I imagined I saw a mixture of many feelings: a great, though short struggle; half a wish of yielding to truths, half a sense of shame, but habit, habit carried it.

I imagined I saw a mixture of many feelings: a great, though short struggle; half a wish of yielding to truths, half a sense of shame; but habit, habit carried it.


It was a sort of laugh, as she answered, 'A pretty good lecture, upon my word.

She answered, 'A pretty good lecture, upon my word.


At this rate you will soon reform everybody at Mansfield and Thornton Lacey; and when I hear of you next, it may be as a celebrated preacher in some great society of Methodists, or as a missionary into foreign parts.'

At this rate you will soon reform everybody at Mansfield; and when I hear of you next, it may be as a celebrated preacher, or as a missionary into foreign parts.'


She tried to speak carelessly, but she was not so careless as she wanted to appear.


I only said in reply, that from my heart I wished her well, and earnestly hoped that she might soon learn to think more justly, and not owe the most valuable knowledge we could any of us acquire, the knowledge of ourselves and of our duty, to the lessons of affliction, and immediately left the room.

I said that from my heart I wished her well, and earnestly hoped that she might learn to think more justly, and not owe the most valuable knowledge any of us could acquire, the knowledge of ourselves and of our duty, to the lessons of affliction. I immediately left the room.


I had gone a few steps, Fanny, when I heard the door open behind me.


Bertram,' said she, with a smile; but it was a smile ill-suited to the conversation that had passed, a saucy playful smile, seeming to invite in order to subdue me; at least it appeared so to me.


I resisted; it was the impulse of the moment to resist, and still walked on.


I have since, sometimes, for a moment, regretted that I did not go back, but I know I was right, and such has been the end of our acquaintance.


This has been the greatest relief, and now we will have done."


And such was Fanny's dependence on his words, that for five minutes she thought they _had_ done.

And for five minutes she thought they had done.


Then, however, it all came on again, or something very like it, and nothing less than Lady Bertram's rousing thoroughly up could really close such a conversation.

Then, however, it all came on again, or something very like it, and nothing less than Lady Bertram's rousing up could really close such a conversation.


Till that happened, they continued to talk of Miss Crawford alone, and how she had attached him, and how delightful nature had made her, and how excellent she would have been, had she fallen into good hands earlier.

Till then, they continued to talk of Miss Crawford, and how she had attached him, and how delightful nature had made her, and how excellent she would have been, had she fallen into good hands earlier.


Fanny, now at liberty to speak openly, felt more than justified in adding to his knowledge of her real character, by some hint of what share his brother's state of health might be supposed to have in her wish for a complete reconciliation.

Fanny, now at liberty to speak openly, felt justified in adding to his knowledge of her real character, by some hint of what share his brother's state of health might have in her wish for a reconciliation.


It would have been a vast deal pleasanter to have had her more disinterested in her attachment; but his vanity was not of a strength to fight long against reason.

It would have been a vast deal pleasanter to have had her more disinterested in her attachment; but his vanity was not strong enough to fight long against reason.


He submitted to believe that Tom's illness had influenced her, only reserving for himself this consoling thought, that considering the many counteractions of opposing habits, she had certainly been _more_ attached to him than could have been expected, and for his sake been more near doing right.

He submitted to believe that Tom's illness had influenced her, only consoling himself with the thought that considering the counteractions of opposing habits, she had certainly been more attached to him than could have been expected, and for his sake been more near doing right.


Fanny thought exactly the same; and they were also quite agreed in their opinion of the lasting effect, the indelible impression, which such a disappointment must make on his mind.

Fanny thought exactly the same; and they were also quite agreed in their opinion of the lasting and indelible impression which such a disappointment must make on his mind.


Time would undoubtedly abate somewhat of his sufferings, but still it was a sort of thing which he never could get entirely the better of; and as to his ever meeting with any other woman who could-it was too impossible to be named but with indignation.

Time would undoubtedly lessen his sufferings, but still it was something which he never could get entirely the better of; and as to his ever meeting with any other woman who could-but that was impossible.


Fanny's friendship was all that he had to cling to.

Fanny's friendship was all he had to cling to.


Miss Crawford's uneasiness was much lightened by this conversation, and she walked home again in spirits which might have defied almost another week of the same small party in the same bad weather, had they been put to the proof; but as that very evening brought her brother down from London again in quite, or more than quite, his usual cheerfulness, she had nothing farther to try her own.

Miss Crawford's uneasiness was much lightened by this conversation, and she walked home in better spirits. As that very evening brought her brother down from London again in his usual cheerfulness, she had nothing farther to dismay her.


His still refusing to tell her what he had gone for was but the promotion of gaiety; a day before it might have irritated, but now it was a pleasant joke-suspected only of concealing something planned as a pleasant surprise to herself.

He still refused to tell her what he had gone for; the day before it might have irritated, but now it was a pleasant joke-she suspected him of concealing some surprise to herself.


And the next day _did_ bring a surprise to her.

The next day did bring a surprise to her.


Henry had said he should just go and ask the Bertrams how they did, and be back in ten minutes, but he was gone above an hour; and when his sister, who had been waiting for him to walk with her in the garden, met him at last most impatiently in the sweep, and cried out, "My dear Henry, where can you have been all this time?"

Henry had said he would just go and ask the Bertrams how they did, and be back in ten minutes, but he was gone above an hour. When his sister, who had been waiting for him impatiently, cried out, "My dear Henry, where can you have been all this time?"


he had only to say that he had been sitting with Lady Bertram and Fanny.

he said that he had been sitting with Lady Bertram and Fanny.


But this was only the beginning of her surprise.


"Yes, Mary," said he, drawing her arm within his, and walking along the sweep as if not knowing where he was: "I could not get away sooner; Fanny looked so lovely!

"Yes, Mary," said he, drawing her arm within his: "I could not get away sooner; Fanny looked so lovely!


No: you must be aware that I am quite determined to marry Fanny Price."

You must be aware that I am quite determined to marry Fanny Price."


