wait for some time before Mrs. Thornton entered. -There was some softening in her heart towards Margaret, now that -she was going away out of her sight. She remembered her spirit, -as shown at various times and places even more than the patience -with which she had endured long and wearing cares. Her -countenance was blander than usual, as she greeted her; there was -even a shade of tenderness in her manner, as she noticed the -white, tear-swollen face, and the quiver in the voice which -Margaret tried to make so steady. - -'Allow me to introduce my aunt, Mrs. Shaw. I am going away from -Milton to-morrow; I do not know if you are aware of it; but I -wanted to see you once again, Mrs. Thornton, to--to apologise for -my manner the last time I saw you; and to say that I am sure you -meant kindly--however much we may have misunderstood each other.' - -Mrs. Shaw looked extremely perplexed by what Margaret had said. -Thanks for kindness! and apologies for failure in good manners! -But Mrs. Thornton replied: - -'Miss Hale, I am glad you do me justice. I did no more than I -believed to be my duty in remonstrating with you as I did. I have -always desired to act the part of a friend to you. I am glad you -do me justice.' - -'And,' said Margaret, blushing excessively as she spoke, 'will -you do me justice, and believe that though I cannot--I do not -choose--to give explanations of my conduct, I have not acted in -the unbecoming way you apprehended?' - -Margaret's voice was so soft, and her eyes so pleading, that Mrs. -Thornton was for once affected by the charm of manner to which -she had hitherto proved herself invulnerable. - -'Yes, I do believe you. Let us say no more about it. Where are -you going to reside, Miss Hale? I understood from Mr. Bell that -you were going to leave Milton. You never liked Milton, you -know,' said Mrs. Thornton, with a sort of grim smile; 'but for -all that, you must not expect me to congratulate you on quitting -it. Where shall you live?' - -'With my aunt,' replied Margaret, turning towards Mrs. Shaw. - -'My niece will reside with me in Harley Street. She is almost -like a daughter to me,' said Mrs. Shaw, looking fondly at -Margaret; 'and I am glad to acknowledge my own obligation for any -kindness that has been shown to her. If you and your husband ever -come to town, my son and daughter, Captain and Mrs. Lennox, will, -I am sure, join with me in wishing to do anything in our power to -show you attention.' - -Mrs. Thornton thought in her own mind, that Margaret had not -taken much care to enlighten her aunt as to the relationship -between the Mr. and Mrs. Thornton, towards whom the fine-lady -aunt was extending her soft patronage; so she answered shortly, - -'My husband is dead. Mr. Thornton is my son. I never go to -London; so I am not likely to be able to avail myself of your -polite offers.' - -At this instant Mr. Thornton entered the room; he had only just -returned from Oxford. His mourning suit spoke of the reason that -had called him there. - -'John,' said his mother, 'this lady is Mrs. Shaw, Miss Hale's -aunt. I am sorry to say, that Miss Hale's call is to wish us -good-bye.' - -'You are going then!' said he, in a low voice. - -'Yes,' said Margaret. 'We leave to-morrow.' - -'My son-in-law comes this evening to escort us,' said Mrs. Shaw. - -Mr. Thornton turned away. He had not sat down, and now he seemed -to be examining something on the table, almost as if he had -discovered an unopened letter, which had made him forget the -present company. He did not even seem to be aware when they got -up to take leave. He started forwards, however, to hand Mrs. Shaw -down to the carriage. As it drove up, he and Margaret stood close -together on the door-step, and it was impossible but that the -recollection of the day of the riot should force itself into both -their minds. Into his it came associated with the speeches of the -following day; her passionate declaration that there was not a -man in all that violent and desperate crowd, for whom she did not -care as much as for him. And at the remembrance of her taunting -words, his brow grew stern, though his heart beat thick with -longing love. 'No!' said he, 'I put it to the touch once, and I -lost it all. Let her go,--with her stony heart, and her -beauty;--how set and terrible her look is now, for all her -loveliness of feature! She is afraid I shall speak what will -require some stern repression. Let her go. Beauty and heiress as -she may be, she will find it hard to meet with a truer heart than -mine. Let her go!' - -And there was no tone of regret, or emotion of any kind in the -voice with which he said good-bye; and the offered hand was taken -with a resolute calmness, and dropped as carelessly as if it had -been a dead and withered flower. But none in his household saw -Mr. Thornton again that day. He was busily engaged; or so he -said. - -Margaret's strength was so utterly exhausted by these visits, -that she had to submit to much watching, and petting, and sighing -'I-told-you-so's,' from her aunt. Dixon said she was quite as bad -as she had been on the first day she heard of her father's death; -and she and Mrs. Shaw consulted as to the desirableness of -delaying the morrow's journey. But when her aunt reluctantly -proposed a few days' delay to Margaret, the latter writhed her -body as if in acute suffering, and said: - -'Oh! let us go. I cannot be patient here. I shall not get well -here. I want to forget.' - -So the arrangements went on; and Captain Lennox came, and with -him news of Edith and the little boy; and Margaret found that the -indifferent, careless conversation of one who, however kind, was -not too warm and anxious a sympathiser, did her good. She roused -up; and by the time that she knew she might expect Higgins, she -was able to leave the room quietly, and await in her own chamber -the expected summons. - -'Eh!' said he, as she came in, 'to think of th' oud gentleman -dropping off as he did! Yo' might ha' knocked me down wi' a straw -when they telled me. "Mr. Hale?" said I; "him as was th' parson?" -"Ay," said they. "Then," said I, "there's as good a man gone as -ever lived on this earth, let who will be t' other!" And I came -to see yo', and tell yo' how grieved I were, but them women in -th' kitchen wouldn't tell yo' I were there. They said yo' were -ill,--and butter me, but yo' dunnot look like th' same wench. And -yo're going to be a grand lady up i' Lunnon, aren't yo'?' - -'Not a grand lady,' said Margaret, half smiling. - -'Well! Thornton said--says he, a day or two ago, "Higgins, have -yo' seen Miss Hale?" "No," says I; "there's a pack o' women who -won't let me at her. But I can bide my time, if she's ill. She -and I knows each other pretty well; and hoo'l not go doubting -that I'm main sorry for th' oud gentleman's death, just because I -can't get at her and tell her so." And says he, "Yo'll not have -much time for to try and see her, my fine chap. She's not for -staying with us a day longer nor she can help. She's got grand -relations, and they're carrying her off; and we sha'n't see her -no more." "Measter," said I, "if I dunnot see her afore hoo goes, -I'll strive to get up to Lunnun next Whissuntide, that I will. -I'll not be baulked of saying her good-bye by any relations -whatsomdever." But, bless yo', I knowed yo'd come. It were only -for to humour the measter, I let on as if I thought yo'd mappen -leave Milton without seeing me.' - -'You're quite right,' said Margaret. 'You only do me justice. And -you'll not forget me, I'm sure. If no one else in Milton -remembers me, I'm certain you will; and papa too. You know how -good and how tender he was. Look, Higgins! here is his bible. I -have kept it for you. I can ill spare it; but I know he would -have liked you to have it. I'm sure you'll care for it, and study -what is In it, for his sake.' - -'Yo' may say that. If it were the deuce's own scribble, and yo' -axed me to read in it for yo'r sake, and th' oud gentleman's, I'd -do it. Whatten's this, wench? I'm not going for to take yo'r -brass, so dunnot think it. We've been great friends, 'bout the -sound o' money passing between us.' - -'For the children--for Boucher's children,' said Margaret, -hurriedly. 'They may need it. You've no right to refuse it for -them. I would not give you a penny,' she said, smiling; 'don't -think there's any of it for you.' - -'Well, wench! I can nobbut say, Bless yo'! and bless yo'!--and -amen.' - - -CHAPTER XLIV - - -EASE NOT PEACE - -'A dull rotation, never at a stay, -Yesterday's face twin image of to-day.' -COWPER. - -'Of what each one should be, he sees the form and rule, -And till he reach to that, his joy can ne'er be full.' -RUCKERT. - -It was very well for Margaret that the extreme quiet of the -Harley Street house, during Edith's recovery from her -confinement, gave her the natural rest which she needed. It gave -her time to comprehend the sudden change which had taken place in -her circumstances within the last two months. She found herself -at once an inmate of a luxurious house, where the bare knowledge -of the existence of every trouble or care seemed scarcely to have -penetrated. The wheels of the machinery of daily life were well -oiled, and went along with delicious smoothness. Mrs. Shaw and -Edith could hardly make enough of Margaret, on her return to what -they persisted in calling her home. And she felt that it was -almost ungrateful in her to have a secret feeling that the -Helstone vicarage--nay, even the poor little house at Milton, -with her anxious father and her invalid mother, and all the small -household cares of comparative poverty, composed her idea of -home. Edith was impatient to get well, in order to fill -Margaret's bed-room with all the soft comforts, and pretty -nick-knacks, with which her own abounded. Mrs. Shaw and her maid -found plenty of occupation in restoring Margaret's wardrobe to a -state of elegant variety. Captain Lennox was easy, kind, and -gentlemanly; sate with his wife in her dressing-room an hour or -two every day; played with his little boy for another hour, and -lounged away the rest of his time at his club, when he was not -engaged out to dinner. Just before Margaret had recovered from -her necessity for quiet and repose--before she had begun to feel -her life wanting and dull--Edith came down-stairs and resumed her -usual part in the household; and Margaret fell into the old habit -of watching, and admiring, and ministering to her cousin. She -gladly took all charge of the semblances of duties off Edith's -hands; answered notes, reminded her of engagements, tended her -when no gaiety was in prospect, and she was consequently rather -inclined to fancy herself ill. But all the rest of the family -were in the full business of the London season, and Margaret was -often left alone. Then her thoughts went back to Milton, with a -strange sense of the contrast between the life there, and here. -She was getting surfeited of the eventless ease in which no -struggle or endeavour was required. She was afraid lest she -should even become sleepily deadened into forgetfulness of -anything beyond the life which was lapping her round with luxury. -There might be toilers and moilers there in London, but she never -saw them; the very servants lived in an underground world of -their own, of which she knew neither the hopes nor the fears; -they only seemed to start into existence when some want or whim -of their master and mistress needed them. There was a strange -unsatisfied vacuum in Margaret's heart and mode of life; and, -once when she had dimly hinted this to Edith, the latter, wearied -with dancing the night before, languidly stroked Margaret's cheek -as she sat by her in the old attitude,--she on a footstool by the -sofa where Edith lay. - -'Poor child!' said Edith. 'It is a little sad for you to be left, -night after night, just at this time when all the world is so -gay. But we shall be having our dinner-parties soon--as soon as -Henry comes back from circuit--and then there will be a little -pleasant variety for you. No wonder it is moped, poor darling!' - -Margaret did not feel as if the dinner-parties would be a -panacea. But Edith piqued herself on her dinner-parties; 'so -different,' as she said, 'from the old dowager dinners under -mamma's regime;' and Mrs. Shaw herself seemed to take exactly the -same kind of pleasure in the very different arrangements and -circle of acquaintances which were to Captain and Mrs. Lennox's -taste, as she did in the more formal and ponderous entertainments -which she herself used to give. Captain Lennox was always -extremely kind and brotherly to Margaret. She was really very -fond of him, excepting when he was anxiously attentive to Edith's -dress and appearance, with a view to her beauty making a -sufficient impression on the world. Then all the latent Vashti in -Margaret was roused, and she could hardly keep herself from -expressing her feelings. - -The course of Margaret's day was this; a quiet hour or two before -a late breakfast; an unpunctual meal, lazily eaten by weary and -half-awake people, but yet at which, in all its dragged-out -length, she was expected to be present, because, directly -afterwards, came a discussion of plans, at which, although they -none of them concerned her, she was expected to give her -sympathy, if she could not assist with her advice; an endless -number of notes to write, which Edith invariably left to her, -with many caressing compliments as to her eloquence du billet; a -little play with Sholto as he returned from his morning's walk; -besides the care of the children during the servants' dinner; a -drive or callers; and some dinner or morning engagement for her -aunt and cousins, which left Margaret free, it is true, but -rather wearied with the inactivity of the day, coming upon -depressed spirits and delicate health. - -She looked forward with longing, though unspoken interest to the -homely object of Dixon's return from Milton; where, until now, -the old servant had been busily engaged in winding up all the -affairs of the Hale family. It had appeared a sudden famine to -her heart, this entire cessation of any news respecting the -people amongst whom she had lived so long. It was true, that -Dixon, in her business-letters, quoted, every now and then, an -opinion of Mr. Thornton's as to what she had better do about the -furniture, or how act in regard to the landlord of the Crampton -Terrace house. But it was only here and there that the name came -in, or any Milton name, indeed; and Margaret was sitting one -evening, all alone in the Lennoxes's drawing-room, not reading -Dixon's letters, which yet she held in her hand, but thinking -over them, and recalling the days which had been, and picturing -the busy life out of which her own had been taken and never -missed; wondering if all went on in that whirl just as if she and -her father had never been; questioning within herself, if no one -in all the crowd missed her, (not Higgins, she was not thinking -of him,) when, suddenly, Mr. Bell was announced; and Margaret -hurried the letters into her work-basket, and started up, -blushing as if she had been doing some guilty thing. - -'Oh, Mr. Bell! I never thought of seeing you!' - -'But you give me a welcome, I hope, as well as that very pretty -start of surprise.' - -'Have you dined? How did you come? Let me order you some dinner.' - -'If you're going to have any. Otherwise, you know, there is no -one who cares less for eating than I do. But where are the -others? Gone out to dinner? Left you alone?' - -'Oh yes! and it is such a rest. I was just thinking--But will you -run the risk of dinner? I don't know if there is anything in the -house.' - -'Why, to tell you the truth, I dined at my club. Only they don't -cook as well as they did, so I thought, if you were going to -dine, I might try and make out my dinner. But never mind, never -mind! There aren't ten cooks in England to be trusted at -impromptu dinners. If their skill and their fires will stand it, -their tempers won't. You shall make me some tea, Margaret. And -now, what were you thinking of? you were going to tell me. Whose -letters were those, god-daughter, that you hid away so speedily?' - -'Only Dixon's,' replied Margaret, growing very red. - -'Whew! is that all? Who do you think came up in the train with -me?' - -'I don't know,' said Margaret, resolved against making a guess. - -'Your what d'ye call him? What's the right name for a -cousin-in-law's brother?' - -'Mr. Henry Lennox?' asked Margaret. - -'Yes,' replied Mr. Bell. 'You knew him formerly, didn't you? What -sort of a person is he, Margaret?' - -'I liked him long ago,' said Margaret, glancing down for a -moment. And then she looked straight up and went on in her -natural manner. 'You know we have been corresponding about -Frederick since; but I have not seen him for nearly three years, -and he may be changed. What did you think of him?' - -'I don't know. He was so busy trying to find out who I was, in -the first instance, and what I was in the second, that he never -let out what he was; unless indeed that veiled curiosity of his -as to what manner of man he had to talk to was not a good piece, -and a fair indication of his character. Do you call him good -looking, Margaret?' - -'No! certainly not. Do you?' - -'Not I. But I thought, perhaps, you might. Is he a great deal -here?' - -'I fancy he is when he is in town. He has been on circuit now -since I came. But--Mr. Bell--have you come from Oxford or from -Milton?' - -'From Milton. Don't you see I'm smoke-dried?' - -'Certainly. But I thought that it might be the effect of the -antiquities of Oxford.' - -'Come now, be a sensible woman! In Oxford, I could have managed -all the landlords in the place, and had my own way, with half the -trouble your Milton landlord has given me, and defeated me after -all. He won't take the house off our hands till next June -twelvemonth. Luckily, Mr. Thornton found a tenant for it. Why -don't you ask after Mr. Thornton, Margaret? He has proved himself -a very active friend of yours, I can tell you. Taken more than -half the trouble off my hands.' - -'And how is he? How is Mrs. Thornton?' asked Margaret hurriedly -and below her breath, though she tried to speak out. - -'I suppose they're well. I've been staying at their house till I -was driven out of it by the perpetual clack about that Thornton -girl's marriage. It was too much for Thornton himself, though she -was his sister. He used to go and sit in his own room -perpetually. He's getting past the age for caring for such -things, either as principal or accessory. I was surprised to find -the old lady falling into the current, and carried away by her -daughter's enthusiasm for orange-blossoms and lace. I thought -Mrs. Thornton had been made of sterner stuff.' - -'She would put on any assumption of feeling to veil her -daughter's weakness,' said Margaret in a low voice. - -'Perhaps so. You've studied her, have you? She doesn't seem over -fond of you, Margaret.' - -'I know it,' said Margaret. 