"I would do my best," said Margaret rather pale. "I do not know whether I am brave or not till I am tried; but I am afraid I should be a coward."
"South country people are often frightened by what our Darkshire men and women only call living and struggling. But when you've been ten years among a people who are always owing their betters a grudge, and only waiting for an opportunity to pay it off, you'll know whether you are a coward or not, take my word for it."
Mr. Thornton came that evening to Mr. Hale's. He was shown up into the drawing-room, where Mr. Hale was reading aloud to his wife and daughter.
"I am come partly to bring you a note from my mother, and partly to apologise for not keeping to my time yesterday. The note contains the address you asked for; Dr. Donaldson."

'I would do my best,' said Margaret, rather pale, 'though I am afraid I should be a coward.'
'South country people are often frightened here. But when you've been ten years among a people who always have a grudge against their betters, and are only waiting for an opportunity to pay it off, you'll know whether you are a coward or not, take my word for it.'
Mr. Thornton came that evening to Mr. Hale's. He was shown into the drawing-room.
'I am come partly to bring you a note from my mother, and partly to apologise for not keeping to my time yesterday. The note contains the address you asked for; Dr. Donaldson.'


"Thank you!" said Margaret, hastily, holding out her hand to take the note, for she did not wish her mother to hear that they had been making any inquiry about a doctor. She was pleased that Mr. Thornton seemed immediately to understand her feeling; he gave her the note without another word of explanation.
Mr. Hale began to talk about the strike. Mr. Thornton's face assumed a likeness to his mother's worst expression, which immediately repelled the watching Margaret.

'Thank you!' said Margaret, hastily, holding out her hand to take the note, for she did not wish her mother to hear. She was pleased that Mr. Thornton seemed immediately to understand; he gave her the note without another word.
Mr. Hale began to talk about the strike. Mr. Thornton's face assumed a likeness to his mother's worst expression, which immediately repelled Margaret.


"Yes; the fools will have a strike. Let them. It suits us well enough. But we gave them a chance. They think trade is flourishing as it was last year. We see the storm on the horizon and draw in our sails. But because we don't explain our reasons, they won't believe we're acting reasonably. We must give them line and letter for the way we choose to spend or save our money. Henderson tried a dodge with his men, out at Ashley, and failed. He rather wanted a strike; it would have suited his book well enough.

'Yes; the fools will strike. Let them. It suits us well enough. They think trade is flourishing as it was last year. We see the storm on the horizon and draw in our sails. But because we don't explain our reasons, they won't believe we're acting reasonably. Henderson tried a dodge with his men, out at Ashley, and failed. He rather wanted a strike;


So when the men came to ask for the five per cent. they are claiming, he told 'em he'd think about it, and give them his answer on the pay day; knowing all the while what his answer would be, of course, but thinking he'd strengthen their conceit of their own way. However, they were too deep for him, and heard something about the bad prospects of trade. So in they came on the Friday, and drew back their claim, and now he's obliged to go on working. But we Milton masters have to-day sent in our decision. We won't advance a penny. We tell them we may have to lower wages; but can't afford to raise. So here we stand, waiting for their next attack."
"And what will that be?" asked Mr. Hale.

 so when the men came to ask for five per cent more, he told 'em he'd think about it, and give them his answer on pay day; knowing all the while what his answer would be. However, they heard something about the bad prospects of trade, so they withdrew their claim, and now he's obliged to go on working. But we Milton masters have decided we won't advance a penny. We tell them we may have to lower wages; but can't afford to raise. So here we stand, waiting for their next attack.'
'And what will that be?' asked Mr. Hale.


"I conjecture a simultaneous strike. You will see Milton without smoke in a few days, I imagine, Miss Hale."
"But why," asked she, "could you not explain what good reason you had for expecting a bad trade? I don't know whether I use the right words, but you will understand what I mean."
"Do you give your servants reasons for your expenditure, or your economy in the use of your own money? We, the owners of capital, have a right to choose what we will do with it."
"A human right," said Margaret, very low.
"I beg your pardon, I did not hear what you said."
"I would rather not repeat it," said she; "it related to a feeling which I do not think you would share."

'I conjecture, a simultaneous strike.'
'But why could you not explain what good reason you have for expecting bad trade?' asked Margaret.
'Do you give your servants reasons for your expenditure? We have a right to choose what we do with our own money.'
'A human right,' said Margaret, very low.
'I beg your pardon, I did not hear what you said.'
'I would rather not repeat it,' said she; 'it related to a feeling which I do not think you would share.'