The surprise was now complete; for, in spite of whatever his consciousness might suggest, a suspicion of his having any such views had never entered his sister's imagination; and she looked so truly the astonishment she felt, that he was obliged to repeat what he had said, and more fully and more solemnly.

The surprise was now complete; for his sister had never suspected his having any such views; and she looked so astonished that he was obliged to repeat what he had said.


The conviction of his determination once admitted, it was not unwelcome.


There was even pleasure with the surprise.


Mary was in a state of mind to rejoice in a connexion with the Bertram family, and to be not displeased with her brother's marrying a little beneath him.


"Yes, Mary," was Henry's concluding assurance.


You know with what idle designs I began; but this is the end of them.


I have, I flatter myself, made no inconsiderable progress in her affections; but my own are entirely fixed."

I have, I flatter myself, made progress in her affections; but my own are entirely fixed."


cried Mary, as soon as she could speak; "what a match for her!


My dearest Henry, this must be my _first_ feeling; but my _second_, which you shall have as sincerely, is, that I approve your choice from my soul, and foresee your happiness as heartily as I wish and desire it.


You will have a sweet little wife; all gratitude and devotion.


Mrs. Norris often talks of her luck; what will she say now?


When did you begin to think seriously about her?"


Nothing could be more impossible than to answer such a question, though nothing could be more agreeable than to have it asked.

Nothing could be more impossible, yet more agreeable, than to answer such a question.


"How the pleasing plague had stolen on him" he could not say; and before he had expressed the same sentiment with a little variation of words three times over, his sister eagerly interrupted him with, "Ah, my dear Henry, and this is what took you to London!

"How the pleasing plague had stolen on him" he could not say.
"Ah, my dear Henry, this is what took you to London!


You chose to consult the Admiral before you made up your mind."


He knew his uncle too well to consult him on any matrimonial scheme.


The Admiral hated marriage, and thought it never pardonable in a young man of independent fortune.


"When Fanny is known to him," continued Henry, "he will doat on her.

"When Fanny is known to him," continued Henry, "he will dote on her.


She is exactly the woman to do away every prejudice of such a man as the Admiral, for she is exactly such a woman as he thinks does not exist in the world.

She is exactly the woman to do away every prejudice of such a man as the Admiral.


She is the very impossibility he would describe, if indeed he has now delicacy of language enough to embody his own ideas.


But till it is absolutely settled-settled beyond all interference, he shall know nothing of the matter.

But till it is absolutely settled, he shall know nothing of the matter.


You have not discovered my business yet."

you have not discovered my business yet."


I know now to whom it must relate, and am in no hurry for the rest.


That Mansfield should have done so much for-that _you_ should have found your fate in Mansfield!


But you are quite right; you could not have chosen better.


There is not a better girl in the world, and you do not want for fortune; and as to her connexions, they are more than good.

There is not a better girl in the world; and as to her connexions,


The Bertrams are undoubtedly some of the first people in this country.


She is niece to Sir Thomas Bertram; that will be enough for the world.

she is niece to Sir Thomas Bertram: that is enough.


"For-for very little more than opportunity.


Mary, she is not like her cousins; but I think I shall not ask in vain."


Were you even less pleasing-supposing her not to love you already (of which, however, I can have little doubt)-you would be safe.

Even supposing her not to love you already (of which, however, I have little doubt)-you would be safe.


The gentleness and gratitude of her disposition would secure her all your own immediately.

Her gentleness and gratitude would secure her immediately.


From my soul I do not think she would marry you _without_ love; that is, if there is a girl in the world capable of being uninfluenced by ambition, I can suppose it her; but ask her to love you, and she will never have the heart to refuse."

I do not think she would marry you without love; but ask her to love you, and she will never have the heart to refuse."


As soon as her eagerness could rest in silence, he was as happy to tell as she could be to listen; and a conversation followed almost as deeply interesting to her as to himself, though he had in fact nothing to relate but his own sensations, nothing to dwell on but Fanny's charms.

A conversation followed almost as deeply interesting to her as to himself, though he had in fact nothing to relate but his own sensations, nothing to dwell on but Fanny's charms.


Fanny's beauty of face and figure, Fanny's graces of manner and goodness of heart, were the exhaustless theme.

Fanny's beauty, Fanny's graces of manner and goodness of heart, were the exhaustless theme.


The gentleness, modesty, and sweetness of her character were warmly expatiated on; that sweetness which makes so essential a part of every woman's worth in the judgment of man, that though he sometimes loves where it is not, he can never believe it absent.


Her temper he had good reason to depend on and to praise.

Her temper he had good reason to depend on.


Was there one of the family, excepting Edmund, who had not in some way or other continually exercised her patience and forbearance?

Was there one of the family, excepting Edmund, who had not in some way exercised her patience?


What could more delightfully prove that the warmth of her heart was equal to its gentleness?


What could be more encouraging to a man who had her love in view?


Then, her understanding was beyond every suspicion, quick and clear; and her manners were the mirror of her own modest and elegant mind.

Then, her understanding was quick and clear; and her manners were the mirror of her modest and elegant mind.


Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he was too little accustomed to serious reflection to know them by their proper name; but when he talked of her having such a steadiness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the fullest dependence on her faith and integrity, he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled and religious.

Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he might not know them by their proper name; but when he talked of her having a steadiness of conduct, and a high notion of honour and decorum, he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled and religious.


"I could so wholly and absolutely confide in her," said he; "and _that_ is what I want."

"I could so wholly and absolutely confide in her," said he; "and that is what I want."


Well might his sister, believing as she really did that his opinion of Fanny Price was scarcely beyond her merits, rejoice in her prospects.

Well might his sister rejoice in Fanny's prospects.


"The more I think of it," she cried, "the more am I convinced that you are doing quite right; and though I should never have selected Fanny Price as the girl most likely to attach you, I am now persuaded she is the very one to make you happy.

"I am convinced that you are doing right; and though I should never have selected Fanny Price as the girl to attach you, I am now persuaded she is the very one to make you happy.


Your wicked project upon her peace turns out a clever thought indeed.


"It was bad, very bad in me against such a creature; but I did not know her then; and she shall have no reason to lament the hour that first put it into my head.