'Oh, here is tea at last!' exclaimed -she, as if relieved. And with tea came Mr. Henry Lennox, who had -walked up to Harley Street after a late dinner, and had evidently -expected to find his brother and sister-in-law at home. Margaret -suspected him of being as thankful as she was at the presence of -a third party, on this their first meeting since the memorable -day of his offer, and her refusal at Helstone. She could hardly -tell what to say at first, and was thankful for all the tea-table -occupations, which gave her an excuse for keeping silence, and -him an opportunity of recovering himself. For, to tell the truth, -he had rather forced himself up to Harley Street this evening, -with a view of getting over an awkward meeting, awkward even in -the presence of Captain Lennox and Edith, and doubly awkward now -that he found her the only lady there, and the person to whom he -must naturally and perforce address a great part of his -conversation. She was the first to recover her self-possession. -She began to talk on the subject which came uppermost in her -mind, after the first flush of awkward shyness. - -'Mr. Lennox, I have been so much obliged to you for all you have -done about Frederick.' - -'I am only sorry it has been so unsuccessful,' replied he, with a -quick glance towards Mr. Bell, as if reconnoitring how much he -might say before him. Margaret, as if she read his thought, -addressed herself to Mr. Bell, both including him in the -conversation, and implying that he was perfectly aware of the -endeavours that had been made to clear Frederick. - -'That Horrocks--that very last witness of all, has proved as -unavailing as all the others. Mr. Lennox has discovered that he -sailed for Australia only last August; only two months before -Frederick was in England, and gave us the names of----' - -'Frederick in England! you never told me that!' exclaimed Mr. -Bell in surprise. - -'I thought you knew. I never doubted you had been told. Of -course, it was a great secret, and perhaps I should not have -named it now,' said Margaret, a little dismayed. - -'I have never named it to either my brother or your cousin,' said -Mr. Lennox, with a little professional dryness of implied -reproach. - -'Never mind, Margaret. I am not living in a talking, babbling -world, nor yet among people who are trying to worm facts out of -me; you needn't look so frightened because you have let the cat -out of the bag to a faithful old hermit like me. I shall never -name his having been in England; I shall be out of temptation, -for no one will ask me. Stay!' (interrupting himself rather -abruptly) 'was it at your mother's funeral?' - -'He was with mamma when she died,' said Margaret, softly. - -'To be sure! To be sure! Why, some one asked me if he had not -been over then, and I denied it stoutly--not many weeks ago--who -could it have been? Oh! I recollect!' - -But he did not say the name; and although Margaret would have -given much to know if her suspicions were right, and it had been -Mr. Thornton who had made the enquiry, she could not ask the -question of Mr. Bell, much as she longed to do so. - -There was a pause for a moment or two. Then Mr. Lennox said, -addressing himself to Margaret, 'I suppose as Mr. Bell is now -acquainted with all the circumstances attending your brother's -unfortunate dilemma, I cannot do better than inform him exactly -how the research into the evidence we once hoped to produce in -his favour stands at present. So, if he will do me the honour to -breakfast with me to-morrow, we will go over the names of these -missing gentry.' - -'I should like to hear all the particulars, if I may. Cannot you -come here? I dare not ask you both to breakfast, though I am sure -you would be welcome. But let me know all I can about Frederick, -even though there may be no hope at present.' - -'I have an engagement at half-past eleven. But I will certainly -come if you wish it,' replied Mr. Lennox, with a little -afterthought of extreme willingness, which made Margaret shrink -into herself, and almost wish that she had not proposed her -natural request. Mr. Bell got up and looked around him for his -hat, which had been removed to make room for tea. - -'Well!' said he, 'I don't know what Mr. Lennox is inclined to do, -but I'm disposed to be moving off homewards. I've been a journey -to-day, and journeys begin to tell upon my sixty and odd years.' - -'I believe I shall stay and see my brother and sister,' said Mr. -Lennox, making no movement of departure. Margaret was seized with -a shy awkward dread of being left alone with him. The scene on -the little terrace in the Helstone garden was so present to her, -that she could hardly help believing it was so with him. - -'Don't go yet, please, Mr. Bell,' said she, hastily. 'I want you -to see Edith; and I want Edith to know you. Please!' said she, -laying a light but determined hand on his arm. He looked at her, -and saw the confusion stirring in her countenance; he sate down -again, as if her little touch had been possessed of resistless -strength. - -'You see how she overpowers me, Mr. Lennox,' said he. 'And I hope -you noticed the happy choice of her expressions; she wants me to -"see" this cousin Edith, who, I am told, is a great beauty; but -she has the honesty to change her word when she comes to me--Mrs. -Lennox is to "know" me. I suppose I am not much to "see," eh, -Margaret?' - -He joked, to give her time to recover from the slight flutter -which he had detected in her manner on his proposal to leave; and -she caught the tone, and threw the ball back. Mr. Lennox wondered -how his brother, the Captain, could have reported her as having -lost all her good looks. To be sure, in her quiet black dress, -she was a contrast to Edith, dancing in her white crape mourning, -and long floating golden hair, all softness and glitter. She -dimpled and blushed most becomingly when introduced to Mr. Bell, -conscious that she had her reputation as a beauty to keep up, and -that it would not do to have a Mordecai refusing to worship and -admire, even in the shape of an old Fellow of a College, which -nobody had ever heard of. Mrs. Shaw and Captain Lennox, each in -their separate way, gave Mr. Bell a kind and sincere welcome, -winning him over to like them almost in spite of himself, -especially when he saw how naturally Margaret took her place as -sister and daughter of the house. - -'What a shame that we were not at home to receive you,' said -Edith. 'You, too, Henry! though I don't know that we should have -stayed at home for you. And for Mr. Bell! for Margaret's Mr. -Bell----' - -'There is no knowing what sacrifices you would not have made,' -said her brother-in-law. 'Even a dinner-party! and the delight of -wearing this very becoming dress.' - -Edith did not know whether to frown or to smile. But it did not -suit Mr. Lennox to drive her to the first of these alternatives; -so he went on. - -'Will you show your readiness to make sacrifices to-morrow -morning, first by asking me to breakfast, to meet Mr. Bell, and -secondly, by being so kind as to order it at half-past nine, -instead of ten o'clock? I have some letters and papers that I -want to show to Miss Hale and Mr. Bell.' - -'I hope Mr. Bell will make our house his own during his stay in -London,' said Captain Lennox. 'I am only so sorry we cannot offer -him a bed-room.' - -'Thank you. I am much obliged to you. You would only think me a -churl if you had, for I should decline it, I believe, in spite of -all the temptations of such agreeable company,' said Mr. Bell, -bowing all round, and secretly congratulating himself on the neat -turn he had given to his sentence, which, if put into plain -language, would have been more to this effect: 'I couldn't stand -the restraints of such a proper-behaved and civil-spoken set of -people as these are: it would be like meat without salt. I'm -thankful they haven't a bed. And how well I rounded my sentence! -I am absolutely catching the trick of good manners.' - -His self-satisfaction lasted him till he was fairly out in the -streets, walking side by side with Henry Lennox. Here he suddenly -remembered Margaret's little look of entreaty as she urged him to -stay longer, and he also recollected a few hints given him long -ago by an acquaintance of Mr. Lennox's, as to his admiration of -Margaret. It gave a new direction to his thoughts. 'You have -known Miss Hale for a long time, I believe. How do you think her -looking? She strikes me as pale and ill.' - -'I thought her looking remarkably well. Perhaps not when I first -came in--now I think of it. But certainly, when she grew -animated, she looked as well as ever I saw her do.' - -'She has had a great deal to go through,' said Mr. Bell. - -'Yes! I have been sorry to hear of all she has had to bear; not -merely the common and universal sorrow arising from death, but -all the annoyance which her father's conduct must have caused -her, and then----' - -'Her father's conduct!' said Mr. Bell, in an accent of -surprise. 'You must have heard some wrong statement. He behaved in -the most conscientious manner. He showed more resolute strength -than I should ever have given him credit for formerly.' - -'Perhaps I have been wrongly informed. But I have been told, by -his successor in the living--a clever, sensible man, and a -thoroughly active clergyman--that there was no call upon Mr. Hale -to do what he did, relinquish the living, and throw himself and -his family on the tender mercies of private teaching in a -manufacturing town; the bishop had offered him another living, it -is true, but if he had come to entertain certain doubts, he could -have remained where he was, and so had no occasion to resign. But -the truth is, these country clergymen live such isolated -lives--isolated, I mean, from all intercourse with men of equal -cultivation with themselves, by whose minds they might regulate -their own, and discover when they were going either too fast or -too slow--that they are very apt to disturb themselves with -imaginary doubts as to the articles of faith, and throw up -certain opportunities of doing good for very uncertain fancies of -their own.' - -'I differ from you. I do not think they are very apt to do as my -poor friend Hale did.' Mr. Bell was inwardly chafing. - -'Perhaps I used too general an expression, in saying "very apt." -But certainly, their lives are such as very often to produce -either inordinate self-sufficiency, or a morbid state of -conscience,' replied Mr. Lennox with perfect coolness. - -'You don't meet with any self-sufficiency among the lawyers, for -instance?' asked Mr. Bell. 'And seldom, I imagine, any cases of -morbid conscience.' He was becoming more and more vexed, and -forgetting his lately-caught trick of good manners. Mr. Lennox -saw now that he had annoyed his companion; and as he had talked -pretty much for the sake of saying something, and so passing the -time while their road lay together, he was very indifferent as to -the exact side he took upon the question, and quietly came round -by saying: 'To be sure, there is something fine in a man of Mr. -Hale's age leaving his home of twenty years, and giving up all -settled habits, for an idea which was probably erroneous--but -that does not matter--an untangible thought. One cannot help -admiring him, with a mixture of pity in one's admiration, -something like what one feels for Don Quixote. Such a gentleman -as he was too! I shall never forget the refined and simple -hospitality he showed to me that last day at Helstone.' - -Only half mollified, and yet anxious, in order to lull certain -qualms of his own conscience, to believe that Mr. Hale's conduct -had a tinge of Quixotism in it, Mr. Bell growled out--'Aye! And -you don't know Milton. Such a change from Helstone! It is years -since I have been at Helstone--but I'll answer for it, it is -standing there yet--every stick and every stone as it has done -for the last century, while Milton! I go there every four or five -years--and I was born there--yet I do assure you, I often lose my -way--aye, among the very piles of warehouses that are built upon -my father's orchard. Do we part here? Well, good night, sir; I -suppose we shall meet in Harley Street to-morrow morning.' - - -CHAPTER XLV - - -NOT ALL A DREAM - -'Where are the sounds that swam along -The buoyant air when I was young? -The last vibration now is o'er, -And they who listened are no more; -Ah! let me close my eyes and dream.' -W. S. LANDOR. - -The idea of Helstone had been suggested to Mr. Bell's waking mind -by his conversation with Mr. Lennox, and all night long it ran -riot through his dreams. He was again the tutor in the college -where he now held the rank of Fellow; it was again a long -vacation, and he was staying with his newly married friend, the -proud husband, and happy Vicar of Helstone. Over babbling brooks -they took impossible leaps, which seemed to keep them whole days -suspended in the air. Time and space were not, though all other -things seemed real. Every event was measured by the emotions of -the mind, not by its actual existence, for existence it had none. -But the trees were gorgeous in their autumnal leafiness--the warm -odours of flower and herb came sweet upon the sense--the young -wife moved about her house with just that mixture of annoyance at -her position, as regarded wealth, with pride in her handsome and -devoted husband, which Mr. Bell had noticed in real life a -quarter of a century ago. The dream was so like life that, when -he awoke, his present life seemed like a dream. Where was he? In -the close, handsomely furnished room of a London hotel! Where -were those who spoke to him, moved around him, touched him, not -an instant ago? Dead! buried! lost for evermore, as far as -earth's for evermore would extend. He was an old man, so lately -exultant in the full strength of manhood. The utter loneliness of -his life was insupportable to think about. He got up hastily, and -tried to forget what never more might be, in a hurried dressing -for the breakfast in Harley Street. - -He could not attend to all the lawyer's details, which, as he -saw, made Margaret's eyes dilate, and her lips grow pale, as one -by one fate decreed, or so it seemed, every morsel of evidence -which would exonerate Frederick, should fall from beneath her -feet and disappear. Even Mr. Lennox's well-regulated professional -voice took a softer, tenderer tone, as he drew near to the -extinction of the last hope. It was not that Margaret had not -been perfectly aware of the result before. It was only that the -details of each successive disappointment came with such -relentless minuteness to quench all hope, that she at last fairly -gave way to tears. Mr. Lennox stopped reading. - -'I had better not go on,' said he, in a concerned voice. 'It was -a foolish proposal of mine. Lieutenant Hale,' and even this -giving him the title of the service from which he had so harshly -been expelled, was soothing to Margaret, 'Lieutenant Hale is -happy now; more secure in fortune and future prospects than he -could ever have been in the navy; and has, doubtless, adopted his -wife's country as his own.' - -'That is it,' said Margaret. 'It seems so selfish in me to regret -it,' trying to smile, 'and yet he is lost to me, and I am so -lonely.' Mr. Lennox turned over his papers, and wished that he -were as rich and prosperous as he believed he should be some day. -Mr. Bell blew his nose, but, otherwise, he also kept silence; and -Margaret, in a minute or two, had apparently recovered her usual -composure. She thanked Mr. Lennox very courteously for his -trouble; all the more courteously and graciously because she was -conscious that, by her behaviour, he might have probably been led -to imagine that he had given her needless pain. Yet it was pain -she would not have been without. - -Mr. Bell came up to wish her good-bye. - -'Margaret!' said he, as he fumbled with his gloves. 'I am going -down to Helstone to-morrow, to look at the old place. Would you -like to come with me? Or would it give you too much pain? Speak -out, don't be afraid.' - -'Oh, Mr. Bell,' said she--and could say no more. But she took his -old gouty hand, and kissed it. - -'Come, come; that's enough,' said he, reddening with awkwardness. -'I suppose your aunt Shaw will trust you with me. We'll go -to-morrow morning, and we shall get there about two o'clock, I -fancy. We'll take a snack, and order dinner at the little -inn--the Lennard Arms, it used to be,--and go and get an appetite -in the forest. Can you stand it, Margaret? It will be a trial, I -know, to both of us, but it will be a pleasure to me, at least. -And there we'll dine--it will be but doe-venison, if we can get -it at all--and then I'll take my nap while you go out and see old -friends. I'll give you back safe and sound, barring railway -accidents, and I'll insure your life for a thousand pounds before -starting, which may be some comfort to your relations; but -otherwise, I'll bring you back to Mrs. Shaw by lunch-time on -Friday. So, if you say yes, I'll just go up-stairs and propose -it.' - -'It's no use my trying to say how much I shall like it,' said -Margaret, through her tears. - -'Well, then, prove your gratitude by keeping those fountains of -yours dry for the next two days. If you don't, I shall feel queer -myself about the lachrymal ducts, and I don't like that.' - -'I won't cry a drop,' said Margaret, winking her eyes to shake -the tears off her eye-lashes, and forcing a smile. - -'There's my good girl. Then we'll go up-stairs and settle it -all.' Margaret was in a state of almost trembling eagerness, -while Mr. Bell discussed his plan with her aunt Shaw, who was -first startled, then doubtful and perplexed, and in the end, -yielding rather to the rough force of Mr. Bell's words than to -her own conviction; for to the last, whether it was right or -wrong, proper or improper, she could not settle to her own -satisfaction, till Margaret's safe return, the happy fulfilment -of the project, gave her decision enough to say, 'she was sure it -had been a very kind thought of Mr. Bell's, and just what she -herself had been wishing for Margaret, as giving her the very -change which she required, after all the anxious time she had -had.' - - -CHAPTER XLVI - - -ONCE AND NOW - -'So on those happy days of yore -Oft as I dare to dwell once more, -Still must I miss the friends so tried, -Whom Death has severed from my side. - -But ever when true friendship binds, -Spirit it is that spirit finds; -In spirit then our bliss we found, -In spirit yet to them I'm bound.' -UHLAND. - -Margaret was ready long before the appointed time, and had -leisure enough to cry a little, quietly, when unobserved, and to -smile brightly when any one looked at her. Her last alarm was -lest they should be too late and miss the train; but no! they -were all in time; and she breathed freely and happily at length, -seated in the carriage opposite to Mr. Bell, and whirling away -past the well-known stations; seeing the old south country-towns -and hamlets sleeping in the warm light of the pure sun, which -gave a yet ruddier colour to their tiled roofs, so different to -the cold slates of the north. Broods of pigeons hovered around -these peaked quaint gables, slowly settling here and there, and -ruffling their soft, shiny feathers, as if exposing every fibre -to the delicious warmth. There were few people about at the -stations, it almost seemed as if they were too lazily content to -wish to travel; none of the bustle and stir that Margaret had -noticed in her two journeys on the London and North-Western line. -Later on in the year, this line of railway should be stirring and -alive with rich pleasure-seekers; but as to the constant going to -and fro of busy trades-people it would always be widely different -from the northern lines. Here a spectator or two stood lounging -at nearly every station, with his hands in his pockets, so -absorbed in the simple act of watching, that it made the -travellers wonder what he could find to do when the train whirled -away, and only the blank of a railway, some sheds, and a distant -field or two were left for him to gaze upon. The hot air danced -over the golden stillness of the land, farm after farm was left -behind, each reminding Margaret of German Idyls--of Herman and -Dorothea--of Evangeline. From this waking dream she was roused. -It was the place to leave the train and take the fly to Helstone. -And now sharper feelings came shooting through her heart, whether -pain or pleasure she could hardly tell. Every mile was redolent -of associations, which she would not have missed for the world, -but each of which made her cry upon 'the days that are no more,' -with ineffable longing. The last time she had passed along this -road was when she had left it with her father and mother--the -day, the season, had been gloomy, and she herself hopeless, but -they were there with her. Now she was alone, an orphan, and they, -strangely, had gone away from her, and vanished from the face of -the earth. It hurt her to see the Helstone road so flooded in the -sun-light, and every turn and every familiar tree so precisely -the same in its summer glory as it had been in former years. -Nature felt no change, and was ever young. - -Mr. Bell knew something of what would be passing through her -mind, and wisely and kindly held his tongue. They drove up to the -Lennard Arms; half farm-house, half-inn, standing a little apart -from the road, as much as to say, that the host did not so depend -on the custom of travellers, as to have to court it by any -obtrusiveness; they, rather, must seek him out. The house fronted -the village green; and right before it stood an immemorial -lime-tree benched all round, in some hidden recesses of whose -leafy wealth hung the grim escutcheon of the Lennards. The door -of the inn stood wide open, but there was no hospitable hurry to -receive the travellers. When the landlady did appear--and they -might have abstracted many an article first--she gave them a kind -welcome, almost as if they had been invited guests, and -apologised for her coming having been so delayed, by saying, that -it was hay-time, and the provisions for the men had to be sent -a-field, and she had been too busy packing up the baskets to hear -the noise of wheels over the road, which, since they had left the -highway, ran over soft short turf. - -'Why, bless me!' exclaimed she, as at the end of her apology, a -glint of sunlight showed her Margaret's face, hitherto unobserved -in that shady parlour. 