"Won't you try me?" pleaded he; his thoughts suddenly bent upon learning what she had said. She was displeased with his pertinacity, but did not choose to affix too much importance to her words.
"I said you had a human right. I meant that there seemed no reason but religious ones, why you should not do what you like with your own."
"I know we differ in our religious opinions; but don't you give me credit for having some, though not the same as yours?"
He was speaking in a subdued voice, as if to her alone. She did not wish to be so exclusively addressed. She replied out in her usual tone:

'Won't you try me?' pleaded he.
'I said you had a human right. However, there may be religious reasons why you should not do what you like with your own.'
'I know we differ in our religious opinions; but don't you give me credit for having some?'
He was speaking in a subdued voice, as if to her alone. She did not wish to be so exclusively addressed, and replied in her usual tone:


"I do not think that I have any occasion to consider your special religious opinions in the affair. All I meant to say is, that there is no human law to prevent the employers from utterly wasting or throwing away all their money, if they choose; but that there are passages in the Bible which would rather imply--to me at least--that they neglected their duties as stewards if they did so. However, I know so little about strikes and rate of wages, and capital, and labour, that I had better not talk to a political economist like you."
"Nay, the more reason," said he eagerly. "I shall only be too glad to explain to you all that may seem anomalous or mysterious to a stranger; especially at a time like this, when our doings are sure to be canvassed by every scribbler who can hold a pen."
"Thank you," she answered, coldly. "Of course, I shall apply to my father in the first instance for any information he can give me, if I get puzzled with living here amongst this strange society."
"You think it strange. Why?"
"I don't know--I suppose because, on the very face of it, I see two classes dependent on each other in every possible way, yet each evidently regarding the interests of the other as opposed to their own: I never lived in a place before where there were two sets of people always running each other down."

'I do not mean to consider your special religious opinions in the affair. All I meant to say is, that there is no human law to prevent employers from utterly wasting their money, if they choose; but that there are passages in the Bible which would imply - to me at least - that they neglected their duty as stewards if they did so. However, I know so little about strikes, and capital, and labour, that I had better not talk to a political economist like you.'
'Nay, the more reason,' said he, eagerly. 'I shall only be too glad to explain to you all that may seem mysterious.'
'Thank you,' she answered, coldly. 'Of course, I shall apply to my father first for information, if I get puzzled with living amongst this strange society.'
'Why strange?'
'I don't know - I suppose because I see two classes dependent on each other, yet each thinking the interests of the other are opposed to their own. I never lived in a place before where there were two sets of people always running each other down.'


"Who have you heard running the masters down? I don't ask who you have heard abusing the men; for I see you persist in misunderstanding what I said the other day. But who have you heard abusing the masters?"
Margaret reddened; then smiled as she said,
"I am not fond of being catechised. I refuse to answer your question. Besides, it has nothing to do with the fact. You must take my word for it, that I have heard some people, or, it may be, only some one of the workpeople speak as though it were the interest of the employers to keep them from acquiring money--that it would make them too independent if they had a sum in the savings' bank."

'Who have you heard running the masters down? I don't ask who you have heard abusing the men; for I see you persist in misunderstanding what I said the other day. But who have you heard abusing the masters?'
Margaret reddened; then smiled as she said,
'I refuse to answer. You must take my word for it, that I have heard one of the workpeople speak as though it were in the interest of the employers to keep them from acquiring money - that it would make them too independent if they had savings.'


"I dare say it was that man Higgins who told you all this," said Mrs. Hale. Mr. Thornton did not appear to hear what Margaret evidently did not wish him to know. But he caught it nevertheless.
"I heard, moreover, that it was considered to the advantage of the masters to have ignorant workmen--not hedge-lawyers, as Captain Lennox used to call those men in his company who questioned and would know the reason for every order."
This latter part of her sentence she addressed rather to her father than to Mr. Thornton. Who is Captain Lennox? asked Mr. Thornton of himself, with a strange kind of displeasure, that prevented him for the moment from replying to her! Her father took up the conversation.
"You never were fond of schools, Margaret, or you would have seen and known before this how much is being done for education in Milton."