I will make her very happy, Mary; happier than she has ever yet been herself, or ever seen anybody else.

I will make her very happy, Mary; happier than she has ever yet been.


I will not take her from Northamptonshire.


I shall let Everingham, and rent a place in this neighbourhood; perhaps Stanwix Lodge.

I shall let Everingham, and rent a place in this neighbourhood."


I shall let a seven years' lease of Everingham.


I am sure of an excellent tenant at half a word.


I could name three people now, who would give me my own terms and thank me."


cried Mary; "settle in Northamptonshire!


When she had spoken it, she recollected herself, and wished it unsaid; but there was no need of confusion; for her brother saw her only as the supposed inmate of Mansfield parsonage, and replied but to invite her in the kindest manner to his own house, and to claim the best right in her.

When she had spoken it, she recollected herself, and wished it unsaid; but her brother saw her only as the inmate of Mansfield parsonage, and invited her in the kindest manner to his own house.


"You must give us more than half your time," said he.


"I cannot admit Mrs. Grant to have an equal claim with Fanny and myself, for we shall both have a right in you.

"I cannot admit Mrs. Grant to have an equal claim with Fanny and myself.


Mary had only to be grateful and give general assurances; but she was now very fully purposed to be the guest of neither brother nor sister many months longer.

Mary gave grateful assurances; but she was now very fully purposed to be the guest of neither brother nor sister many months longer.


"You will divide your year between London and Northamptonshire?"


"That's right; and in London, of course, a house of your own: no longer with the Admiral.

"In London, of course, you will have a house of your own: no longer with the Admiral.


My dearest Henry, the advantage to you of getting away from the Admiral before your manners are hurt by the contagion of his, before you have contracted any of his foolish opinions, or learned to sit over your dinner as if it were the best blessing of life!

My dearest Henry, the advantage to you of getting away from the Admiral before your manners are hurt by contagion of his; before you have contracted any of his foolish opinions, or learned to sit over your dinner as if it were the best blessing of life!


_You_ are not sensible of the gain, for your regard for him has blinded you; but, in my estimation, your marrying early may be the saving of you.

Your marrying early may be the saving of you.


To have seen you grow like the Admiral in word or deed, look or gesture, would have broken my heart."

To have seen you grow like the Admiral would have broken my heart."


"Well, well, we do not think quite alike here.

"Well, well, we do not think alike here.


The Admiral has his faults, but he is a very good man, and has been more than a father to me.


Few fathers would have let me have my own way half so much.


You must not prejudice Fanny against him.


Mary refrained from saying what she felt, that there could not be two persons in existence whose characters and manners were less accordant: time would discover it to him; but she could not help _this_ reflection on the Admiral.

Mary refrained from saying that two people could not be less alike; but she could not help remarking, "Henry, if I supposed the next Mrs. Crawford were to be treated like my poor aunt, the Admiral's wife, I would prevent the marriage; but I know you.


"Henry, I think so highly of Fanny Price, that if I could suppose the next Mrs. Crawford would have half the reason which my poor ill-used aunt had to abhor the very name, I would prevent the marriage, if possible; but I know you: I know that a wife you _loved_ would be the happiest of women, and that even when you ceased to love, she would yet find in you the liberality and good-breeding of a gentleman."

I know that a wife you loved would be the happiest of women, and that even when you ceased to love, she would still find in you the good-breeding of a gentleman."


The impossibility of not doing everything in the world to make Fanny Price happy, or of ceasing to love Fanny Price, was of course the groundwork of his eloquent answer.

The impossibility of ceasing to love Fanny Price was of course his eloquent answer.


"Had you seen her this morning, Mary," he continued, "attending with such ineffable sweetness and patience to all the demands of her aunt's stupidity, working with her, and for her, her colour beautifully heightened as she leant over the work, then returning to her seat to finish a note which she was previously engaged in writing for that stupid woman's service, and all this with such unpretending gentleness, so much as if it were a matter of course that she was not to have a moment at her own command, her hair arranged as neatly as it always is, and one little curl falling forward as she wrote, which she now and then shook back, and in the midst of all this, still speaking at intervals to _me_, or listening, and as if she liked to listen, to what I said.

"Had you seen her this morning, Mary, attending with such sweetness and patience to all the demands of her aunt's stupidity, her colour beautifully heightened as she leant over her work, with such unpretending gentleness, one little curl of hair falling forward as she wrote, which she now and then shook back; and in the midst of all this, still listening to what I said.


Had you seen her so, Mary, you would not have implied the possibility of her power over my heart ever ceasing."

Had you seen her so, Mary, you would not have thought her power over my heart could ever cease."


"My dearest Henry," cried Mary, stopping short, and smiling in his face, "how glad I am to see you so much in love!

"My dearest Henry," cried Mary, "how glad I am to see you so much in love!


But what will Mrs. Rushworth and Julia say?"


"I care neither what they say nor what they feel.


They will now see what sort of woman it is that can attach me, that can attach a man of sense.


I wish the discovery may do them any good.


And they will now see their cousin treated as she ought to be, and I wish they may be heartily ashamed of their own abominable neglect and unkindness.

They will now see their cousin treated as she ought to be, and I wish they may be heartily ashamed of their own abominable neglect and unkindness.


They will be angry," he added, after a moment's silence, and in a cooler tone; "Mrs. Rushworth will be very angry.


It will be a bitter pill to her; that is, like other bitter pills, it will have two moments' ill flavour, and then be swallowed and forgotten; for I am not such a coxcomb as to suppose her feelings more lasting than other women's, though _I_ was the object of them.

It will be a bitter pill to her; that is, it will have two moments' ill flavour, and then be swallowed and forgotten; for I do not suppose her feelings more lasting than other women's.


Yes, Mary, my Fanny will feel a difference indeed: a daily, hourly difference, in the behaviour of every being who approaches her; and it will be the completion of my happiness to know that I am the doer of it, that I am the person to give the consequence so justly her due.

My Fanny will feel a difference in the behaviour of everyone who approaches her; and I will be happy to know that I am the doer of it.