'It's Miss Hale, Jenny,' said she, running -to the door, and calling to her daughter. 'Come here, come -directly, it's Miss Hale!' And then she went up to Margaret, and -shook her hands with motherly fondness. - -'And how are you all? How's the Vicar and Miss Dixon? The Vicar -above all! God bless him! We've never ceased to be sorry that he -left.' - -Margaret tried to speak and tell her of her father's death; of -her mother's it was evident that Mrs. Purkis was aware, from her -omission of her name. But she choked in the effort, and could -only touch her deep mourning, and say the one word, 'Papa.' - -'Surely, sir, it's never so!' said Mrs. Purkis, turning to Mr. -Bell for confirmation of the sad suspicion that now entered her -mind. 'There was a gentleman here in the spring--it might have -been as long ago as last winter--who told us a deal of Mr. Hale -and Miss Margaret; and he said Mrs. Hale was gone, poor lady. But -never a word of the Vicar's being ailing!' - -'It is so, however,' said Mr. Bell. 'He died quite suddenly, when -on a visit to me at Oxford. He was a good man, Mrs. Purkis, and -there's many of us that might be thankful to have as calm an end -as his. Come Margaret, my dear! Her father was my oldest friend, -and she's my god-daughter, so I thought we would just come down -together and see the old place; and I know of old you can give us -comfortable rooms and a capital dinner. You don't remember me I -see, but my name is Bell, and once or twice when the parsonage -has been full, I've slept here, and tasted your good ale.' - -'To be sure; I ask your pardon; but you see I was taken up with -Miss Hale. Let me show you to a room, Miss Margaret, where you -can take off your bonnet, and wash your face. It's only this very -morning I plunged some fresh-gathered roses head downward in the -water-jug, for, thought I, perhaps some one will be coming, and -there's nothing so sweet as spring-water scented by a musk rose -or two. To think of the Vicar being dead! Well, to be sure, we -must all die; only that gentleman said, he was quite picking up -after his trouble about Mrs. Hale's death.' - -'Come down to me, Mrs. Purkis, after you have attended to Miss -Hale. I want to have a consultation with you about dinner.' - -The little casement window in Margaret's bed-chamber was almost -filled up with rose and vine branches; but pushing them aside, -and stretching a little out, she could see the tops of the -parsonage chimneys above the trees; and distinguish many a -well-known line through the leaves. - -'Aye!' said Mrs. Purkis, smoothing down the bed, and despatching -Jenny for an armful of lavender-scented towels, 'times is -changed, miss; our new Vicar has seven children, and is building -a nursery ready for more, just out where the arbour and -tool-house used to be in old times. And he has had new grates put -in, and a plate-glass window in the drawing-room. He and his wife -are stirring people, and have done a deal of good; at least they -say it's doing good; if it were not, I should call it turning -things upside down for very little purpose. The new Vicar is a -teetotaller, miss, and a magistrate, and his wife has a deal of -receipts for economical cooking, and is for making bread without -yeast; and they both talk so much, and both at a time, that they -knock one down as it were, and it's not till they're gone, and -one's a little at peace, that one can think that there were -things one might have said on one's own side of the question. -He'll be after the men's cans in the hay-field, and peeping in; -and then there'll be an ado because it's not ginger beer, but I -can't help it. My mother and my grandmother before me sent good -malt liquor to haymakers; and took salts and senna when anything -ailed them; and I must e'en go on in their ways, though Mrs. -Hepworth does want to give me comfits instead of medicine, which, -as she says, is a deal pleasanter, only I've no faith in it. But -I must go, miss, though I'm wanting to hear many a thing; I'll -come back to you before long. - -Mr. Bell had strawberries and cream, a loaf of brown bread, and a -jug of milk, (together with a Stilton cheese and a bottle of port -for his own private refreshment,) ready for Margaret on her -coming down stairs; and after this rustic luncheon they set out -to walk, hardly knowing in what direction to turn, so many old -familiar inducements were there in each. - -'Shall we go past the vicarage?' asked Mr. Bell. - -'No, not yet. We will go this way, and make a round so as to come -back by it,' replied Margaret. - -Here and there old trees had been felled the autumn before; or a -squatter's roughly-built and decaying cottage had disappeared. -Margaret missed them each and all, and grieved over them like old -friends. They came past the spot where she and Mr. Lennox had -sketched. The white, lightning-scarred trunk of the venerable -beech, among whose roots they had sate down was there no more; -the old man, the inhabitant of the ruinous cottage, was dead; the -cottage had been pulled down, and a new one, tidy and -respectable, had been built in its stead. There was a small -garden on the place where the beech-tree had been. - -'I did not think I had been so old,' said Margaret after a pause -of silence; and she turned away sighing. - -'Yes!' said Mr. Bell. 'It is the first changes among familiar -things that make such a mystery of time to the young, afterwards -we lose the sense of the mysterious. I take changes in all I see -as a matter of course. The instability of all human things is -familiar to me, to you it is new and oppressive.' - -'Let us go on to see little Susan,' said Margaret, drawing her -companion up a grassy road-way, leading under the shadow of a -forest glade. - -'With all my heart, though I have not an idea who little Susan -may be. But I have a kindness for all Susans, for simple Susan's -sake.' - -'My little Susan was disappointed when I left without wishing her -goodbye; and it has been on my conscience ever since, that I gave -her pain which a little more exertion on my part might have -prevented. But it is a long way. Are you sure you will not be -tired?' - -'Quite sure. That is, if you don't walk so fast. You see, here -there are no views that can give one an excuse for stopping to -take breath. You would think it romantic to be walking with a -person "fat and scant o' breath" if I were Hamlet, Prince of -Denmark. Have compassion on my infirmities for his sake.' - -'I will walk slower for your own sake. I like you twenty times -better than Hamlet.' - -'On the principle that a living ass is better than a dead lion?' - -'Perhaps so. I don't analyse my feelings.' - -'I am content to take your liking me, without examining too -curiously into the materials it is made of. Only we need not walk -at a snail's' pace.' - -'Very well. Walk at your own pace, and I will follow. Or stop -still and meditate, like the Hamlet you compare yourself to, if I -go too fast.' - -'Thank you. But as my mother has not murdered my father, and -afterwards married my uncle, I shouldn't know what to think -about, unless it were balancing the chances of our having a -well-cooked dinner or not. What do you think?' - -'I am in good hopes. She used to be considered a famous cook as -far as Helstone opinion went.' - -'But have you considered the distraction of mind produced by all -this haymaking?' - -Margaret felt all Mr. Bell's kindness in trying to make cheerful -talk about nothing, to endeavour to prevent her from thinking too -curiously about the past. But she would rather have gone over -these dear-loved walks in silence, if indeed she were not -ungrateful enough to wish that she might have been alone. - -They reached the cottage where Susan's widowed mother lived. -Susan was not there. She was gone to the parochial school. -Margaret was disappointed, and the poor woman saw it, and began -to make a kind of apology. - -'Oh! it is quite right,' said Margaret. 'I am very glad to hear -it. I might have thought of it. Only she used to stop at home -with you.' - -'Yes, she did; and I miss her sadly. I used to teach her what -little I knew at nights. It were not much to be sure. But she -were getting such a handy girl, that I miss her sore. But she's a -deal above me in learning now.' And the mother sighed. - -'I'm all wrong,' growled Mr. Bell. 'Don't mind what I say. I'm a -hundred years behind the world. But I should say, that the child -was getting a better and simpler, and more natural education -stopping at home, and helping her mother, and learning to read a -chapter in the New Testament every night by her side, than from -all the schooling under the sun.' - -Margaret did not want to encourage him to go on by replying to -him, and so prolonging the discussion before the mother. So she -turned to her and asked, - -'How is old Betty Barnes?' - -'I don't know,' said the woman rather shortly. 'We'se not -friends.' - -'Why not?' asked Margaret, who had formerly been the peacemaker -of the village. - -'She stole my cat.' - -'Did she know it was yours?' - -'I don't know. I reckon not.' - -'Well! could not you get it back again when you told her it was -yours?' - -'No! for she'd burnt it.' - -'Burnt it!' exclaimed both Margaret and Mr. Bell. - -'Roasted it!' explained the woman. - -It was no explanation. By dint of questioning, Margaret extracted -from her the horrible fact that Betty Barnes, having been induced -by a gypsy fortune-teller to lend the latter her husband's Sunday -clothes, on promise of having them faithfully returned on the -Saturday night before Goodman Barnes should have missed them, -became alarmed by their non-appearance, and her consequent dread -of her husband's anger, and as, according to one of the savage -country superstitions, the cries of a cat, in the agonies of -being boiled or roasted alive, compelled (as it were) the powers -of darkness to fulfil the wishes of the executioner, resort had -been had to the charm. The poor woman evidently believed in its -efficacy; her only feeling was indignation that her cat had been -chosen out from all others for a sacrifice. Margaret listened in -horror; and endeavoured in vain to enlighten the woman's mind; -but she was obliged to give it up in despair. Step by step she -got the woman to admit certain facts, of which the logical -connexion and sequence was perfectly clear to Margaret; but at -the end, the bewildered woman simply repeated her first -assertion, namely, that 'it were very cruel for sure, and she -should not like to do it; but that there were nothing like it for -giving a person what they wished for; she had heard it all her -life; but it were very cruel for all that.' Margaret gave it up -in despair, and walked away sick at heart. - -'You are a good girl not to triumph over me,' said Mr. Bell. - -'How? What do you mean?' - -'I own, I am wrong about schooling. Anything rather than have -that child brought up in such practical paganism.' - -'Oh! I remember. Poor little Susan! I must go and see her; would -you mind calling at the school?' - -'Not a bit. I am curious to see something of the teaching she is -to receive.' - -They did not speak much more, but thridded their way through many -a bosky dell, whose soft green influence could not charm away the -shock and the pain in Margaret's heart, caused by the recital of -such cruelty; a recital too, the manner of which betrayed such -utter want of imagination, and therefore of any sympathy with the -suffering animal. - -The buzz of voices, like the murmur of a hive of busy human bees, -made itself heard as soon as they emerged from the forest on the -more open village-green on which the school was situated. The -door was wide open, and they entered. A brisk lady in black, -here, there, and everywhere, perceived them, and bade them -welcome with somewhat of the hostess-air which, Margaret -remembered, her mother was wont to assume, only in a more soft -and languid manner, when any rare visitors strayed in to inspect -the school. She knew at once it was the present Vicar's wife, her -mother's successor; and she would have drawn back from the -interview had it been possible; but in an instant she had -conquered this feeling, and modestly advanced, meeting many a -bright glance of recognition, and hearing many a half-suppressed -murmur of 'It's Miss Hale.' The Vicar's lady heard the name, and -her manner at once became more kindly. Margaret wished she could -have helped feeling that it also became more patronising. The -lady held out a hand to Mr. Bell, with-- - -'Your father, I presume, Miss Hale. I see it by the likeness. I -am sure I am very glad to see you, sir, and so will the Vicar -be.' - -Margaret explained that it was not her father, and stammered out -the fact of his death; wondering all the time how Mr. Hale could -have borne coming to revisit Helstone, if it had been as the -Vicar's lady supposed. She did not hear what Mrs. Hepworth was -saying, and left it to Mr. Bell to reply, looking round, -meanwhile, for her old acquaintances. - -'Ah! I see you would like to take a class, Miss Hale. I know it -by myself. First class stand up for a parsing lesson with Miss -Hale.' - -Poor Margaret, whose visit was sentimental, not in any degree -inspective, felt herself taken in; but as in some way bringing -her in contact with little eager faces, once well-known, and who -had received the solemn rite of baptism from her father, she sate -down, half losing herself in tracing out the changing features of -the girls, and holding Susan's hand for a minute or two, -unobserved by all, while the first class sought for their books, -and the Vicar's lady went as near as a lady could towards holding -Mr. Bell by the button, while she explained the Phonetic system -to him, and gave him a conversation she had had with the -Inspector about it. - -Margaret bent over her book, and seeing nothing but that--hearing -the buzz of children's voices, old times rose up, and she thought -of them, and her eyes filled with tears, till all at once there -was a pause--one of the girls was stumbling over the apparently -simple word 'a,' uncertain what to call it. - -'A, an indefinite article,' said Margaret, mildly. - -'I beg your pardon,' said the Vicar's wife, all eyes and ears; -'but we are taught by Mr. Milsome to call "a" an--who can -remember?' - -'An adjective absolute,' said half-a-dozen voices at once. And -Margaret sate abashed. The children knew more than she did. Mr. -Bell turned away, and smiled. - -Margaret spoke no more during the lesson. But after it was over, -she went quietly round to one or two old favourites, and talked -to them a little. They were growing out of children into great -girls; passing out of her recollection in their rapid -development, as she, by her three years' absence, was vanishing -from theirs. Still she was glad to have seen them all again, -though a tinge of sadness mixed itself with her pleasure. When -school was over for the day, it was yet early in the summer -afternoon; and Mrs. Hepworth proposed to Margaret that she and -Mr. Bell should accompany her to the parsonage, and see the--the -word 'improvements' had half slipped out of her mouth, but she -substituted the more cautious term 'alterations' which the -present Vicar was making. Margaret did not care a straw about -seeing the alterations, which jarred upon her fond recollection -of what her home had been; but she longed to see the old place -once more, even though she shivered away from the pain which she -knew she should feel. - -The parsonage was so altered, both inside and out, that the real -pain was less than she had anticipated. It was not like the same -place. The garden, the grass-plat, formerly so daintily trim that -even a stray rose-leaf seemed like a fleck on its exquisite -arrangement and propriety, was strewed with children's things; a -bag of marbles here, a hoop there; a straw-hat forced down upon a -rose-tree as on a peg, to the destruction of a long beautiful -tender branch laden with flowers, which in former days would have -been trained up tenderly, as if beloved. The little square matted -hall was equally filled with signs of merry healthy rough -childhood. - -'Ah!' said Mrs. Hepworth, 'you must excuse this untidiness, Miss -Hale. When the nursery is finished, I shall insist upon a little -order. We are building a nursery out of your room, I believe. How -did you manage, Miss Hale, without a nursery?' - -'We were but two,' said Margaret. 