'I dare say it was that man Higgins,' said Mrs. Hale. Mr. Thornton pretended not to hear what Margaret evidently did not wish him to know.
'I heard, moreover,' said Margaret, ' that it was considered to the advantage of the masters to have ignorant workmen - not hedge-lawyers, as Captain Lennox used to call those men who questioned the reason for every order.'
Who is Captain Lennox? asked Mr. Thornton of himself, with a strange displeasure. Her father took up the conversation.
'You never were fond of schools, Margaret, or you would have seen and known how much is being done for education in Milton.'


"No!" she said, with sudden meekness. "I know I do not care enough about schools. But the knowledge and the ignorance of which I was speaking did not relate to reading and writing,--the teaching or information one can give to a child. I am sure, that what was meant was ignorance of the wisdom that shall guide men and women. I hardly know what that is. But he--that is my informant--spoke as if the masters would like their hands to be merely tall, large children--living in the present moment--with a blind unreasoning kind of obedience."
"In short, Miss Hale, it is very evident that your informant found a pretty ready listener to all the slander he chose to utter against the masters," said Mr. Thornton, in an offended tone.
Margaret did not reply. She was displeased at the personal character Mr. Thornton affixed to what she had said.

'No!' said she, with sudden meekness. 'I know I do not care enough about schools. But the knowledge and the ignorance of which I was speaking, did not relate to the teaching of children, but rather to ignorance of the wisdom that shall guide men and women. I hardly know what that is. But my informant spoke as if the masters would like their workers to be merely large children - living in the present moment, with blind obedience.'
'In short, Miss Hale, your informant found a ready listener to all the slander he chose to utter against the masters,' said Mr. Thornton, in an offended tone.
Margaret, displeased, did not reply, but left the room.


Mr. Hale spoke next:
"I must confess that, although I have not become so intimately acquainted with any workmen as Margaret has, I am very much struck by the antagonism between the employer and the employed, on the very surface of things. I even gather this impression from what you yourself have from time to time said."
Mr. Thornton paused awhile before he spoke. Margaret had just left the room, and he was vexed at the state of feeling between himself and her. However, the little annoyance, by making him cooler and more thoughtful, gave a greater dignity to what he said:
"My theory is, that my interests are identical with those of my workpeople, and vice-versa. Miss Hale, I know, does not like to hear men called 'hands,' so I won't use that word, though it comes most readily to my lips as the technical term, whose origin, whatever it was, dates before my time. On some future day--in some millennium--in Utopia, this unity may be brought into practice--just as I can fancy a republic the most perfect form of government."
"We will read Plato's Republic as soon as we have finished Homer."

'I must confess,' said Mr. Hale, 'that I am very much struck by the apparent antagonism between the employer and the employed. I even gather this impression from what you yourself have said.'
Mr. Thornton paused awhile before he spoke. The little annoyance between him and Margaret made him more thoughtful, and gave a greater dignity to his reply:
'My theory is, that my interests are identical with those of my workpeople and vice-versa. Miss Hale, I know, does not like to hear men called "hands," so I won't use that word, though it is the usual term. On some future day - in some Utopia - this unity may come about - just as I can fancy a republic the most perfect form of government.'
'We will read Plato's Republic as soon as we have finished Homer.'


"Well, in the Platonic year, it may fall out that we are all--men, women, and children--fit for a republic; but give me a constitutional monarchy in our present state of morals and intelligence. In our infancy we require a wise despotism to govern us. Indeed, long past infancy, children and young people are the happiest under the unfailing laws of a discreet firm authority. I agree with Miss Hale so far as to consider our people in the condition of children, while I deny that we, the masters, have anything to do with the making or keeping them so. I maintain that despotism is the best kind of government for them; so that in the hours in which I come in contact with them I must necessarily be an autocrat. I will use my best discretion--from no humbug or philanthropic feeling, of which we have had rather too much in the North--to make wise laws and come to just decisions in the conduct of my business--laws and decisions which work for my own good in the first instance--for theirs in the second; but I will neither be forced to give my reasons, nor flinch from what I have once declared to be my resolution. Let them turn out! I shall suffer as well as they: but in the end they will find I have not bated nor altered one jot."
Margaret had re-entered the room and was sitting at her work; but she did not speak. Mr. Hale answered--

'Well, in the future, we may be fit for a republic: but give me a constitutional monarchy in our present state. In our infancy we require a wise despotism to govern us. Indeed, long past infancy, children and young people are happiest under the laws of a discreet, firm authority. As Miss Hale says, I consider our people to be in the condition of children, but it is not the masters who keep them so. I maintain that despotism is the best kind of government for them; so that in the factory I must be an autocrat. I will try to make wise laws and just decisions, which work for my own good in the first instance, and for theirs in the second; but I will neither be forced to give them my reasons, nor flinch from my resolution. Let them turn out on strike! I shall suffer as well as they: but at the end they will find I have not given way one jot.'
Margaret had re-entered the room and was sitting sewing; but she did not speak. Mr. Hale answered.