Now she is dependent, helpless, friendless, neglected, forgotten."

Now she is dependent, friendless, neglected, forgotten."


"Nay, Henry, not by all; not forgotten by all; not friendless or forgotten.


True, I believe he is, generally speaking, kind to her, and so is Sir Thomas in his way; but it is the way of a rich, superior, long-worded, arbitrary uncle.

True, I believe he is generally kind to her, and so is Sir Thomas in his way; but it is the way of a rich, superior, long-worded uncle.


What can Sir Thomas and Edmund together do, what _do_ they do for her happiness, comfort, honour, and dignity in the world, to what I _shall_ do?"

What can Sir Thomas and Edmund do for her happiness, comfort, honour, and dignity, compared to what I shall do?"


"Through cross to crown!--And though thy spirit's life Trials untold assail with giant strength, Good cheer!


Soon ends the bitter strife, And thou shalt reign in peace with Christ at length."


"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.'"


That afternoon she walked swiftly to the Higgins's house.

That afternoon she walked swiftly to the Higginses' 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.

They passed quickly through the house, and upstairs into the quiet presence of the dead.


Then Margaret was glad that she had come.


The face, so often weary with pain, so restless with troublous thoughts, had now the faint soft smile of eternal rest upon it.

The face, often so restless and weary with pain, had now the faint soft smile of eternal rest.


The slow tears gathered into Margaret's eyes, but a deep calm entered into her soul.

The tears gathered in Margaret's eyes, but a deep calm entered her soul.


All beautiful scriptures came into her mind.

The beautiful scriptures came into her mind


Slowly, slowly Margaret turned away from the bed.


Mary was humbly sobbing in the back-ground.


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.

Nicholas Higgins stood by the table. He had just heard the news.


His eyes were dry and fierce; studying the reality of her death; bringing himself to understand that her place should know her no more.

His eyes were dry and fierce; he was studying the reality of her death; bringing himself to understand that she was gone.


For she had been sickly, dying so long, that he had persuaded himself she would not die; that she would "pull through."

For she had been dying so long that he had persuaded himself 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.

Margaret felt as if she had no business to be there.


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.

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.

Mary sat down, and throwing her apron over her head, began to cry.


He took sudden hold of Margaret's arm, and held her till he could gather words to speak.

He took sudden hold of Margaret's arm; his words


His throat seemed dry; they came up thick, and choked, and hoarse:


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.

'All men must die,' said he at last, with a strange gravity, which suggested to Margaret that he had been drinking, just enough to make his thoughts bewildered.


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.

and then suddenly looked up at Margaret with wild inquiry.


"Yo're sure and certain she's dead--not in a dwam, a faint?

'Yo're sure she's dead - not in a faint?


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.


He looked at her still with that searching look, which seemed to fade out of his eyes as he gazed.

He gave her that searching look, until it seemed to fade out of his eyes.


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.

Then he let go of her, and throwing his body half across the table, he shook it with his violent sobs.


he cried, striking wildly and blindly at her.


Margaret took her hand and held it softly in hers.

Margaret took her hand, and held it softly.


He tore his hair, he beat his head against the hard wood, then he lay exhausted and stupid.

He tore his hair, he beat his head against the wood, then lay exhausted and stupid.


Still his daughter and Margaret did not move.


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.

His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and he seemed to have forgotten the watchers; he scowled when he saw them.


He shook himself heavily, gave them one more sullen look, spoke never a word, but made for the door.

Shaking himself heavily, he gave them one more sullen look, and made for the door.


said Mary, throwing herself upon his arm,--"not to-night!

said Mary, throwing herself upon his arm - 'not tonight!


She told me last of all to keep yo' fro' drink!"

 she told me last of all to keep yo' fro' drink!'
He shook her off violently so that she fell against a chair.


But Margaret stood in the doorway, silent yet commanding.


Stand out o' the way, wench, or I'll make yo'!"

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.

But she never moved - 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.

If she had stirred, he would have thrust her aside with even more violence than he had used on his daughter, whose face was bleeding from her fall.


"What are yo' looking at me in that way for?"

'Why are yo' looking at me in that way?'


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.

'If yo' think for to keep me from going where I choose - and in my own house, where I never asked yo' to come, yo're mistaken.


It's very hard upon a man that he can't go to the only comfort left."

It's very hard upon a man that he can't go to the only comfort left.'


Margaret felt that he acknowledged her power.


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.

He sat on a chair near the door; half-conquered, half-resenting; intending to go out as soon as she moved.


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.

Her voice was low and solemn; but there was no fear or doubt in it.


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.


"Her last words to Mary were, 'Keep my father fro' drink.'"

'Her last words to Mary were, "Keep my father fro' drink."'


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.

Then, in a wail, he went on: 'We may quarrel - we may make peace - we may clem to skin and bone - and nought will ever touch her more.


What wi' hard work first, and sickness at last, hoo' led the life of a dog.

What wi' hard work and sickness, hoo's led the life of a dog.


And to die without knowing one good piece o' rejoicing in all her days!

And to die without knowing one joy 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."

Nay, wench, whatever hoo said, hoo can know nought about it now, and I must ha' a drink just to steady me.'


"No," said Margaret, softening with his softened manner.


If her life has been what you say, at any rate she did not fear death as some do.

If her life has been what you say, at any rate she did not fear death.


Oh, you should have heard her speak of the life to come--the life hidden with God, that she is now gone to."

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.

His pale, haggard face struck her painfully.


Where have you been all day--not at work?"

Where have you been all day - not at work?'


"Not at work, sure enough," said he, with a short, grim laugh.

'No,' said he, with a short, grim laugh.


I were at the Committee, till I were sickened out wi' trying to make fools hear reason.

I were at the Committee, till I were sickened 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 dunner-headed brute of a chap was, as if I'd to keep him--as if he were fit to be ruled by me.

She's bed-fast, but she were raving to know where her dunder-headed brute of a chap was - as if he were ruled by me.


The d--d fool, who has put his foot in all our plans!

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 against 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.