'You have many children, I -presume?' - -'Seven. Look here! we are throwing out a window to the road on -this side. Mr. Hepworth is spending an immense deal of money on -this house; but really it was scarcely habitable when we -came--for so large a family as ours I mean, of course.' Every -room in the house was changed, besides the one of which Mrs. -Hepworth spoke, which had been Mr. Hale's study formerly; and -where the green gloom and delicious quiet of the place had -conduced, as he had said, to a habit of meditation, but, perhaps, -in some degree to the formation of a character more fitted for -thought than action. The new window gave a view of the road, and -had many advantages, as Mrs. Hepworth pointed out. From it the -wandering sheep of her husband's flock might be seen, who -straggled to the tempting beer-house, unobserved as they might -hope, but not unobserved in reality; for the active Vicar kept -his eye on the road, even during the composition of his most -orthodox sermons, and had a hat and stick hanging ready at hand -to seize, before sallying out after his parishioners, who had -need of quick legs if they could take refuge in the 'Jolly -Forester' before the teetotal Vicar had arrested them. The whole -family were quick, brisk, loud-talking, kind-hearted, and not -troubled with much delicacy of perception. Margaret feared that -Mrs. Hepworth would find out that Mr. Bell was playing upon her, -in the admiration he thought fit to express for everything that -especially grated on his taste. But no! she took it all -literally, and with such good faith, that Margaret could not help -remonstrating with him as they walked slowly away from the -parsonage back to their inn. - -'Don't scold, Margaret. It was all because of you. If she had not -shown you every change with such evident exultation in their -superior sense, in perceiving what an improvement this and that -would be, I could have behaved well. But if you must go on -preaching, keep it till after dinner, when it will send me to -sleep, and help my digestion.' - -They were both of them tired, and Margaret herself so much so, -that she was unwilling to go out as she had proposed to do, and -have another ramble among the woods and fields so close to the -home of her childhood. And, somehow, this visit to Helstone had -not been all--had not been exactly what she had expected. There -was change everywhere; slight, yet pervading all. Households were -changed by absence, or death, or marriage, or the natural -mutations brought by days and months and years, which carry us on -imperceptibly from childhood to youth, and thence through manhood -to age, whence we drop like fruit, fully ripe, into the quiet -mother earth. Places were changed--a tree gone here, a bough -there, bringing in a long ray of light where no light was -before--a road was trimmed and narrowed, and the green straggling -pathway by its side enclosed and cultivated. A great improvement -it was called; but Margaret sighed over the old picturesqueness, -the old gloom, and the grassy wayside of former days. She sate by -the window on the little settle, sadly gazing out upon the -gathering shades of night, which harmonised well with her pensive -thought. Mr. Bell slept soundly, after his unusual exercise -through the day. At last he was roused by the entrance of the -tea-tray, brought in by a flushed-looking country-girl, who had -evidently been finding some variety from her usual occupation of -waiter, in assisting this day in the hayfield. - -'Hallo! Who's there! Where are we? Who's that,--Margaret? Oh, now -I remember all. I could not imagine what woman was sitting there -in such a doleful attitude, with her hands clasped straight out -upon her knees, and her face looking so steadfastly before her. -What were you looking at?' asked Mr. Bell, coming to the window, -and standing behind Margaret. - -'Nothing,' said she, rising up quickly, and speaking as -cheerfully as she could at a moment's notice. - -'Nothing indeed! A bleak back-ground of trees, some white linen -hung out on the sweet-briar hedge, and a great waft of damp air. -Shut the window, and come in and make tea.' - -Margaret was silent for some time. She played with her teaspoon, -and did not attend particularly to what Mr. Bell said. He -contradicted her, and she took the same sort of smiling notice of -his opinion as if he had agreed with her. Then she sighed, and -putting down her spoon, she began, apropos of nothing at all, and -in the high-pitched voice which usually shows that the speaker -has been thinking for some time on the subject that they wish to -introduce--'Mr. Bell, you remember what we were saying about -Frederick last night, don't you?' - -'Last night. Where was I? Oh, I remember! Why it seems a week -ago. Yes, to be sure, I recollect we talked about him, poor -fellow.' - -'Yes--and do you not remember that Mr. Lennox spoke about his -having been in England about the time of dear mamma's death?' -asked Margaret, her voice now lower than usual. - -'I recollect. I hadn't heard of it before.' - -'And I thought--I always thought that papa had told you about -it.' - -'No! he never did. But what about it, Margaret?' - -'I want to tell you of something I did that was very wrong, about -that time,' said Margaret, suddenly looking up at him with her -clear honest eyes. 'I told a lie;' and her face became scarlet. - -'True, that was bad I own; not but what I have told a pretty -round number in my life, not all in downright words, as I suppose -you did, but in actions, or in some shabby circumlocutory way, -leading people either to disbelieve the truth, or believe a -falsehood. You know who is the father of lies, Margaret? Well! a -great number of folk, thinking themselves very good, have odd -sorts of connexion with lies, left-hand marriages, and second -cousins-once-removed. The tainting blood of falsehood runs -through us all. I should have guessed you as far from it as most -people. What! crying, child? Nay, now we'll not talk of it, if it -ends in this way. I dare say you have been sorry for it, and that -you won't do it again, and it's long ago now, and in short I want -you to be very cheerful, and not very sad, this evening.' - -Margaret wiped her eyes, and tried to talk about something else, -but suddenly she burst out afresh. - -'Please, Mr. Bell, let me tell you about it--you could perhaps -help me a little; no, not help me, but if you knew the truth, -perhaps you could put me to rights--that is not it, after all,' -said she, in despair at not being able to express herself more -exactly as she wished. - -Mr. Bell's whole manner changed. 'Tell me all about it, child,' -said he. - -'It's a long story; but when Fred came, mamma was very ill, and I -was undone with anxiety, and afraid, too, that I might have drawn -him into danger; and we had an alarm just after her death, for -Dixon met some one in Milton--a man called Leonards--who had -known Fred, and who seemed to owe him a grudge, or at any rate to -be tempted by the recollection of the reward offered for -his apprehension; and with this new fright, I thought I had better -hurry off Fred to London, where, as you would understand from -what we said the other night, he was to go to consult Mr. Lennox -as to his chances if he stood the trial. So we--that is, he and -I,--went to the railway station; it was one evening, and it was -just getting rather dusk, but still light enough to recognise and -be recognised, and we were too early, and went out to walk in a -field just close by; I was always in a panic about this Leonards, -who was, I knew, somewhere in the neighbourhood; and then, when -we were in the field, the low red sunlight just in my face, some -one came by on horseback in the road just below the field-style -by which we stood. I saw him look at me, but I did not know who -it was at first, the sun was so in my eyes, but in an instant the -dazzle went off, and I saw it was Mr. Thornton, and we -bowed,'---- - -'And he saw Frederick of course,' said Mr. Bell, helping her on -with her story, as he thought. - -'Yes; and then at the station a man came up--tipsy and -reeling--and he tried to collar Fred, and over-balanced himself -as Fred wrenched himself away, and fell over the edge of the -platform; not far, not deep; not above three feet; but oh! Mr. -Bell, somehow that fall killed him!' - -'How awkward. It was this Leonards, I suppose. And how did Fred -get off?' - -'Oh! he went off immediately after the fall, which we never -thought could have done the poor fellow any harm, it seemed so -slight an injury.' - -'Then he did not die directly?' - -'No! not for two or three days. And then--oh, Mr. Bell! now comes -the bad part,' said she, nervously twining her fingers together. -'A police inspector came and taxed me with having been the -companion of the young man, whose push or blow had occasioned -Leonards' death; that was a false accusation, you know, but we -had not heard that Fred had sailed, he might still be in London -and liable to be arrested on this false charge, and his identity -with the Lieutenant Hale, accused of causing that mutiny, -discovered, he might be shot; all this flashed through my mind, -and I said it was not me. I was not at the railway station that -night. I knew nothing about it. I had no conscience or thought -but to save Frederick.' - -'I say it was right. I should have done the same. You forgot -yourself in thought for another. I hope I should have done the -same.' - -'No, you would not. It was wrong, disobedient, faithless. At that -very time Fred was safely out of England, and in my blindness I -forgot that there was another witness who could testify to my -being there.' - -'Who?' - -'Mr. Thornton. You know he had seen me close to the station; we -had bowed to each other.' - -'Well! he would know nothing of this riot about the drunken -fellow's death. I suppose the inquiry never came to anything.' - -'No! the proceedings they had begun to talk about on the inquest -were stopped. Mr. Thornton did know all about it. He was a -magistrate, and he found out that it was not the fall that had -caused the death. But not before he knew what I had said. Oh, Mr. -Bell!' She suddenly covered her face with her hands, as if -wishing to hide herself from the presence of the recollection. - -'Did you have any explanation with him? Did you ever tell him the -strong, instinctive motive?' - -'The instinctive want of faith, and clutching at a sin to keep -myself from sinking,' said she bitterly. 'No! How could I? He -knew nothing of Frederick. To put myself to rights in his good -opinion, was I to tell him of the secrets of our family, -involving, as they seemed to do, the chances of poor Frederick's -entire exculpation? Fred's last words had been to enjoin me to -keep his visit a secret from all. You see, papa never told, even -you. No! I could bear the shame--I thought I could at least. I -did bear it. Mr. Thornton has never respected me since.' - -'He respects you, I am sure,' said Mr. Bell. 'To be sure, it -accounts a little for----. But he always speaks of you with -regard and esteem, though now I understand certain reservations -in his manner.' - -Margaret did not speak; did not attend to what Mr. Bell went on -to say; lost all sense of it. By-and-by she said: - -'Will you tell me what you refer to about "reservations" in his -manner of speaking of me?' - -'Oh! simply he has annoyed me by not joining in my praises of -you. Like an old fool, I thought that every one would have the -same opinions as I had; and he evidently could not agree with me. -I was puzzled at the time. But he must be perplexed, if the -affair has never been in the least explained. There was first -your walking out with a young man in the dark--' - -'But it was my brother!' said Margaret, surprised. - -'True. But how was he to know that?' - -'I don't know. I never thought of anything of that kind,' said -Margaret, reddening, and looking hurt and offended. - -'And perhaps he never would, but for the lie,--which, under the -circumstances, I maintain, was necessary.' - -'It was not. I know it now. I bitterly repent it.' - -There was a long pause of silence. Margaret was the first to -speak. - -'I am not likely ever to see Mr. Thornton again,'--and there she -stopped. - -'There are many things more unlikely, I should say,' replied Mr. -Bell. - -'But I believe I never shall. Still, somehow one does not like to -have sunk so low in--in a friend's opinion as I have done in -his.' Her eyes were full of tears, but her voice was steady, and -Mr. Bell was not looking at her. 'And now that Frederick has -given up all hope, and almost all wish of ever clearing himself, -and returning to England, it would be only doing myself justice -to have all this explained. If you please, and if you can, if -there is a good opportunity, (don't force an explanation upon -him, pray,) but if you can, will you tell him the whole -circumstances, and tell him also that I gave you leave to do so, -because I felt that for papa's sake I should not like to lose his -respect, though we may never be likely to meet again?' - -'Certainly. I think he ought to know. I do not like you to rest -even under the shadow of an impropriety; he would not know what -to think of seeing you alone with a young man.' - -'As for that,' said Margaret, rather haughtily, 'I hold it is -"Honi soit qui mal y pense." Yet still I should choose to have it -explained, if any natural opportunity for easy explanation -occurs. But it is not to clear myself of any suspicion of -improper conduct that I wish to have him told--if I thought that -he had suspected me, I should not care for his good opinion--no! -it is that he may learn how I was tempted, and how I fell into -the snare; why I told that falsehood, in short.' - -'Which I don't blame you for. It is no partiality of mine, I -assure you.' - -'What other people may think of the rightness or wrongness is -nothing in comparison to my own deep knowledge, my innate -conviction that it was wrong. But we will not talk of that any -more, if you please. It is done--my sin is sinned. I have now to -put it behind me, and be truthful for evermore, if I can.' - -'Very well. If you like to be uncomfortable and morbid, be so. I -always keep my conscience as tight shut up as a jack-in-a-box, -for when it jumps into existence it surprises me by its size. So -I coax it down again, as the fisherman coaxed the genie. -"Wonderful," say I, "to think that you have been concealed so -long, and in so small a compass, that I really did not know of -your existence. Pray, sir, instead of growing larger and larger -every instant, and bewildering me with your misty outlines, would -you once more compress yourself into your former dimensions?" And -when I've got him down, don't I clap the seal on the vase, and -take good care how I open it again, and how I go against Solomon, -wisest of men, who confined him there.' - -But it was no smiling matter to Margaret. She hardly attended to -what Mr. Bell was saying. Her thoughts ran upon the Idea, before -entertained, but which now had assumed the strength of a -conviction, that Mr. Thornton no longer held his former good -opinion of her--that he was disappointed in her. She did not feel -as if any explanation could ever reinstate her--not in his love, -for that and any return on her part she had resolved never to -dwell upon, and she kept rigidly to her resolution--but in the -respect and high regard which she had hoped would have ever made -him willing, in the spirit of Gerald Griffin's beautiful lines, - -'To turn and look back when thou hearest The sound of my name.' - -She kept choking and swallowing all the time that she thought -about it. She tried to comfort herself with the idea, that what -he imagined her to be, did not alter the fact of what she was. -But it was a truism, a phantom, and broke down under the weight -of her regret. She had twenty questions on the tip of her tongue -to ask Mr. Bell, but not one of them did she utter. Mr. Bell -thought that she was tired, and sent her early to her room, where -she sate long hours by the open window, gazing out on the purple -dome above, where the stars arose, and twinkled and disappeared -behind the great umbrageous trees before she went to bed. All -night long too, there burnt a little light on earth; a candle in -her old bedroom, which was the nursery with the present -inhabitants of the parsonage, until the new one was built. A -sense of change, of individual nothingness, of perplexity and -disappointment, over-powered Margaret. Nothing had been the same; -and this slight, all-pervading instability, had given her greater -pain than if all had been too entirely changed for her to -recognise it. - -'I begin to understand now what heaven must be--and, oh! the -grandeur and repose of the words--"The same yesterday, to-day, -and for ever." Everlasting! "From everlasting to everlasting, -Thou art God." That sky above me looks as though it could not -change, and yet it will. I am so tired--so tired of being whirled -on through all these phases of my life, in which nothing abides -by me, no creature, no place; it is like the circle in which the -victims of earthly passion eddy continually. I am in the mood in -which women of another religion take the veil. I seek heavenly -steadfastness in earthly monotony. If I were a Roman Catholic and -could deaden my heart, stun it with some great blow, I might -become a nun. But I should pine after my kind; no, not my kind, -for love for my species could never fill my heart to the utter -exclusion of love for individuals. Perhaps it ought to be so, -perhaps not; I cannot decide to-night.' - -Wearily she went to bed, wearily she arose in four or five hours' -time. But with the morning came hope, and a brighter view of -things. - -'After all it is right,' said she, hearing the voices of children -at play while she was dressing. 'If the world stood still, it -would retrograde and become corrupt, if that is not Irish. -Looking out of myself, and my own painful sense of change, the -progress all around me is right and necessary. I must not think -so much of how circumstances affect me myself, but how they -affect others, if I wish to have a right judgment, or a hopeful -trustful heart.' And with a smile ready in her eyes to quiver -down to her lips, she went into the parlour and greeted Mr. Bell. - -'Ah, Missy! you were up late last night, and so you're late this -morning. Now I've got a little piece of news for you. What do you -think of an invitation to dinner? a morning call, literally in -the dewy morning. Why, I've had the Vicar here already, on his -way to the school. How much the desire of giving our hostess a -teetotal lecture for the benefit of the haymakers, had to do with -his earliness, I don't know; but here he was, when I came down -just before nine; and we are asked to dine there to-day.' - -'But Edith expects me back--I cannot go,' said Margaret, thankful -to have so good an excuse. - -'Yes! I know; so I told him. I thought you would not want to go. -Still it is open, if you would like it.' - -'Oh, no!' said Margaret. 'Let us keep to our plan. Let us start -at twelve. It is very good and kind of them; but indeed I could -not go.' - -'Very well. Don't fidget yourself, and I'll arrange it all.' - -Before they left Margaret stole round to the back of the Vicarage -garden, and gathered a little straggling piece of honeysuckle. -She would not take a flower the day before, for fear of being -observed, and her motives and feelings commented upon. But as she -returned across the common, the place was reinvested with the old -enchanting atmosphere. The common sounds of life were more -musical there than anywhere else in the whole world, the light -more golden, the life more tranquil and full of dreamy delight. -As Margaret remembered her feelings yesterday, she said to -herself: - -'And I too change perpetually--now this, now that--now -disappointed and peevish because all is not exactly as I had -pictured it, and now suddenly discovering that the reality is far -more beautiful than I had imagined it. Oh, Helstone! I shall -never love any place like you. - -A few days afterwards, she had found her level, and decided that -she was very glad to have been there, and that she had seen it -again, and that to her it would always be the prettiest spot in -the world, but that it was so full of associations with former -days, and especially with her father and mother, that if it were -all to come over again, she should shrink back from such another -visit as that which she had paid with Mr. Bell. - - -CHAPTER XLVII - - -SOMETHING WANTING - -'Experience, like a pale musician, holds -A dulcimer of patience in his hand; -Whence harmonies we cannot understand, -Of God's will in His worlds, the strain unfolds -In sad, perplexed minors.' -MRS. BROWNING. - -About this time Dixon returned from Milton, and assumed her post -as Margaret's maid. She brought endless pieces of Milton gossip: -How Martha had gone to live with Miss Thornton, on the latter's -marriage; with an account of the bridesmaids, dresses and -breakfasts, at that interesting ceremony; how people thought that -Mr. Thornton had made too grand a wedding of it, considering he -had lost a deal by the strike, and had had to pay so much for the -failure of his contracts; how little money articles of -furniture--long cherished by Dixon--had fetched at the sale, -which was a shame considering how rich folks were at Milton; how -Mrs. Thornton had come one day and got two or three good -bargains, and Mr. Thornton had come the next, and in his desire -to obtain one or two things, had bid against himself, much to the -enjoyment of the bystanders, so as Dixon observed, that made -things even; if Mrs. Thornton paid too little, Mr. Thornton paid -too much. Mr. Bell had sent all sorts of orders about the books; -there was no understanding him, he was so particular; if he had -come himself it would have been all right, but letters always -were and always will be more puzzling than they are worth. Dixon -had not much to tell about the Higginses. Her memory had an -aristocratic bias, and was very treacherous whenever she tried to -recall any circumstance connected with those below her in life. -Nicholas was very well she believed. He had been several times at -the house asking for news of Miss Margaret--the only person who -ever did ask, except once Mr. Thornton. And Mary? oh! of course -she was very well, a great, stout, slatternly thing! She did -hear, or perhaps it was only a dream of hers, though it would be -strange if she had dreamt of such people as the Higginses, that -Mary had gone to work at Mr. Thornton's mill, because her father -wished her to know how to cook; but what nonsense that could mean -she didn't know. Margaret rather agreed with her that the story -was incoherent enough to be like a dream. Still it was pleasant -to have some one now with whom she could talk of Milton, and -Milton people. Dixon was not over-fond of the subject, rather -wishing to leave that part of her life in shadow. She liked much -more to dwell upon speeches of Mr. Bell's, which had suggested an -idea to her of what was really his intention--making Margaret his -heiress. But her young lady gave her no encouragement, nor in any -way gratified her insinuating enquiries, however disguised in the -form of suspicions or assertions. - -All this time, Margaret had a strange undefined longing to hear -that Mr. Bell had gone to pay one of his business visits to -Milton; for it had been well understood between them, at the time -of their conversation at Helstone, that the explanation she had -desired should only be given to Mr. Thornton by word of mouth, -and even in that manner should be in nowise forced upon him. Mr. -Bell was no great correspondent, but he wrote from time to time -long or short letters, as the humour took him, and although -Margaret was not conscious of any definite hope, on receiving -them, yet she always put away his notes with a little feeling of -disappointment. He was not going to Milton; he said nothing about -it at any rate. Well! she must be patient. Sooner or later the -mists would be cleared away. Mr. Bell's letters were hardly like -his usual self; they were short, and complaining, with every now -and then a little touch of bitterness that was unusual. He did -not look forward to the future; he rather seemed to regret the -past, and be weary of the present. Margaret fancied that he could -not be well; but in answer to some enquiry of hers as to his -health, he sent her a short note, saying there was an -old-fashioned complaint called the spleen; that he was suffering -from that, and it was for her to decide if it was more mental or -physical; but that he should like to indulge himself in -grumbling, without being obliged to send a bulletin every time. - -In consequence of this note, Margaret made no more enquiries -about his health. One day Edith let out accidentally a fragment -of a conversation which she had had with Mr. Bell, when he was -last in London, which possessed Margaret with the idea that he -had some notion of taking her to pay a visit to her brother and -new sister-in-law, at Cadiz, in the autumn. She questioned and -cross-questioned Edith, till the latter was weary, and declared -that there was nothing more to remember; all he had said was that -he half-thought he should go, and hear for himself what Frederick -had to say about the mutiny; and that it would be a good -opportunity for Margaret to become acquainted with her new -sister-in-law; that he always went somewhere during the long -vacation, and did not see why he should not go to Spain as well -as anywhere else. That was all. Edith hoped Margaret did not want -to leave them, that she was so anxious about all this. And then, -having nothing else particular to do, she cried, and said that -she knew she cared much more for Margaret than Margaret did for -her. Margaret comforted her as well as she could, but she could -hardly explain to her how this idea of Spain, mere Chateau en -Espagne as it might be, charmed and delighted her. Edith was in -the mood to think that any pleasure enjoyed away from her was a -tacit affront, or at best a proof of indifference. So Margaret -had to keep her pleasure to herself, and could only let it escape -by the safety-valve of asking Dixon, when she dressed for dinner, -if she would not like to see Master Frederick and his new wife -very much indeed? - -'She's a Papist, Miss, isn't she?' - -'I believe--oh yes, certainly!' said Margaret, a little damped -for an instant at this recollection. - -'And they live in a Popish country?' - -'Yes.' - -'Then I'm afraid I must say, that my soul is dearer to me than -even Master Frederick, his own dear self. I should be in a -perpetual terror, Miss, lest I should be converted.' - -'Oh' said Margaret, 'I do not know that I am going; and if I go, -I am not such a fine lady as to be unable to travel without you. -No! dear old Dixon, you shall have a long holiday, if we go. But -I'm afraid it is a long "if."' - -Now Dixon did not like this speech. In the first place, she did -not like Margaret's trick of calling her 'dear old Dixon' -whenever she was particularly demonstrative. She knew that Miss -Hale was apt to call all people that she liked 'old,' as a sort -of term of endearment; but Dixon always winced away from the -application of the word to herself, who, being not much past -fifty, was, she thought, in the very prime of life. Secondly, she -did not like being so easily taken at her word; she had, with all -her terror, a lurking curiosity about Spain, the Inquisition, and -Popish mysteries. So, after clearing her throat, as if to show -her willingness to do away with difficulties, she asked Miss -Hale, whether she thought if she took care never to see a priest, -or enter into one of their churches, there would be so very much -danger of her being converted? Master Frederick, to be sure, had -gone over unaccountable. - -'I fancy it was love that first predisposed him to conversion,' -said Margaret, sighing. - -'Indeed, Miss!' said Dixon; 'well! I can preserve myself from -priests, and from churches; but love steals in unawares! I think -it's as well I should not go.' - -Margaret was afraid of letting her mind run too much upon this -Spanish plan. But it took off her thoughts from too impatiently -dwelling upon her desire to have all explained to Mr. Thornton. -Mr. Bell appeared for the present to be stationary at Oxford, and -to have no immediate purpose of going to Milton, and some secret -restraint seemed to hang over Margaret, and prevent her from even -asking, or alluding again to any probability of such a visit on -his part. Nor did she feel at liberty to name what Edith had told -her of the idea he had entertained,--it might be but for five -minutes,--of going to Spain. He had never named it at Helstone, -during all that sunny day of leisure; it was very probably but -the fancy of a moment,--but if it were true, what a bright outlet -it would be from the monotony of her present life, which was -beginning to fall upon her. - -One of the great pleasures of Margaret's life at this time, was -in Edith's boy. He was the pride and plaything of both father and -mother, as long as he was good; but he had a strong will of his -own, and as soon as he burst out into one of his stormy passions, -Edith would throw herself back in despair and fatigue, and sigh -out, 'Oh dear, what shall I do with him! Do, Margaret, please -ring the bell for Hanley.' - -But Margaret almost liked him better in these manifestations of -character than in his good blue-sashed moods. She would carry him -off into a room, where they two alone battled it out; she with a -firm power which subdued him into peace, while every sudden charm -and wile she possessed, was exerted on the side of right, until -he would rub his little hot and tear-smeared face all over hers, -kissing and caressing till he often fell asleep in her arms or on -her shoulder. Those were Margaret's sweetest moments. They gave -her a taste of the feeling that she believed would be denied to -her for ever. - -Mr. Henry Lennox added a new and not disagreeable element to the -course of the household life by his frequent presence. Margaret -thought him colder, if more brilliant than formerly; but there -were strong intellectual tastes, and much and varied knowledge, -which gave flavour to the otherwise rather insipid conversation. -Margaret saw glimpses in him of a slight contempt for his brother -and sister-in-law, and for their mode of life, which he seemed to -consider as frivolous and purposeless. He once or twice spoke to -his brother, in Margaret's presence, in a pretty sharp tone of -enquiry, as to whether he meant entirely to relinquish his -profession; and on Captain Lennox's reply, that he had quite -enough to live upon, she had seen Mr. Lennox's curl of the lip as -he said, 'And is that all you live for?' - -But the brothers were much attached to each other, in the way -that any two persons are, when the one is cleverer and always -leads the other, and this last is patiently content to be led. -Mr. Lennox was pushing on in his profession; cultivating, with -profound calculation, all those connections that might eventually -be of service to him; keen-sighted, far-seeing, intelligent, -sarcastic, and proud. Since the one long conversation relating to -Frederick's affairs, which she had with him the first evening in -Mr. Bell's presence, she had had no great intercourse with him, -further than that which arose out of their close relations with -the same household. But this was enough to wear off the shyness -on her side, and any symptoms of mortified pride and vanity on -his. They met continually, of course, but she thought that he -rather avoided being alone with her; she fancied that he, as well -as she, perceived that they had drifted strangely apart from -their former anchorage, side by side, in many of their opinions, -and all their tastes. - -And yet, when he had spoken unusually well, or with remarkable -epigrammatic point, she felt that his eye sought the expression -of her countenance first of all, if but for an instant; and that, -in the family intercourse which constantly threw them together, -her opinion was the one to which he listened with a -deference,--the more complete, because it was reluctantly paid, -and concealed as much as possible. - - -CHAPTER XLVIII - - -'NE'ER TO BE FOUND AGAIN' - -'My own, my father's friend! -I cannot part with thee! -I ne'er have shown, thou ne'er hast known, -How dear thou art to me.' -ANON. - -The elements of the dinner-parties which Mrs. Lennox gave, were -these; her friends contributed the beauty, Captain Lennox the -easy knowledge of the subjects of the day; and Mr. Henry Lennox -and the sprinkling of rising men who were received as his -friends, brought the wit, the cleverness, the keen and extensive -knowledge of which they knew well enough how to avail themselves -without seeming pedantic, or burdening the rapid flow of -conversation. - -These dinners were delightful; but even here Margaret's -dissatisfaction found her out. Every talent, every feeling, every -acquirement; nay, even every tendency towards virtue was used up -as materials for fireworks; the hidden, sacred fire, exhausted -itself in sparkle and crackle. They talked about art in a merely -sensuous way, dwelling on outside effects, instead of allowing -themselves to learn what it has to teach. They lashed themselves -up into an enthusiasm about high subjects in company, and never -thought about them when they were alone; they squandered their -capabilities of appreciation into a mere flow of appropriate -words. One day, after the gentlemen had come up into the -drawing-room, Mr. Lennox drew near to Margaret, and addressed her -in almost the first voluntary words he had spoken to her since -she had returned to live in Harley Street. - -'You did not look pleased at what Shirley was saying at dinner.' - -'Didn't I? My face must be very expressive,' replied Margaret. - -'It always was. It has not lost the trick of being eloquent.' - -'I did not like,' said Margaret, hastily, 'his way of advocating -what he knew to be wrong--so glaringly wrong--even in jest.' - -'But it was very clever. How every word told! Do you remember the -happy epithets?' - -'Yes.' - -'And despise them, you would like to add. Pray don't scruple, -though he is my friend.' - -'There! that is the exact tone in you, that--' she stopped short. - -He listened for a moment to see if she would finish her sentence; -but she only reddened, and turned away; before she did so, -however, she heard him say, in a very low, clear voice,-- - -'If my tones, or modes of thought, are what you dislike, will you -do me the justice to tell me so, and so give me the chance of -learning to please you?' - -All these weeks there was no intelligence of Mr. Bell's going to -Milton. He had spoken of it at Helstone as of a journey which he -might have to take in a very short time from then; but he must -have transacted his business by writing, Margaret thought, ere -now, and she knew that if he could, he would avoid going to a -place which he disliked, and moreover would little understand the -secret importance which she affixed to the explanation that could -only be given by word of mouth. She knew that he would feel that -it was necessary that it should be done; but whether in summer, -autumn, or winter, it would signify very little. It was now -August, and there had been no mention of the Spanish journey to -which he had alluded to Edith, and Margaret tried to reconcile -herself to the fading away of this illusion. - -But one morning she received a letter, saying that next week he -meant to come up to town; he wanted to see her about a plan which -he had in his head; and, moreover, he intended to treat himself -to a little doctoring, as he had begun to come round to her -opinion, that it would be pleasanter to think that his health was -more in fault than he, when he found himself irritable and cross. -There was altogether a tone of forced cheerfulness in the letter, -as Margaret noticed afterwards; but at the time her attention was -taken up by Edith's exclamations. - -'Coming up to town! Oh dear! and I am so worn out by the heat -that I don't believe I have strength enough in me for another -dinner. Besides, everybody has left but our dear stupid selves, -who can't settle where to go to. There would be nobody to meet -him.' - -'I'm sure he would much rather come and dine with us quite alone -than with the most agreeable strangers you could pick up. -Besides, if he is not well he won't wish for invitations. I am -glad he has owned it at last. I was sure he was ill from the -whole tone of his letters, and yet he would not answer me when I -asked him, and I had no third person to whom I could apply for -news.' - -'Oh! he is not very ill, or he would not think of Spain.' - -'He never mentions Spain.' - -'No! but his plan that is to be proposed evidently relates to -that. But would you really go in such weather as this?' - -'Oh! it will get cooler every day. Yes! Think of it! I am only -afraid I have thought and wished too much--in that absorbing -wilful way which is sure to be disappointed--or else gratified, -to the letter, while in the spirit it gives no pleasure.' - -'But that's superstitious, I'm sure, Margaret.' - -'No, I don't think it is. Only it ought to warn me, and check me -from giving way to such passionate wishes. It is a sort of "Give -me children, or else I die." I'm afraid my cry is, "Let me go to -Cadiz, or else I die."' - -'My dear Margaret! You'll be persuaded to stay there; and then -what shall I do? Oh! I wish I could find somebody for you to -marry here, that I could be sure of you!' - -'I shall never marry.' - -'Nonsense, and double nonsense! Why, as Sholto says, you're such -an attraction to the house, that he knows ever so many men who -will be glad to Visit here next year for your sake.' - -Margaret drew herself up haughtily. 'Do you know, Edith, I -sometimes think your Corfu life has taught you----' - -'Well!' - -'Just a shade or two of coarseness.' - -Edith began to sob so bitterly, and to declare so vehemently that -Margaret had lost all love for her, and no longer looked upon her -as a friend, that Margaret came to think that she had expressed -too harsh an opinion for the relief of her own wounded pride, and -ended by being Edith's slave for the rest of the day; while that -little lady, overcome by wounded feeling, lay like a victim on -the sofa, heaving occasionally a profound sigh, till at last she -fell asleep. - -Mr. Bell did not make his appearance even on the day to which he -had for a second time deferred his visit. The next morning there -came a letter from Wallis, his servant, stating that his master -had not been feeling well for some time, which had been the true -reason of his putting off his journey; and that at the very time -when he should have set out for London, he had been seized with -an apoplectic fit; it was, indeed, Wallis added, the opinion of -the medical men--that he could not survive the night; and more -than probable, that by the time Miss Hale received this letter -his poor master would be no more. - -Margaret received this letter at breakfast-time, and turned very -pale as she read it; then silently putting it into Edith's hands, -she left the room. - -Edith was terribly shocked as she read it, and cried in a -sobbing, frightened, childish way, much to her husband's -distress. Mrs. Shaw was breakfasting in her own room, and upon -him devolved the task of reconciling his wife to the near contact -into which she seemed to be brought with death, for the first -time that she could remember in her life. Here was a man who was -to have dined with them to-day lying dead or dying instead! It -was some time before she could think of Margaret. Then she -started up, and followed her upstairs into her room. Dixon was -packing up a few toilette articles, and Margaret was hastily -putting on her bonnet, shedding tears all the time, and her hands -trembling so that she could hardly tie the strings. - -'Oh, dear Margaret! how shocking! What are you doing? Are you -going out? Sholto would telegraph or do anything you like.' - -'I am going to Oxford. There is a train in half-an-hour. Dixon -has offered to go with me, but I could have gone by myself. I -must see him again. Besides, he may be better, and want some -care. He has been like a father to me. Don't stop me, Edith.' - -'But I must. Mamma won't like it at all. Come and ask her about -it, Margaret. You don't know where you're going. I should not -mind if he had a house of his own; but in his Fellow's rooms! -Come to mamma, and do ask her before you go. It will not take a -minute.' - -Margaret yielded, and lost her train. In the suddenness of the -event, Mrs. Shaw became bewildered and hysterical, and so the -precious time slipped by. But there was another train in a couple -of hours; and after various discussions on propriety and -impropriety, it was decided that Captain Lennox should accompany -Margaret, as the one thing to which she was constant was her -resolution to go, alone or otherwise, by the next train, whatever -might be said of the propriety or impropriety of the step. Her -father's friend, her own friend, was lying at the point of death; -and the thought of this came upon her with such vividness, that -she was surprised herself at the firmness with which she asserted -something of her right to independence of action; and five -minutes before the time for starting, she found herself sitting -in a railway-carriage opposite to Captain