'But now you do know; you do see her lying there; you hear what she said with her last breath.


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.

'Come home with me,' said she at last, boldly, yet half trembling.


"At least you shall have some comfortable food, which I'm sure you need."

'At least you shall have some good food, which I'm sure you need.'


asked he, with a sudden turn in his ideas.


"I'll go and take a dish o' tea with him, since yo've asked me.

'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."

I've many a thing I often wished to say to a parson.'


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.

Margaret was perplexed; his drinking tea with her father, who would be totally unprepared for his visitor - her mother so ill - seemed out of the question; yet if she drew back now, it would be 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.

But if she could only get him to their house, it would be a great step gained.


But thou'st been a blessin' to thy father ever sin' thou wert born.

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!

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."

and I'm glad to see it, though I'm 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 place 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.

She had hastily gone downstairs to tell Mary of the arrangement, and to urge her come too, for her heart smote her at the idea of leaving the poor girl alone.


But Mary had friends amongst the neighbours, she said, who would come in and sit a bit with her; it was all right; but father--

But Mary had friends among the neighbours, she said, who would come and sit with her.


He was there by them or 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.

, he had shaken off his emotion; and had even assumed a sort of bitter mirth.


"I'm going to take my tea wi' her father, I am."

'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.

But he slouched his cap low over his brow as he went out into the street, and looked neither to right nor to left, lest he should see sympathising neighbours.


As he got near the street in which he knew she lived, he looked down at his clothes, his hands, his shoes.

As they drew near her home, he looked down at his clothes, his hands, and shoes.


"I should m'appen ha' cleaned mysel', first."

'I should '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 would not let him slip out of her hands just then.

Margaret assured him he might 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.

While he followed the house-servant along the passage, stepping cautiously on every dark mark in the pattern of the oil-cloth, to conceal his dirty foot-prints, Margaret ran upstairs to find Dixon.


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.

had wanted to go to bed, but Dixon had persuaded her to lie down on the sofa in her room, and have her tea brought to her there.


Margaret went in half breathless with the hurried story she had to tell.

Margaret went in half breathless with her hurried story.


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.

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.


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.

The meek, kind-hearted Mr. Hale would have readily tried to console him in his grief, but unluckily, Margaret dwelt on the fact of his having been drinking, and said she had brought him home with her as a last resort 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.

She was hardly conscious of what she had done, till she saw the look of repugnance on her father's face.


he really is a man you will not dislike--if you won't be shocked to begin with."

he really is a man you will not dislike.'


"But, Margaret, to bring a drunken man home--and your mother so ill!"

'But, Margaret, to bring a drunken man home - and your mother so ill!'


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."

He was only rather strange at first, but that might be the shock of poor Bessy's death.'


Mr. Hale took hold of her sweet pleading face in both his hands, and kissed her forehead.

Mr. Hale took her sweet pleading face in both his hands, and kissed her forehead.


I'll go and make him as comfortable as I can, and do you attend to your mother.

I'll go and make him as comfortable as I can, and you attend to your mother.


Only, if you can come in and make a third in the study, I shall be glad."

Only, if you can come and make a third in the study, I shall be glad.'


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 much in what we do."

: 'Papa - you must not wonder at what he says: he's an - I mean he does not believe in much of what we do.'


But to Margaret he only said, "If your mother goes to sleep, be sure you come directly."

But to Margaret he only said, 'If your mother goes to sleep, be sure you come directly.'


Mrs. Hale lifted herself up from a doze.


"When did you write to Frederick, Margaret?

'When did you write to Frederick, Margaret?


"Oh, Margaret, I'm so afraid of his coming!

'Oh, Margaret, I'm so afraid of his coming!


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."

I keep dreaming that he is caught and being tried.'


There will be some risk, no doubt; but we will lessen it as much as ever we can.


Now, if we were at Helstone, there would be twenty--a hundred times as much.

At Helstone, there would be 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.

Everybody would remember him, and if a stranger stayed in the house, they would guess it was Frederick; while here, nobody knows or cares enough to notice.


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!"

- and he need not go out, except in the dusk, poor fellow!'


Would it be too late to stop him if you wrote again, Margaret?"

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'm afraid it would, mamma,' said Margaret, remembering the urgency with which she had begged him to come directly.


"I always dislike that doing things in such a hurry," said Mrs. Hale.

'I always dislike doing things in such a hurry,' said Mrs. Hale.


"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.

'Come now, ma'am,' said Dixon, with cheerful authority, 'you know seeing Master Frederick is the very thing of all others you're longing for!


And I'm glad Miss Margaret wrote off straight, without shilly-shallying.


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.

There's only Martha in the house that does not know him; 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."

So take your tea, ma'am, and trust to me.'


Mrs. Hale did trust in Dixon more than in Margaret.


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.

the more she tried to think of something besides the danger to which Frederick would be exposed, the more her imagination clung to the unfortunate idea.


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.

Her mother was one of those who throw out terrible possibilities as a rocket throws out sparks; but if the sparks alight on something combustible, they smoulder, and then burst into a frightful flame.


Margaret was glad when, her filial duties gently and carefully performed, she could go down into the study.

Margaret was glad when 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.

There, the kind-hearted, simple, old-fashioned gentleman had unconsciously called out, by his own courteous 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.

He placed a chair for Nicholas to sit on, and called him '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.

He drank only to drown care: and he was infidel so far as he had never yet found any form of faith to which he could attach himself.


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.

Margaret was a little surprised, and very much pleased, when she found her father and Higgins in earnest conversation - each speaking with gentle politeness, 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.

Nicholas, clean and quiet spoken, was a new creature to her.


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.

He had slicked his hair down with water; he had adjusted his neckerchief, and polished his clogs; and there he sat, giving some opinion, with a strong Darkshire accent, it is true, but with a lowered voice, and earnest composure on his face.


Her father, too, was interested in what his companion was saying.

Her father 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.

He looked round as she came in, smiled, and quietly gave her his chair, 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.

Higgins nodded in greeting; and she got out her sewing, and prepared to listen.


"As I was a-saying, sir, I reckon yo'd not ha' much belief in yo' if yo' lived here,--if yo'd been bred here.