Lennox. - -It was always a comfort to her to think that she had gone, though -it was only to hear that he had died in the night. She saw the -rooms that he had occupied, and associated them ever after most -fondly in her memory with the idea of her father, and his one -cherished and faithful friend. - -They had promised Edith before starting, that if all had ended as -they feared, they would return to dinner; so that long, lingering -look around the room in which her father had died, had to be -interrupted, and a quiet farewell taken of the kind old face that -had so often come out with pleasant words, and merry quips and -cranks. - -Captain Lennox fell asleep on their journey home; and Margaret -could cry at leisure, and bethink her of this fatal year, and all -the woes it had brought to her. No sooner was she fully aware of -one loss than another came--not to supersede her grief for the -one before, but to re-open wounds and feelings scarcely healed. -But at the sound of the tender voices of her aunt and Edith, of -merry little Sholto's glee at her arrival, and at the sight of -the well-lighted rooms, with their mistress pretty in her -paleness and her eager sorrowful interest, Margaret roused -herself from her heavy trance of almost superstitious -hopelessness, and began to feel that even around her joy and -gladness might gather. She had Edith's place on the sofa; Sholto -was taught to carry aunt Margaret's cup of tea very carefully to -her; and by the time she went up to dress, she could thank God -for having spared her dear old friend a long or a painful -illness. - -But when night came--solemn night, and all the house was quiet, -Margaret still sate watching the beauty of a London sky at such -an hour, on such a summer evening; the faint pink reflection of -earthly lights on the soft clouds that float tranquilly into the -white moonlight, out of the warm gloom which lies motionless -around the horizon. Margaret's room had been the day nursery of -her childhood, just when it merged into girlhood, and when the -feelings and conscience had been first awakened into full -activity. On some such night as this she remembered promising to -herself to live as brave and noble a life as any heroine she ever -read or heard of in romance, a life sans peur et sans reproche; -it had seemed to her then that she had only to will, and such a -life would be accomplished. And now she had learnt that not only -to will, but also to pray, was a necessary condition in the truly -heroic. Trusting to herself, she had fallen. It was a just -consequence of her sin, that all excuses for it, all temptation -to it, should remain for ever unknown to the person in whose -opinion it had sunk her lowest. She stood face to face at last -with her sin. She knew it for what it was; Mr. Bell's kindly -sophistry that nearly all men were guilty of equivocal actions, -and that the motive ennobled the evil, had never had much real -weight with her. Her own first thought of how, if she had known -all, she might have fearlessly told the truth, seemed low and -poor. Nay, even now, her anxiety to have her character for truth -partially excused in Mr. Thornton's eyes, as Mr. Bell had -promised to do, was a very small and petty consideration, now -that she was afresh taught by death what life should be. If all -the world spoke, acted, or kept silence with intent to -deceive,--if dearest interests were at stake, and dearest lives -in peril,--if no one should ever know of her truth or her -falsehood to measure out their honour or contempt for her by, -straight alone where she stood, in the presence of God, she -prayed that she might have strength to speak and act the truth -for evermore. - - -CHAPTER XLIX - - -BREATHING TRANQUILLITY - -'And down the sunny beach she paces slowly, -With many doubtful pauses by the way; -Grief hath an influence so hush'd and holy.' -HOOD. - -'Is not Margaret the heiress?' whispered Edith to her husband, as -they were in their room alone at night after the sad journey to -Oxford. She had pulled his tall head down, and stood upon tiptoe, -and implored him not to be shocked, before she had ventured to -ask this question. Captain Lennox was, however, quite in the -dark; if he had ever heard, he had forgotten; it could not be -much that a Fellow of a small college had to leave; but he had -never wanted her to pay for her board; and two hundred and fifty -pounds a year was something ridiculous, considering that she did -not take wine. Edith came down upon her feet a little bit sadder; -with a romance blown to pieces. - -A week afterwards, she came prancing towards her husband, and -made him a low curtsey: - -'I am right, and you are wrong, most noble Captain. Margaret has -had a lawyer's letter, and she is residuary legatee--the legacies -being about two thousand pounds, and the remainder about forty -thousand, at the present value of property in Milton.' - -'Indeed! and how does she take her good fortune?' - -'Oh, it seems she knew she was to have it all along; only she had -no idea it was so much. She looks very white and pale, and says -she's afraid of it; but that's nonsense, you know, and will soon -go off. I left mamma pouring congratulations down her throat, and -stole away to tell you.' - -It seemed to be supposed, by general consent, that the most -natural thing was to consider Mr. Lennox henceforward as -Margaret's legal adviser. She was so entirely ignorant of all -forms of business that in nearly everything she had to refer to -him. He chose out her attorney; he came to her with papers to be -signed. He was never so happy as when teaching her of what all -these mysteries of the law were the signs and types. - -'Henry,' said Edith, one day, archly; 'do you know what I hope -and expect all these long conversations with Margaret will end -in?' - -'No, I don't,' said he, reddening. 'And I desire you not to tell -me.' - -'Oh, very well; then I need not tell Sholto not to ask Mr. -Montagu so often to the house.' - -'Just as you choose,' said he with forced coolness. 'What you are -thinking of, may or may not happen; but this time, before I -commit myself, I will see my ground clear. Ask whom you choose. -It may not be very civil, Edith, but if you meddle in it you will -mar it. She has been very farouche with me for a long time; and -is only just beginning to thaw a little from her Zenobia ways. -She has the making of a Cleopatra in her, if only she were a -little more pagan.' - -'For my part,' said Edith, a little maliciously, 'I am very glad -she is a Christian. I know so very few!' - -There was no Spain for Margaret that autumn; although to the last -she hoped that some fortunate occasion would call Frederick to -Paris, whither she could easily have met with a convoy. Instead -of Cadiz, she had to content herself with Cromer. To that place -her aunt Shaw and the Lennoxes were bound. They had all along -wished her to accompany them, and, consequently, with their -characters, they made but lazy efforts to forward her own -separate wish. Perhaps Cromer was, in one sense of the -expression, the best for her. She needed bodily strengthening and -bracing as well as rest. - -Among other hopes that had vanished, was the hope, the trust she -had had, that Mr. Bell would have given Mr. Thornton the simple -facts of the family circumstances which had preceded the -unfortunate accident that led to Leonards' death. Whatever -opinion--however changed it might be from what Mr. Thornton had -once entertained, she had wished it to be based upon a true -understanding of what she had done; and why she had done it. It -would have been a pleasure to her; would have given her rest on a -point on which she should now all her life be restless, unless -she could resolve not to think upon it. It was now so long after -the time of these occurrences, that there was no possible way of -explaining them save the one which she had lost by Mr. Bell's -death. She must just submit, like many another, to be -misunderstood; but, though reasoning herself into the belief that -in this hers was no uncommon lot, her heart did not ache the less -with longing that some time--years and years hence--before he -died at any rate, he might know how much she had been tempted. -She thought that she did not want to hear that all was explained -to him, if only she could be sure that he would know. But this -wish was vain, like so many others; and when she had schooled -herself into this conviction, she turned with all her heart and -strength to the life that lay immediately before her, and -resolved to strive and make the best of that. - -She used to sit long hours upon the beach, gazing intently on the -waves as they chafed with perpetual motion against the pebbly -shore,--or she looked out upon the more distant heave, and -sparkle against the sky, and heard, without being conscious of -hearing, the eternal psalm, which went up continually. She was -soothed without knowing how or why. Listlessly she sat there, on -the ground, her hands clasped round her knees, while her aunt -Shaw did small shoppings, and Edith and Captain Lennox rode far -and wide on shore and inland. The nurses, sauntering on with -their charges, would pass and repass her, and wonder in whispers -what she could find to look at so long, day after day. And when -the family gathered at dinner-time, Margaret was so silent and -absorbed that Edith voted her moped, and hailed a proposal of her -husband's with great satisfaction, that Mr. Henry Lennox should -be asked to take Cromer for a week, on his return from Scotland -in October. - -But all this time for thought enabled Margaret to put events in -their right places, as to origin and significance, both as -regarded her past life and her future. Those hours by the -sea-side were not lost, as any one might have seen who had had -the perception to read, or the care to understand, the look that -Margaret's face was gradually acquiring. Mr. Henry Lennox was -excessively struck by the change. - -'The sea has done Miss Hale an immense deal of good, I should -fancy,' said he, when she first left the room after his arrival -in their family circle. 'She looks ten years younger than she did -in Harley Street.' - -'That's the bonnet I got her!' said Edith, triumphantly. 'I knew -it would suit her the moment I saw it.' - -'I beg your pardon,' said Mr. Lennox, in the half-contemptuous, -half-indulgent tone he generally used to Edith. 'But I believe I -know the difference between the charms of a dress and the charms -of a woman. No mere bonnet would have made Miss Hale's eyes so -lustrous and yet so soft, or her lips so ripe and red--and her -face altogether so full of peace and light.--She is like, and yet -more,'--he dropped his voice,--'like the Margaret Hale of -Helstone.' - -From this time the clever and ambitious man bent all his powers -to gaining Margaret. He loved her sweet beauty. He saw the latent -sweep of her mind, which could easily (he thought) be led to -embrace all the objects on which he had set his heart. He looked -upon her fortune only as a part of the complete and superb -character of herself and her position: yet he was fully aware of -the rise which it would immediately enable him, the poor -barrister, to take. Eventually he would earn such success, and -such honours, as would enable him to pay her back, with interest, -that first advance in wealth which he should owe to her. He had -been to Milton on business connected with her property, on his -return from Scotland; and with the quick eye of a skilled lawyer, -ready ever to take in and weigh contingencies, he had seen that -much additional value was yearly accruing to the lands and -tenements which she owned in that prosperous and increasing town. -He was glad to find that the present relationship between -Margaret and himself, of client and legal adviser, was gradually -superseding the recollection of that unlucky, mismanaged day at -Helstone. He had thus unusual opportunities of intimate -intercourse with her, besides those that arose from the -connection between the families. - -Margaret was only too willing to listen as long as he talked of -Milton, though he had seen none of the people whom she more -especially knew. It had been the tone with her aunt and cousin to -speak of Milton with dislike and contempt; just such feelings as -Margaret was ashamed to remember she had expressed and felt on -first going to live there. But Mr. Lennox almost exceeded -Margaret in his appreciation of the character of Milton and its -inhabitants. Their energy, their power, their indomitable courage -in struggling and fighting; their lurid vividness of existence, -captivated and arrested his attention. He was never tired of -talking about them; and had never perceived how selfish and -material were too many of the ends they proposed to themselves as -the result of all their mighty, untiring endeavour, till -Margaret, even in the midst of her gratification, had the candour -to point this out, as the tainting sin in so much that was noble, -and to be admired. Still, when other subjects palled upon her, -and she gave but short answers to many questions, Henry Lennox -found out that an enquiry as to some Darkshire peculiarity of -character, called back the light into her eye, the glow into her -cheek. - -When they returned to town, Margaret fulfilled one of her -sea-side resolves, and took her life into her own hands. Before -they went to Cromer, she had been as docile to her aunt's laws as -if she were still the scared little stranger who cried herself to -sleep that first night in the Harley Street nursery. But she had -learnt, in those solemn hours of thought, that she herself must -one day answer for her own life, and what she had done with it; -and she tried to settle that most difficult problem for women, -how much was to be utterly merged in obedience to authority, and -how much might be set apart for freedom in working. Mrs. Shaw was -as good-tempered as could be; and Edith had inherited this -charming domestic quality; Margaret herself had probably the -worst temper of the three, for her quick perceptions, and -over-lively imagination made her hasty, and her early isolation -from sympathy had made her proud; but she had an indescribable -childlike sweetness of heart, which made her manners, even in her -rarely wilful moods, irresistible of old; and now, chastened even -by what the world called her good fortune, she charmed her -reluctant aunt into acquiescence with her will. So Margaret -gained the acknowledgment of her right to follow her own ideas of -duty. - -'Only don't be strong-minded,' pleaded Edith. 'Mamma wants you to -have a footman of your own; and I'm sure you're very welcome, for -they're great plagues. Only to please me, darling, don't go and -have a strong mind; it's the only thing I ask. Footman or no -footman, don't be strong-minded.' - -'Don't be afraid, Edith. I'll faint on your hands at the -servants' dinner-time, the very first opportunity; and then, what -with Sholto playing with the fire, and the baby crying, you'll -begin to wish for a strong-minded woman, equal to any emergency.' - -'And you'll not grow too good to joke and be merry?' - -'Not I. I shall be merrier than I have ever been, now I have got -my own way.' - -'And you'll not go a figure, but let me buy your dresses for -you?' - -'Indeed I mean to buy them for myself. You shall come with me if -you like; but no one can please me but myself.' - -'Oh! I was afraid you'd dress in brown and dust-colour, not to -show the dirt you'll pick up in all those places. I'm glad you're -going to keep one or two vanities, just by way of specimens of -the old Adam.' - -'I'm going to be just the same, Edith, if you and my aunt could -but fancy so. Only as I have neither husband nor child to give me -natural duties, I must make myself some, in addition to ordering -my gowns.' - -In the family conclave, which was made up of Edith, her mother, -and her husband, it was decided that perhaps all these plans of -hers would only secure her the more for Henry Lennox. They kept -her out of the way of other friends who might have eligible sons -or brothers; and it was also agreed that she never seemed to take -much pleasure in the society of any one but Henry, out of their -own family. The other admirers, attracted by her appearance or -the reputation of her fortune, were swept away, by her -unconscious smiling disdain, into the paths frequented by other -beauties less fastidious, or other heiresses with a larger amount -of gold. Henry and she grew slowly into closer intimacy; but -neither he nor she were people to brook the slightest notice of -their proceedings. - - -CHAPTER L - - -CHANGES AT MILTON - -'Here we go up, up, up; -And here we go down, down, downee!' -NURSERY SONG. - -Meanwhile, at Milton the chimneys smoked, the ceaseless roar and -mighty beat, and dizzying whirl of machinery, struggled and -strove perpetually. Senseless and purposeless were wood and iron -and steam in their endless labours; but the persistence of their -monotonous work was rivalled in tireless endurance by the strong -crowds, who, with sense and with purpose, were busy and restless -in seeking after--What? In the streets there were few -loiterers,--none walking for mere pleasure; every man's face was -set in lines of eagerness or anxiety; news was sought for with -fierce avidity; and men jostled each other aside in the Mart and -in the Exchange, as they did in life, in the deep selfishness of -competition. There was gloom over the town. Few came to buy, and -those who did were looked at suspiciously by the sellers; for -credit was insecure, and the most stable might have their -fortunes affected by the sweep in the great neighbouring port -among the shipping houses. Hitherto there had been no failures in -Milton; but, from the immense speculations that had come to light -in making a bad end in America, and yet nearer home, it was known -that some Milton houses of business must suffer so severely that -every day men's faces asked, if their tongues did not, 'What -news? Who is gone? How will it affect me?' And if two or three -spoke together, they dwelt rather on the names of those who were -safe than dared to hint at those likely, in their opinion, to go; -for idle breath may, at such times, cause the downfall of some -who might otherwise weather the storm; and one going down drags -many after. 'Thornton is safe,' say they. 'His business is -large--extending every year; but such a head as he has, and so -prudent with all his daring!' Then one man draws another aside, -and walks a little apart, and, with head inclined into his -neighbour's ear, he says, 'Thornton's business is large; but he -has spent his profits in extending it; he has no capital laid by; -his machinery is new within these two years, and has cost him--we -won't say what!--a word to the wise!' But that Mr. Harrison was a -croaker,--a man who had succeeded to his father's trade-made -fortune, which he had feared to lose by altering his mode of -business to any having a larger scope; yet he grudged every penny -made by others more daring and far-sighted. - -But the truth was, Mr. Thornton was hard pressed. He felt it -acutely in his vulnerable point--his pride in the commercial -character which he had established for himself. Architect of his -own fortunes, he attributed this to no special merit or qualities -of his own, but to the power, which he believed that commerce -gave to every brave, honest, and persevering man, to raise -himself to a level from which he might see and read the great -game of worldly success, and honestly, by such far-sightedness, -command more power and influence than in any other mode of life. -Far away, in the East and in the West, where his person would -never be known, his name was to be regarded, and his wishes to be -fulfilled, and his word pass like gold. That was the idea of -merchant-life with which Mr. Thornton had started. 