'As I was a-sayin, sir, I reckon yo'd not ha' much belief if yo' lived 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.

I ax your pardon if I use wrong words; but what I mean by belief, is a-thinking on sayings and promises made by folk yo' never saw, about the things and the life yo' never saw.


Now, yo' say these are true things, and true sayings, and a true life.

Now, yo' say these are true things, and true sayings.


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.

There's many a one wiser and better learned than I am - folk who've had time to think on these things.


They don't believe i' the Bible,--not they.

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?'

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 eternal life?"


or 'What shall I do to fill my purse this blessed day?

or "What shall I do to fill my purse this blessed day?


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.

The purse and the gold is real things; them's realities; and eternal life is all talk.


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.

'I'll just ax yo another question, sir, and I dunnot want yo to answer it, only to think about it afore yo' set us down 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?

If salvation, and life to come, was true - 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."

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.

'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."

All that they are concerned with is trade - so they think - and all that concerns them, therefore, is to tell you 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'm glad, sir,' said Higgins, 'that yo' put in, "so they think."


I'd ha' thought yo' a hyprocrite, I'm afeard, if yo' hadn't, for all yo'r a parson, or rayther because yo'r a parson.

I'd ha' thought yo' a hypocrite if yo' hadn't.


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.

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, I should ha' thought yo' a knave for to be a parson; and I'd rather think yo' a fool than a knave.


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 don't expect to convince you in a day; 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."

Mr. Higgins, I trust, whatever else you have given up, you believe in Him.'


Nicholas Higgins suddenly stood straight, stiff up.

Nicholas Higgins suddenly stood straight up.


Margaret started to her feet,--for she thought, by the working of his face, he was going into convulsions.


I could fell yo' to the ground for tempting me.


Whatten business have yo' to try me wi' your doubts?

What 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.

Think o' her lying there, 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 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 she'll ever live again,' said he, sitting down drearily.


"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.

'I dunnot believe in any other life than this, in which she had such never-ending care; and I cannot bear to think it were all a set o' chances.


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.

There's many a time when I've thought I didna believe in God, but I've never put it fair out in words.


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.

And today, when I'm left desolate, I wunnot listen to your questions, and your doubts.


There's but one thing steady and quiet i' all this reeling world, and, reason or no reason, I'll cling to that.'


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.

We do not reason - we believe; and so do you.


It is the one sole comfort in such times."


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 is, it is - (brushing away tears with the back of his hand). 'But yo' know, she's lying dead at home and I'm dazed wi' sorrow, and 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.

I were coming home to ask for a bit o' comfort i' that trouble; and I were knocked down by one who telled me she were 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.

Mr. Hale blew his nose, and got up to snuff the candles.


"He's not an infidel, Margaret; how could you say so?"

'He's not an infidel, Margaret; how could you say so?'


"I've a good mind to read him the fourteenth chapter of Job."

'I've a good mind to read him the fourteenth chapter of Job.'


Let us ask him about the strike, and give him all the sympathy he needs, and hoped to have from poor Bessy."

Let us ask him about the strike, and give him all the sympathy he needs.'


The workmen's calculations were based (like too many of the masters') on false premises.

The workmen's calculations were based 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 had made no allowance for passions getting the better of reason, as in the case of Boucher and the rioters.


They were consequently surprised and indignant at the poor Irish, who had allowed themselves to be imported and brought over to take their places.

They were surprised and indignant that the poor Irish, rather than sympathising with them, had allowed themselves to be 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.

This indignation was tempered, in some degree, by contempt and pleasure at the idea of the bungling way in which the Irishmen would work, and perplex their new masters with their ignorance and stupidity - exaggerated stories of which were already spreading.


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.

But the most cruel cut was that of the Milton workmen, who had disobeyed the Union's commands to keep the peace; who had made discord in the camp, and caused the law to be arrayed against them.


"And so the strike is at an end," said Margaret.

'And so the strike is at an end,' said Margaret.


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."

Th' factory doors will open wide tomorrow to let in all who'll be axing for work.'


"Hamper'll let me work at his mill, when he cuts off his right hand--not before, and not after," said Nicholas, quietly.

'Hamper'll cut off his right hand before he lets me work at his mill,' said Nicholas quietly.


"You'll not be offended, but I think you make some sad mistakes.

'You'll not be offended, but I think you make some mistakes.


I should like to read you some remarks in a book I have."

I should like to read to you from a book I have.'


"Yo' needn't trouble yoursel', sir," said Nicholas.

'Yo' needn't trouble yoursel', sir,' said Nicholas.


"Their book-stuff goes in at one ear and out at t'other.

'Their book-stuff goes in at one ear and out at t'other.


Afore Hamper and me had this split, th' overlooker telled him I were stirring up th' men to ask for higher wages; and Hamper met me one day in th' yard.

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, with a thin book i' his hand.


He'd a thin book i' his hand, and says he, 'Higgins, I'm told you're one o' 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.

"Higgins," says he, "I'm told you're one of those damned fools that think you can get higher wages for asking for 'em.


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.'

Now, here's a book written by a friend o' mine, and in it yo'll see how wages find their own level, without either masters or men having aught to do with them; unless 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 such 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'r such a pack o' fools, that I've a strong notion it's no use my trying to put sense into yo'?'

'Well, now, sir, I put it to yo', having been in th' preaching line - did yo' begin by calling people fools, or didn't yo' rayther give 'em some kind words at first, to make 'em ready for to listen? And in your preaching, did yo' stop and say, "But you're such a pack o' fools, that 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.'

I were vexed, I'll own; 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."

What I wanted for to know were the rights o' men, whether rich or poor.'


"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."

'But for all that,' said Mr. Hale, 'and granting to the full the unchristian offensiveness and folly of Mr. Hamper's way of speaking to you, yet if that book told you that wages find their own level, and that the most successful strike can only force them up temporarily, it would have told you the truth.'


"Well, sir," said Higgins, rather doggedly; "it might, or it might not.

'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 great 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.