'Her merchants -be like princes,' said his mother, reading the text aloud, as if -it were a trumpet-call to invite her boy to the struggle. He was -but like many others--men, women, and children--alive to distant, -and dead to near things. He sought to possess the influence of a -name in foreign countries and far-away seas,--to become the head -of a firm that should be known for generations; and it had taken -him long silent years to come even to a glimmering of what he -might be now, to-day, here in his own town, his own factory, -among his own people. He and they had led parallel lives--very -close, but never touching--till the accident (or so it seemed) of -his acquaintance with Higgins. Once brought face to face, man to -man, with an individual of the masses around him, and (take -notice) out of the character of master and workman, in the first -instance, they had each begun to recognise that 'we have all of -us one human heart.' It was the fine point of the wedge; and -until now, when the apprehension of losing his connection with -two or three of the workmen whom he had so lately begun to know -as men,--of having a plan or two, which were experiments lying -very close to his heart, roughly nipped off without trial,--gave -a new poignancy to the subtle fear that came over him from time -to time; until now, he had never recognised how much and how deep -was the interest he had grown of late to feel in his position as -manufacturer, simply because it led him into such close contact, -and gave him the opportunity of so much power, among a race of -people strange, shrewd, ignorant; but, above all, full of -character and strong human feeling. - -He reviewed his position as a Milton manufacturer. The strike a -year and a half ago,--or more, for it was now untimely wintry -weather, in a late spring,--that strike, when he was young, and -he now was old--had prevented his completing some of the large -orders he had then on hand. He had locked up a good deal of his -capital in new and expensive machinery, and he had also bought -cotton largely, for the fulfilment of these orders, taken under -contract. That he had not been able to complete them, was owing -in some degree to the utter want of skill on the part of the -Irish hands whom he had imported; much of their work was damaged -and unfit to be sent forth by a house which prided itself on -turning out nothing but first-rate articles. For many months, the -embarrassment caused by the strike had been an obstacle in Mr. -Thornton's way; and often, when his eye fell on Higgins, he could -have spoken angrily to him without any present cause, just from -feeling how serious was the injury that had arisen from this -affair in which he was implicated. But when he became conscious -of this sudden, quick resentment, he resolved to curb it. It -would not satisfy him to avoid Higgins; he must convince himself -that he was master over his own anger, by being particularly -careful to allow Higgins access to him, whenever the strict rules -of business, or Mr. Thornton's leisure permitted. And by-and-bye, -he lost all sense of resentment in wonder how it was, or could -be, that two men like himself and Higgins, living by the same -trade, working in their different ways at the same object, could -look upon each other's position and duties in so strangely -different a way. And thence arose that intercourse, which though -it might not have the effect of preventing all future clash of -opinion and action, when the occasion arose, would, at any rate, -enable both master and man to look upon each other with far more -charity and sympathy, and bear with each other more patiently and -kindly. Besides this improvement of feeling, both Mr. Thornton -and his workmen found out their ignorance as to positive matters -of fact, known heretofore to one side, but not to the other. - -But now had come one of those periods of bad trade, when the -market falling brought down the value of all large stocks; Mr. -Thornton's fell to nearly half. No orders were coming in; so he -lost the interest of the capital he had locked up in machinery; -indeed, it was difficult to get payment for the orders completed; -yet there was the constant drain of expenses for working the -business. Then the bills became due for the cotton he had -purchased; and money being scarce, he could only borrow at -exorbitant interest, and yet he could not realise any of his -property. But he did not despair; he exerted himself day and -night to foresee and to provide for all emergencies; he was as -calm and gentle to the women in his home as ever; to the workmen -in his mill he spoke not many words, but they knew him by this -time; and many a curt, decided answer was received by them rather -with sympathy for the care they saw pressing upon him, than with -the suppressed antagonism which had formerly been smouldering, -and ready for hard words and hard judgments on all occasions. -'Th' measter's a deal to potter him,' said Higgins, one day, as -he heard Mr. Thornton's short, sharp inquiry, why such a command -had not been obeyed; and caught the sound of the suppressed sigh -which he heaved in going past the room where some of the men were -working. Higgins and another man stopped over-hours that night, -unknown to any one, to get the neglected piece of work done; and -Mr. Thornton never knew but that the overlooker, to whom he had -given the command in the first instance, had done it himself. - -'Eh! I reckon I know who'd ha' been sorry for to see our measter -sitting so like a piece o' grey calico! Th' ou'd parson would ha' -fretted his woman's heart out, if he'd seen the woeful looks I -have seen on our measter's face,' thought Higgins, one day, as he -was approaching Mr. Thornton in Marlborough Street. - -'Measter,' said he, stopping his employer in his quick resolved -walk, and causing that gentleman to look up with a sudden annoyed -start, as if his thoughts had been far away. - -'Have yo' heerd aught of Miss Marget lately?' - -'Miss--who?' replied Mr. Thornton. - -'Miss Marget--Miss Hale--th' oud parson's daughter--yo known who -I mean well enough, if yo'll only think a bit--' (there was -nothing disrespectful in the tone in which this was said). - -'Oh yes!' and suddenly, the wintry frost-bound look of care had -left Mr. Thornton's face, as if some soft summer gale had blown -all anxiety away from his mind; and though his mouth was as much -compressed as before, his eyes smiled out benignly on his -questioner. - -'She's my landlord now, you know, Higgins. I hear of her through -her agent here, every now and then. She's well and among -friends--thank you, Higgins.' That 'thank you' that lingered -after the other words, and yet came with so much warmth of -feeling, let in a new light to the acute Higgins. It might be but -a will-o'-th'-wisp, but he thought he would follow it and -ascertain whither it would lead him. - -'And she's not getten married, measter?' - -'Not yet.' The face was cloudy once more. 'There is some talk of -it, as I understand, with a connection of the family.' - -'Then she'll not be for coming to Milton again, I reckon.' - -'No!' - -'Stop a minute, measter.' Then going up confidentially close, he -said, 'Is th' young gentleman cleared?' He enforced the depth of -his intelligence by a wink of the eye, which only made things -more mysterious to Mr. Thornton. - -'Th' young gentleman, I mean--Master Frederick, they ca'ad -him--her brother as was over here, yo' known.' - -'Over here.' - -'Ay, to be sure, at th' missus's death. Yo' need na be feared of -my telling; for Mary and me, we knowed it all along, only we held -our peace, for we got it through Mary working in th' house.' - -'And he was over. It was her brother!' - -'Sure enough, and I reckoned yo' knowed it or I'd never ha' let -on. Yo' knowed she had a brother?' - -'Yes, I know all about him. And he was over at Mrs. Hale's -death?' - -'Nay! I'm not going for to tell more. I've maybe getten them into -mischief already, for they kept it very close. I nobbut wanted to -know if they'd getten him cleared?' - -'Not that I know of. I know nothing. I only hear of Miss Hale, -now, as my landlord, and through her lawyer.' - -He broke off from Higgins, to follow the business on which he had -been bent when the latter first accosted him; leaving Higgins -baffled in his endeavour. - -'It was her brother,' said Mr. Thornton to himself. 'I am glad. I -may never see her again; but it is a comfort--a relief--to know -that much. I knew she could not be unmaidenly; and yet I yearned -for conviction. Now I am glad!' - -It was a little golden thread running through the dark web of his -present fortunes; which were growing ever gloomier and more -gloomy. His agent had largely trusted a house in the American -trade, which went down, along with several others, just at this -time, like a pack of cards, the fall of one compelling other -failures. What were Mr. Thornton's engagements? Could he stand? - -Night after night he took books and papers into his own private -room, and sate up there long after the family were gone to bed. -He thought that no one knew of this occupation of the hours he -should have spent in sleep. One morning, when daylight was -stealing in through the crevices of his shutters, and he had -never been in bed, and, in hopeless indifference of mind, was -thinking that he could do without the hour or two of rest, which -was all that he should be able to take before the stir of daily -labour began again, the door of his room opened, and his mother -stood there, dressed as she had been the day before. She had -never laid herself down to slumber any more than he. Their eyes -met. Their faces were cold and rigid, and wan, from long -watching. - -'Mother! why are not you in bed?' - -'Son John,' said she, 'do you think I can sleep with an easy -mind, while you keep awake full of care? You have not told me -what your trouble is; but sore trouble you have had these many -days past.' - -'Trade is bad.' - -'And you dread--' - -'I dread nothing,' replied he, drawing up his head, and holding -it erect. 'I know now that no man will suffer by me. That was my -anxiety.' - -'But how do you stand? Shall you--will it be a failure?' her -steady voice trembling in an unwonted manner. - -'Not a failure. I must give up business, but I pay all men. I -might redeem myself--I am sorely tempted--' - -'How? Oh, John! keep up your name--try all risks for that. How -redeem it?' - -'By a speculation offered to me, full of risk; but, if -successful, placing me high above water-mark, so that no one need -ever know the strait I am in. Still, if it fails--' - -'And if it fails,' said she, advancing, and laying her hand on -his arm, her eyes full of eager light. She held her breath to -hear the end of his speech. - -'Honest men are ruined by a rogue,' said he gloomily. 'As I stand -now, my creditors, money is safe--every farthing of it; but I -don't know where to find my own--it may be all gone, and I -penniless at this moment. Therefore, it is my creditors' money -that I should risk.' - -'But if it succeeded, they need never know. Is it so desperate a -speculation? I am sure it is not, or you would never have thought -of it. If it succeeded--' - -'I should be a rich man, and my peace of conscience would be -gone!' - -'Why! You would have injured no one.' - -'No; but I should have run the risk of ruining many for my own -paltry aggrandisement. Mother, I have decided! You won't much -grieve over our leaving this house, shall you, dear mother?' - -'No! but to have you other than what you are will break my heart. -What can you do?' - -'Be always the same John Thornton in whatever circumstances; -endeavouring to do right, and making great blunders; and then -trying to be brave in setting to afresh. But it is hard, mother. -I have so worked and planned. I have discovered new powers in my -situation too late--and now all is over. I am too old to begin -again with the same heart. It is hard, mother.' - -He turned away from her, and covered his face with his hands. - -'I can't think,' said she, with gloomy defiance in her tone, 'how -it comes about. Here is my boy--good son, just man, tender -heart--and he fails in all he sets his mind upon: he finds a -woman to love, and she cares no more for his affection than if he -had been any common man; he labours, and his labour comes to -nought. Other people prosper and grow rich, and hold their paltry -names high and dry above shame.' - -'Shame never touched me,' said he, in a low tone: but she went -on. - -'I sometimes have wondered where justice was gone to, and now I -don't believe there is such a thing in the world,--now you are -come to this; you, my own John Thornton, though you and I may be -beggars together--my own dear son!' - -She fell upon his neck, and kissed him through her tears. - -'Mother!' said he, holding her gently in his arms, 'who has sent -me my lot in life, both of good and of evil?' - -She shook her head. She would have nothing to do with religion -just then. - -'Mother,' he went on, seeing that she would not speak, 'I, too, -have been rebellious; but I am striving to be so no longer. Help -me, as you helped me when I was a child. Then you said many good -words--when my father died, and we were sometimes sorely short of -comforts--which we shall never be now; you said brave, noble, -trustful words then, mother, which I have never forgotten, though -they may have lain dormant. Speak to me again in the old way, -mother. Do not let us have to think that the world has too much -hardened our hearts. If you would say the old good words, it -would make me feel something of the pious simplicity of my -childhood. I say them to myself, but they would come differently -from you, remembering all the cares and trials you have had to -bear.' - -'I have had a many,' said she, sobbing, 'but none so sore as -this. To see you cast down from your rightful place! I could say -it for myself, John, but not for you. Not for you! God has seen -fit to be very hard on you, very.' - -She shook with the sobs that come so convulsively when an old -person weeps. The silence around her struck her at last; and she -quieted herself to listen. No sound. She looked. Her son sate by -the table, his arms thrown half across it, his head bent face -downwards. - -'Oh, John!' she said, and she lifted his face up. Such a strange, -pallid look of gloom was on it, that for a moment it struck her -that this look was the forerunner of death; but, as the rigidity -melted out of the countenance and the natural colour returned, -and she saw that he was himself once again, all worldly -mortification sank to nothing before the consciousness of the -great blessing that he himself by his simple existence was to -her. She thanked God for this, and this alone, with a fervour -that swept away all rebellious feelings from her mind. - -He did not speak readily; but he went and opened the shutters, -and let the ruddy light of dawn flood the room. But the wind was -in the east; the weather was piercing cold, as it had been for -weeks; there would be no demand for light summer goods this year. -That hope for the revival of trade must utterly be given up. - -It was a great comfort to have had this conversation with his -mother; and to feel sure that, however they might henceforward -keep silence on all these anxieties, they yet understood each -other's feelings, and were, if not in harmony, at least not in -discord with each other, in their way of viewing them. Fanny's -husband was vexed at Thornton's refusal to take any share in the -speculation which he had offered to him, and withdrew from any -possibility of being supposed able to assist him with the ready -money, which indeed the speculator needed for his own venture. - -There was nothing for it at last, but that which Mr. Thornton had -dreaded for many weeks; he had to give up the business in which -he had been so long engaged with so much honour and success; and -look out for a subordinate situation. Marlborough Mills and the -adjacent dwelling were held under a long lease; they must, if -possible, be relet. There was an immediate choice of situations -offered to Mr. Thornton. Mr. Hamper would have been only too glad -to have secured him as a steady and experienced partner for his -son, whom he was setting up with a large capital in a -neighbouring town; but the young man was half-educated as -regarded information, and wholly uneducated as regarded any other -responsibility than that of getting money, and brutalised both as -to his pleasures and his pains. Mr. Thornton declined having any -share in a partnership, which would frustrate what few plans he -had that survived the wreck of his fortunes. He would sooner -consent to be only a manager, where he could have a certain -degree of power beyond the mere money-getting part, than have to -fall in with the tyrannical humours of a moneyed partner with -whom he felt sure that he should quarrel in a few months. - -So he waited, and stood on one side with profound humility, as -the news swept through the Exchange, of the enormous fortune -which his brother-in-law had made by his daring speculation. It -was a nine days' wonder. Success brought with it its worldly -consequence of extreme admiration. No one was considered so wise -and far-seeing as Mr. Watson. - - -CHAPTER LI - - -MEETING AGAIN - -'Bear up, brave heart! we will be calm and strong; -Sure, we can master eyes, or cheek, or tongue, -Nor let the smallest tell-tale sign appear -She ever was, and is, and will be dear.' -RHYMING PLAY. - -It was a hot summer's evening. Edith came into Margaret's -bedroom, the first time in her habit, the second ready dressed -for dinner. No one was there at first; the next time Edith found -Dixon laying out Margaret's dress on the bed; but no Margaret. -Edith remained to fidget about. - -'Oh, Dixon! not those horrid blue flowers to that dead -gold-coloured gown. What taste! Wait a minute, and I will bring -you some pomegranate blossoms.' - -'It's not a dead gold-colour, ma'am. It's a straw-colour. And -blue always goes with straw-colour.' But Edith had brought the -brilliant scarlet flowers before Dixon had got half through her -remonstrance. - -'Where is Miss Hale?' asked Edith, as soon as she had tried the -effect of the garniture. 'I can't think,' she went on, pettishly, -'how my aunt allowed her to get into such rambling habits in -Milton! I'm sure I'm always expecting to hear of her having met -with something horrible among all those wretched places she pokes -herself into. I should never dare to go down some of those -streets without a servant. They're not fit for ladies.' - -Dixon was still huffed about her despised taste; so she replied, -rather shortly: - -'It's no wonder to my mind, when I hear ladies talk such a deal -about being ladies--and when they're such fearful, delicate, -dainty ladies too--I say it's no wonder to me that there are no -longer any saints on earth----' - -'Oh, Margaret! here you are! I have been so wanting you. But how -your cheeks are flushed with the heat, poor child! But only think -what that tiresome Henry has done; really, he exceeds -brother-in-law's limits. Just when my party was made up so -beautifully--fitted in so precisely for Mr. Colthurst--there has -Henry come, with an apology it is true, and making use of your -name for an excuse, and asked me if he may bring that Mr. -Thornton of Milton--your tenant, you know--who is in London about -some law business. It will spoil my number, quite.' - -'I don't mind dinner. I don't want any,' said Margaret, in a low -voice. 