I daresay there's truth in yon Latin book on your shelves; but it's gibberish to me, unless I know the meaning o' the words.


If yo', sir, or any other knowledgable, patient man comes 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.

If yo', sir, or any other knowledgable, patient man can teach me what the words mean, and not blow me up if I'm a bit stupid - 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.

I'm not one who thinks truth can be shaped all neat and clean, as th' men at th' foundry cut out sheet-iron.


It'll stick here i' this man's throat, and there i' t'others.

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 i' th' way of giving it too, or the poor sick fools may spit it out i' their faces.

And folk who sets up to doctor th' world wi' their truth must be a bit tender in th' way of giving it too.


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."

Now Hamper gives me a box on my ear, and then he throws his words at me like a pill, 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 interests of both masters and men should be well understood by both.

'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 believe arise from your ignorance - excuse me, Mr. Higgins - on subjects which both masters and men need to understand.


I wonder"--(half to his daughter), "if Mr. Thornton might not be induced to do such thing?"

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."

'Remember, papa,' said she in a very low voice, 'what he said once - 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.


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.

Even Hamper, wi' all his bullying, would ha' waited - 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.

And now it's Thornton who steps forrard and coolly says that, as th' strike's at an end, he doesn't want to press charges against the rioters.


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.

I thought he'd had more pluck. I thought he'd want his revenge; but says he, "they are well known; they will find their punishment in the difficulty of getting employment.


I only wish they'd cotched Boucher, and had him up before Hamper.


"Mr. Thornton was right," said Margaret.

'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."

'You are angry with Boucher, Nicholas; or else you would see that where the natural punishment is severe, any farther punishment would be merely 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.

'My daughter is no great friend of Mr. Thornton's,' said Mr. Hale, smiling at Margaret; while she, turning red, began to sew with double diligence, 'but I believe she says the truth.


"Well, sir, this strike has been a weary bit 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 aou'd out, brave and firm."

'Well, sir, yo'll not wonder if I'm a bit put out wi' seeing the strike fail, just for a few men who would na suffer in silence.'


"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."

'When I saw Boucher it was not his own sufferings he spoke of, but those of his sick wife and little children.'


He'd ha' cried out for his own sorrows, next.

but he'd ha' cried out for his own sorrows next.


"You don't seem to have much respect for him; nor gained much good from having him in."

'You don't seem to have much respect for him; nor gained much good from having him in.'


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."

Them of the same trade must hang together; and if they're not willing to, 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?"

'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.

He looked up at her, reluctant to answer.


But her calm face, fixed on his, patient and trustful, compelled him to answer.

But her calm, patient face compelled him.


If a man doesn't belong to th' Union, them as works next looms as 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.

If a man doesn't belong to th' Union, them as works next looms has orders not to speak to him. He's out o' bounds; he's none o' us; he works among us, but he's none o' us.


I' some places them's fined who speaks to him.

In 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?)

Yo' try that, miss; try living a year or two among them as looks away if yo' look at 'em; to whom yo' can never say nought even when you're in trouble, because they'll ne'er take notice on your sad looks.


--just yo' try that, miss--ten hours for three hundred days, and yo'll know a bit what the Union is."

Just yo' try that, miss, and yo'll know what th' Union 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.

I never read of a more slow, lingering torture than this.


And you talk of the tyranny of the masters!"

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.

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!

Their fathers ground our fathers to the very dust!


I reckon I've heerd my mother read out a text, 'The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and th' chidren's teeth are set on edge.'


In those days of sore oppression th' Unions began; it were a necessity.


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.

It may be like war; crimes come along wi' it, 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."

Our only chance is binding men together in one common interest; and if some are cowards or fools, they must join the great march, whose only strength is in numbers.'


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."

said Mr. Hale, sighing, 'your Union would be glorious - it would be Christianity itself - if it were only 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.

'I reckon it's time for me to be going, sir,' said Higgins, as the clock struck ten.


He understood her, and took her offered hand.


Yo' may trust me, tho' I am one o' th' Union."

Yo' may trust me, tho' I am one o' th' Union.'


"I do trust you most thoroughly, Nicholas."


said Mr. Hale, hurrying to the bookshelves.


I'm sure you'll join us in family prayer?"

I'm sure you'll join us in family prayer?'


Her 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.


"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."


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.

It was a comfort to Margaret at this time to find that her mother became more tender and intimate towards her than she had done since 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.

She took her to her heart as a confidential friend - the post Margaret had always longed to fill.


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.

Margaret responded to her every call for sympathy, even when only about trifles.


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.

One evening, Mr. Hale being absent, her mother began to talk about her brother Frederick. This was the very subject about 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!

'Oh, Margaret, it was so windy last night!


It came howling down the chimney in our room!


I never can when there is such a terrible wind.

I never can when there is such a terrible wind, ever since poor Frederick went to sea.


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.

If I don't waken, I dream of him in some stormy sea, with great, clear, glass-green walls of waves on either side his ship, higher than her masts, curling over her 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.

It is an old dream, but it always comes back on windy nights.


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."


Our letters are directed to the care of Messrs. Barbour, at Cadiz.

Our letters are addressed to the care of Messrs. Barbour, at Cadiz


"I can't remember the name of the place, but he is not called Hale; you must remember that, Margaret.

'I can't remember the name of the place, but he is not called Hale.


Notice the F. D. in every corner of the letters.

The letters are sent to F. D. 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.

I wanted him to have been called Beresford, but your father thought he had better not.


He might be recognised, you know, if he were called by my name."

He might be recognised, you know, if he were called by my maiden 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.

'Mamma,' said Margaret, 'I was at Aunt Shaw's when it all happened; and 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."

But I should like to know now - if it does not give you too much pain to speak about it.'


No," replied Mrs. Hale, her cheek flushing.


"Yet it is pain to think that perhaps I may never see my darling boy again.


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.

They may say what they like, but I'll believe 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."

Go to my little japan cabinet, dear, and in the second left-hand drawer you will find a packet of letters.'


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.

She carried them back to her mother, who untied the silken string with trembling fingers, and gave them to Margaret to read, making 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.