'Dixon can get me a cup of tea here, and I will be in the -drawing-room by the time you come up. I shall really be glad to -lie down.' - -'No, no! that will never do. You do look wretchedly white, to be -sure; but that is just the heat, and we can't do without you -possibly. (Those flowers a little lower, Dixon. They look -glorious flames, Margaret, in your black hair.) You know we -planned you to talk about Milton to Mr. Colthurst. Oh! to be -sure! and this man comes from Milton. I believe it will be -capital, after all. Mr. Colthurst can pump him well on all the -subjects in which he is interested, and it will be great fun to -trace out your experiences, and this Mr. Thornton's wisdom, in -Mr. Colthurst's next speech in the House. Really, I think it is a -happy hit of Henry's. I asked him if he was a man one would be -ashamed of; and he replied, "Not if you've any sense in you, my -little sister." So I suppose he Is able to sound his h's, which -is not a common Darkshire accomplishment--eh, Margaret?' - -'Mr. Lennox did not say why Mr. Thornton was come up to town? Was -it law business connected with the property?' asked Margaret, in -a constrained voice. - -'Oh! he's failed, or something of the kind, that Henry told you -of that day you had such a headache,--what was it? (There, that's -capital, Dixon. Miss Hale does us credit, does she not?) I wish I -was as tall as a queen, and as brown as a gipsy, Margaret.' - -'But about Mr. Thornton?' - -'Oh I really have such a terrible head for law business. Henry -will like nothing better than to tell you all about it. I know -the impression he made upon me was, that Mr. Thornton is very -badly off, and a very respectable man, and that I'm to be very -civil to him; and as I did not know how, I came to you to ask you -to help me. And now come down with me, and rest on the sofa for a -quarter of an hour.' - -The privileged brother-in-law came early and Margaret reddening -as she spoke, began to ask him the questions she wanted to hear -answered about Mr. Thornton. - -'He came up about this sub-letting the property--Marlborough -Mills, and the house and premises adjoining, I mean. He is unable -to keep it on; and there are deeds and leases to be looked over, -and agreements to be drawn up. I hope Edith will receive him -properly; but she was rather put out, as I could see, by the -liberty I had taken in begging for an invitation for him. But I -thought you would like to have some attention shown him: and one -would be particularly scrupulous in paying every respect to a man -who is going down in the world.' He had dropped his voice to -speak to Margaret, by whom he was sitting; but as he ended he -sprang up, and introduced Mr. Thornton, who had that moment -entered, to Edith and Captain Lennox. - -Margaret looked with an anxious eye at Mr. Thornton while he was -thus occupied. It was considerably more than a year since she had -seen him; and events had occurred to change him much in that -time. His fine figure yet bore him above the common height of -men; and gave him a distinguished appearance, from the ease of -motion which arose out of it, and was natural to him; but his -face looked older and care-worn; yet a noble composure sate upon -it, which impressed those who had just been hearing of his -changed position, with a sense of inherent dignity and manly -strength. He was aware, from the first glance he had given round -the room, that Margaret was there; he had seen her intent look of -occupation as she listened to Mr. Henry Lennox; and he came up to -her with the perfectly regulated manner of an old friend. With -his first calm words a vivid colour flashed into her cheeks, -which never left them again during the evening. She did not seem -to have much to say to him. She disappointed him by the quiet way -in which she asked what seemed to him to be the merely necessary -questions respecting her old acquaintances, in Milton; but others -came in--more intimate in the house than he--and he fell into the -background, where he and Mr. Lennox talked together from time to -time. - -'You think Miss Hale looking well,' said Mr. Lennox, 'don't you? -Milton didn't agree with her, I imagine; for when she first came -to London, I thought I had never seen any one so much changed. -To-night she is looking radiant. But she is much stronger. Last -autumn she was fatigued with a walk of a couple of miles. On -Friday evening we walked up to Hampstead and back. Yet on -Saturday she looked as well as she does now. - -'We!' Who? They two alone? - -Mr. Colthurst was a very clever man, and a rising member of -parliament. He had a quick eye at discerning character, and was -struck by a remark which Mr. Thornton made at dinner-time. He -enquired from Edith who that gentleman was; and, rather to her -surprise, she found, from the tone of his 'Indeed!' that Mr. -Thornton of Milton was not such an unknown name to him as she had -imagined it would be. Her dinner was going off well. Henry was in -good humour, and brought out his dry caustic wit admirably. Mr. -Thornton and Mr. Colthurst found one or two mutual subjects of -interest, which they could only touch upon then, reserving them -for more private after-dinner talk. Margaret looked beautiful in -the pomegranate flowers; and if she did lean back in her chair -and speak but little, Edith was not annoyed, for the conversation -flowed on smoothly without her. Margaret was watching Mr. -Thornton's face. He never looked at her; so she might study him -unobserved, and note the changes which even this short time had -wrought in him. Only at some unexpected mot of Mr. Lennox's, his -face flashed out into the old look of intense enjoyment; the -merry brightness returned to his eyes, the lips just parted to -suggest the brilliant smile of former days; and for an instant, -his glance instinctively sought hers, as if he wanted her -sympathy. But when their eyes met, his whole countenance changed; -he was grave and anxious once more; and he resolutely avoided -even looking near her again during dinner. - -There were only two ladies besides their own party, and as these -were occupied in conversation by her aunt and Edith, when they -went up into the drawing-room, Margaret languidly employed -herself about some work. Presently the gentlemen came up, Mr. -Colthurst and Mr. Thornton in close conversation. Mr. Lennox drew -near to Margaret, and said in a low voice: - -'I really think Edith owes me thanks for my contribution to her -party. You've no idea what an agreeable, sensible fellow this -tenant of yours is. He has been the very man to give Colthurst -all the facts he wanted coaching in. I can't conceive how he -contrived to mismanage his affairs.' - -'With his powers and opportunities you would have succeeded,' -said Margaret. He did not quite relish the tone in which she -spoke, although the words but expressed a thought which had -passed through his own mind. As he was silent, they caught a -swell in the sound of conversation going on near the fire-place -between Mr. Colthurst and Mr. Thornton. - -'I assure you, I heard it spoken of with great -interest--curiosity as to its result, perhaps I should rather -say. I heard your name frequently mentioned during my short stay -in the neighbourhood.' Then they lost some words; and when next -they could hear Mr. Thornton was speaking. - -'I have not the elements for popularity--if they spoke of me in -that way, they were mistaken. I fall slowly into new projects; -and I find it difficult to let myself be known, even by those -whom I desire to know, and with whom I would fain have no -reserve. Yet, even with all these drawbacks, I felt that I was on -the right path, and that, starting from a kind of friendship with -one, I was becoming acquainted with many. The advantages were -mutual: we were both unconsciously and consciously teaching each -other.' - -'You say "were." I trust you are intending to pursue the same -course?' - -'I must stop Colthurst,' said Henry Lennox, hastily. And by an -abrupt, yet apropos question, he turned the current of the -conversation, so as not to give Mr. Thornton the mortification of -acknowledging his want of success and consequent change of -position. But as soon as the newly-started subject had come to a -close, Mr. Thornton resumed the conversation just where it had -been interrupted, and gave Mr. Colthurst the reply to his -inquiry. - -'I have been unsuccessful in business, and have had to give up my -position as a master. I am on the look out for a situation in -Milton, where I may meet with employment under some one who will -be willing to let me go along my own way in such matters as -these. I can depend upon myself for having no go-ahead theories -that I would rashly bring into practice. My only wish is to have -the opportunity of cultivating some intercourse with the hands -beyond the mere "cash nexus." But it might be the point -Archimedes sought from which to move the earth, to judge from the -importance attached to it by some of our manufacturers, who shake -their heads and look grave as soon as I name the one or two -experiments that I should like to try.' - -'You call them "experiments" I notice,' said Mr. Colthurst, with -a delicate increase of respect in his manner. - -'Because I believe them to be such. I am not sure of the -consequences that may result from them. But I am sure they ought -to be tried. I have arrived at the conviction that no mere -institutions, however wise, and however much thought may have -been required to organise and arrange them, can attach class to -class as they should be attached, unless the working out of such -institutions bring the individuals of the different classes into -actual personal contact. Such intercourse is the very breath of -life. A working man can hardly be made to feel and know how much -his employer may have laboured in his study at plans for the -benefit of his workpeople. A complete plan emerges like a piece -of machinery, apparently fitted for every emergency. But the -hands accept it as they do machinery, without understanding the -intense mental labour and forethought required to bring it to -such perfection. But I would take an idea, the working out of -which would necessitate personal intercourse; it might not go -well at first, but at every hitch interest would be felt by an -increasing number of men, and at last its success in working come -to be desired by all, as all had borne a part in the formation of -the plan; and even then I am sure that it would lose its -vitality, cease to be living, as soon as it was no longer carried -on by that sort of common interest which invariably makes people -find means and ways of seeing each other, and becoming acquainted -with each others' characters and persons, and even tricks of -temper and modes of speech. We should understand each other -better, and I'll venture to say we should like each other more.' - -'And you think they may prevent the recurrence of strikes?' - -'Not at all. My utmost expectation only goes so far as this--that -they may render strikes not the bitter, venomous sources of -hatred they have hitherto been. A more hopeful man might imagine -that a closer and more genial intercourse between classes might -do away with strikes. But I am not a hopeful man.' - -Suddenly, as if a new idea had struck him, he crossed over to -where Margaret was sitting, and began, without preface, as if he -knew she had been listening to all that had passed: - -'Miss Hale, I had a round-robin from some of my men--I suspect in -Higgins' handwriting--stating their wish to work for me, if ever -I was in a position to employ men again on my own behalf. That -was good, wasn't it?' - -'Yes. Just right. I am glad of it,' said Margaret, looking up -straight into his face with her speaking eyes, and then dropping -them under his eloquent glance. He gazed back at her for a -minute, as if he did not know exactly what he was about. Then -sighed; and saying, 'I knew you would like it,' he turned away, -and never spoke to her again until he bid her a formal 'good -night.' - -As Mr. Lennox took his departure, Margaret said, with a blush -that she could not repress, and with some hesitation, - -'Can I speak to you to-morrow? I want your help -about--something.' - -'Certainly. I will come at whatever time you name. You cannot -give me a greater pleasure than by making me of any use. At -eleven? Very well.' - -His eye brightened with exultation. How she was learning to -depend upon him! It seemed as if any day now might give him the -certainty, without having which he had determined never to offer -to her again. - - -CHAPTER LII - - -'PACK CLOUDS AWAY' - -'For joy or grief, for hope or fear, -For all hereafter, as for here, -In peace or strife, in storm or shine.' -ANON. - -Edith went about on tip-toe, and checked Sholto in all loud -speaking that next morning, as if any sudden noise would -interrupt the conference that was taking place in the -drawing-room. Two o'clock came; and they still sate there with -closed doors. Then there was a man's footstep running down -stairs; and Edith peeped out of the drawing-room. - -'Well, Henry?' said she, with a look of interrogation. - -'Well!' said he, rather shortly. - -'Come in to lunch!' - -'No, thank you, I can't. I've lost too much time here already.' - -'Then it's not all settled,' said Edith despondingly. - -'No! not at all. It never will be settled, if the "it" is what I -conjecture you mean. That will never be, Edith, so give up -thinking about it.' - -'But it would be so nice for us all,' pleaded Edith. 'I should -always feel comfortable about the children, if I had Margaret -settled down near me. As it is, I am always afraid of her going -off to Cadiz.' - -'I will try, when I marry, to look out for a young lady who has a -knowledge of the management of children. That is all I can do. -Miss Hale would not have me. And I shall not ask her.' - -'Then, what have you been talking about?' - -'A thousand things you would not understand: investments, and -leases, and value of land.' - -'Oh, go away if that's all. You and she will be unbearably -stupid, if you've been talking all this time about such weary -things.' - -'Very well. I'm coming again to-morrow, and bringing Mr. Thornton -with me, to have some more talk with Miss Hale.' - -'Mr. Thornton! What has he to do with it?' - -'He is Miss Hale's tenant,' said Mr. Lennox, turning away. 'And -he wishes to give up his lease.' - -'Oh! very well. I can't understand details, so don't give them -me.' - -'The only detail I want you to understand is, to let us have the -back drawing-room undisturbed, as it was to-day. In general, the -children and servants are so in and out, that I can never get any -business satisfactorily explained; and the arrangements we have -to make to-morrow are of importance.' - -No one ever knew why Mr. Lennox did not keep to his appointment -on the following day. Mr. Thornton came true to his time; and, -after keeping him waiting for nearly an hour, Margaret came in -looking very white and anxious. - -She began hurriedly: - -'I am so sorry Mr. Lennox is not here,--he could have done it so -much better than I can. He is my adviser in this'---- - -'I am sorry that I came, if it troubles you. Shall I go to Mr. -Lennox's chambers and try and find him?' - -'No, thank you. I wanted to tell you, how grieved I was to find -that I am to lose you as a tenant. But, Mr. Lennox says, things -are sure to brighten'---- - -'Mr. Lennox knows little about it,' said Mr. Thornton quietly. -'Happy and fortunate in all a man cares for, he does not -understand what it is to find oneself no longer young--yet thrown -back to the starting-point which requires the hopeful energy of -youth--to feel one half of life gone, and nothing done--nothing -remaining of wasted opportunity, but the bitter recollection that -it has been. Miss Hale, I would rather not hear Mr. Lennox's -opinion of my affairs. Those who are happy and successful -themselves are too apt to make light of the misfortunes of -others.' - -'You are unjust,' said Margaret, gently. 'Mr. Lennox has only -spoken of the great probability which he believes there to be of -your redeeming--your more than redeeming what you have -lost--don't speak till I have ended--pray don't!' And collecting -herself once more, she went on rapidly turning over some law -papers, and statements of accounts in a trembling hurried manner. -'Oh! here it is! and--he drew me out a proposal--I wish he was -here to explain it--showing that if you would take some money of -mine, eighteen thousand and fifty-seven pounds, lying just at -this moment unused in the bank, and bringing me in only two and a -half per cent.--you could pay me much better interest, and might -go on working Marlborough Mills.' Her voice had cleared itself -and become more steady. Mr. Thornton did not speak, and she went -on looking for some paper on which were written down the -proposals for security; for she was most anxious to have it all -looked upon in the light of a mere business arrangement, in which -the principal advantage would be on her side. While she sought -for this paper, her very heart-pulse was arrested by the tone in -which Mr. Thornton spoke. His voice was hoarse, and trembling -with tender passion, as he said:-- - -'Margaret!' - -For an instant she looked up; and then sought to veil her -luminous eyes by dropping her forehead on her hands. Again, -stepping nearer, he besought her with another tremulous eager -call upon her name. - -'Margaret!' - -Still lower went the head; more closely hidden was the face, -almost resting on the table before her. He came close to her. He -knelt by her side, to bring his face to a level with her ear; and -whispered-panted out the words:-- - -'Take care.--If you do not speak--I shall claim you as my own in -some strange presumptuous way.--Send me away at once, if I must -go;--Margaret!--' - -At that third call she turned her face, still covered with her -small white hands, towards him, and laid it on his shoulder, -hiding it even there; and it was too delicious to feel her soft -cheek against his, for him to wish to see either deep blushes or -loving eyes. He clasped her close. But they both kept silence. At -length she murmured in a broken voice: - -'Oh, Mr. Thornton, I am not good enough!' - -'Not good enough! Don't mock my own deep feeling of -unworthiness.' - -After a minute or two, he gently disengaged her hands from her -face, and laid her arms as they had once before been placed to -protect him from the rioters. - -'Do you remember, love?' he murmured. 'And how I requited you -with my insolence the next day?' - -'I remember how wrongly I spoke to you,--that is all.' - -'Look here! Lift up your head. I have something to show you!' She -slowly faced him, glowing with beautiful shame. - -'Do you know these roses?' he said, drawing out his pocket-book, -in which were treasured up some dead flowers. - -'No!' she replied, with innocent curiosity. 'Did I give them to -you?' - -'No! Vanity; you did not. You may have worn sister roses very -probably.' - -She looked at them, wondering for a minute, then she smiled a -little as she said-- - -'They are from Helstone, are they not? I know the deep -indentations round the leaves. Oh! have you been there? When were -you there?' - -'I wanted to see the place where Margaret grew to what she is, -even at the worst time of all, when I had no hope of ever calling -her mine. I went there on my return from Havre.' - -'You must give them to me,' she said, trying to take them out of -his hand with gentle violence. - -'Very well. Only you must pay me for them!' - -'How shall I ever tell Aunt Shaw?' she whispered, after some time -of delicious silence. - -'Let me speak to her.' - -'Oh, no! I owe to her,--but what will she say?' - -'I can guess. Her first exclamation will be, "That man!"' - -'Hush!' said Margaret, 'or I shall try and show you your mother's -indignant tones as she says, "That woman!"' - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NORTH AND SOUTH*** - - -******This file should be named ecgns10.txt or ecgns10.zip****** - -Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, ecgns11.txt -VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, ecgns10a.txt - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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