'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.

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.


these are the letters he wrote on board the Russell.

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.

When he found his old enemy Captain Reid in command there, he did mean to bear his tyranny calmly.


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.

'"my father may rely upon me, to bear patiently 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.'

But from my former knowledge of my captain, I fear 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.

He was the sweetest-tempered boy, when he was not vexed.


Is that the letter in which he speaks of Captain Reid's impatience with the men, for not going through the ship's manuvres as quickly as the Avenger?

Is that the letter in which he speaks of Captain Reid's impatience with the men, for not going through 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."

You see, they had many new hands on board the Russell, while the Avenger had been three years with nothing to do but work her men, till they ran up and down the rigging like 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.

It was a statement of Captain Reid's imperiousness, probably exaggerated by the narrator, who had written it while fresh in indignation.


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.

Some sailors being aloft in the main-topsail rigging, the captain had ordered them to race down, threatening the last with whipping.


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 the deck.

He who was the farthest up, dreading the disgrace of the flogging, threw himself desperately down to catch a rope much 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.

He only survived for a few hours afterwards.


"But we did not receive this letter till long, long after we heard of the mutiny.

'But we did not receive this letter till long, long after we heard of the mutiny.


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.

And then we saw a report in the papers - long before Fred's letter reached us - that an atrocious mutiny had broken out on board the Russell, and that the mutineers had taken over the ship, which had gone off to be a pirate; and that Captain Reid was sent adrift in a boat with some officers whose names were given, for they were picked up by a West-Indian steamer.


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.

We thought it must be some mistake; for poor Fred was such a fine fellow, only perhaps rather too passionate.


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.

The next day, papa set off to walk to Southampton to get the papers; and 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.

, but he came at last, his arms hanging down, his head sunk, and walking heavily, as if every step was a labour.


I can understand it all," said Margaret, leaning up caressingly against her mother's side, and kissing her hand.

I can understand it all,' said Margaret, leaning against her mother's side, and kissing her hand.


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 begging him to tell me what he had heard.

And when I reached him, he did not speak, or seem surprised to see me there, three miles from home; but he put my arm in his, and kept stroking my hand; and when I trembled, he took me in his arms, and stooped down his head, and began to shake and cry in a strange muffled voice, till, in fright, I 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.'

'And then he gave me a wicked newspaper to read, which called our Frederick a "traitor of the blackest dye," "a disgrace to his profession."


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!

As soon as I had read it, I tore it up into little bits - oh!


I believe, Margaret, I tore it with my teeth.


My cheeks were as hot as fire, and my very eyes burnt in my head.


Months after, this letter came, and you see what provocation Frederick had.

Months afterwards, 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."

It was not for himself that he rebelled; but he would speak his mind to Captain Reid, and so it went on from bad to worse; and 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 think, Margaret,' she continued, after a pause, in an 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."

'Loyalty to wisdom and justice is fine; but it is still finer to defy power used unjustly and cruelly, on behalf of others more helpless.'


"For all that, I wish I could see Frederick once more--just once.

'For all that, I wish I could see Frederick once more - just once.'


Mrs. Hale spoke wistfully, and almost as if apologising for the yearning, craving wish, as though it were a depreciation of her remaining child.

Mrs. Hale spoke wistfully, and almost apologetically, as though the wish 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.

'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?

If he stood trial, what would be the punishment?


Surely, he might bring evidence of his great provocation."

Surely he might bring evidence of his provocation.'


"It would do no good," replied Mrs. Hale.

'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.

'Some of the sailors who accompanied Frederick were taken, and court-martialled on board the Amicia; I believed all they said in their defence, poor fellows, because it agreed with Frederick's story - but it was of no use.' Mrs. Hale began to cry; yet Margaret needed to know the end.


"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."

And the worst was that the court said they had allowed themselves to be led astray by their superior officers.'


"And Frederick was in South America for several years, was he not?"

'And Frederick was in South America for several years, was he not?'


I shall never see his face again--for if he comes to England he will be hung."


Mrs. Hale turned her face to the wall, and lay perfectly still in her mother's despair.


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.

took her hand out of Margaret's with a little impatient movement, as if she would rather be left alone.


When Mr. Hale came in, Margaret went out, oppressed with gloom, and seeing no promise of brightness on any side of the horizon.

Margaret saw no promise of brightness on any side of the horizon.


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."


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.

Higgins's door was locked the next day: but they learnt from a neighbour that he was really away from home.


He had, however, been in to see Mrs. Boucher, before starting on his day's business, whatever that was.

He had, however, been in to see Mrs. Boucher, whom Margaret and her father visited next.


It was but an unsatisfactory visit to Mrs. Boucher; she considered herself 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.

It was an unsatisfactory visit: Mrs. Boucher considered herself ill-used by her poor husband's suicide; and there was truth enough in this idea to make it difficult 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.

Her thoughts were turned upon herself and her own position, and this selfishness extended even to her children, whom she considered as incumbrances, in the very midst of her 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.

While Mr. Hale spoke to her, Margaret talked to one or two of


She found that the children were truer and simpler mourners than the widow.

the children, and found that they 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.

Daddy had been kind to them; each could tell, in their eager stammering way, of some tenderness shown by the lost father.


I'm feared on it, and I never was feared o' daddy."

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 dead disfigured father.

Margaret's heart bled to hear that the mother 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.

She tried to turn their thoughts in some other direction; on what they could do for mother; on what father would have wished.


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.

The children began to do as she suggested towards tidying up the slatternly room.


But her father set too high a standard, and too abstract a view, before the indolent invalid.

But her father, trying to raise the widow's thoughts, set too high a standard, and too abstract a view.


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.

She could not rouse her torpid mind to imagine what her husband's misery might have been; she could only look upon it as it affected herself. Although she was secretly blaming her husband for having fallen into such despair, and denying that he had any excuse for his last rash act, she abused all who could 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 a 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.

The masters - Mr. Thornton in particular, whose mill had been attacked by Boucher - the Union, represented by Higgins - 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.

Margaret was disheartened; and when they came away she found it impossible to cheer her father.