"I dare say I am talking in great ignorance; but from the little I know, I should say that the masses were already passing rapidly into the troublesome stage which intervenes between childhood and manhood, in the life of the multitude as well as that of the individual. Now, the error which many parents commit in the treatment of the individual at this time is, insisting on the same unreasoning obedience as when all he had to do in the way of duty was, to obey the simple laws of 'Come when you're called,' and 'Do as you're bid!' But a wise parent humours the desire for independent action, so as to become the friend and adviser when his absolute rule shall cease. If I get wrong in my reasoning, recollect, it is you who adopted the analogy."

'I dare say I am talking in great ignorance; but I should say that the masses were already passing rapidly into a troublesome adolescence, in the life of the multitude as well as the individual. Now, the error which many parents commit at this time is insisting on the same unreasoning obedience as earlier, when the child's only duty was to obey the simple laws of "Come when you're called" and "Do as you're told!" But a wise parent allows independent action, so as to become a friend and adviser when his rule shall cease.'


"Very lately," said Margaret, "I heard a story of what happened in Nuremberg only three or four years ago. A rich man there lived alone in one of the immense mansions which were formerly both dwellings and warehouses. It was reported that he had a child, but no one knew of it for certain. For forty years this rumour kept rising and falling--never utterly dying away. After his death it was found to be true. He had a son--an overgrown man, with the unexercised intellect of a child, whom he had kept up in that strange way, in order to save him from temptation and error. But, of course, when this great old child was turned loose in the world, every bad counsellor had power over him. He did not know good from evil. His father had made the blunder of bringing him up in ignorance and taking it for innocence; and after fourteen months of riotous living, the city authorities had to take charge of him, in order to save him from starvation. He could not even use words effectively enough to be a successful beggar."

Margaret said, 'I heard a story of a rich man in Nuremberg only three or four years ago. He lived alone in an immense mansion. It was reported that he had a child, but no one knew of it for certain. For forty years this rumour went round. After his death it was found to be true. He had a son - an overgrown man with the unexercised intellect of a child, whom he had brought up in that strange way, to save him from temptation and error. But, of course, when this great child was turned loose into the world, he did not know good from evil. His father had made the blunder of confusing ignorance with innocence; and after fourteen months of riotous living, the city authorities had to take charge of him, to save him from starvation.'


"I used the comparison (suggested by Miss Hale) of the position of the master to that of a parent, so I ought not to complain of your turning the simile into a weapon against me. But, Mr. Hale, when you were setting up a wise parent as a model for us, you said he humoured his children in their desire for independent action. Now certainly, the time is not come for the hands to have any independent action during business hours; I hardly know what you would mean by it then. And I say, that the masters would be trenching on the independence of their hands, in a way that I, for one, should not feel justified in doing, if we interfered too much with the life they lead out of the mills. Because they labour ten hours a-day for us, I do not see that we have any right to impose leading-strings upon them for the rest of their time. I value my own independence so highly that I can fancy no degradation greater than that of having another man perpetually directing and advising and lecturing me, or even planning too closely in any way about my actions. He might be the wisest of men or the most powerful--I should equally rebel and resent his interference. I imagine this is a stronger feeling in the North of England than in the South."
"I beg your pardon, but is not that because there has been none of the equality of friendship between the adviser and advised classes? Because every man has had to stand in an unchristian and isolated position, apart from and jealous of his brother-man: constantly afraid of his rights being trenched upon?"

'Mr. Hale, you said a wise man would allow independent action. Now certainly, the time is not come for the hands to have any independent action during business hours; so I hardly know what you would mean. And I say that the masters would not be justified in interfering too much with the life the hands lead outside the mills. Because they labour ten hours a day for us, I do not see that we have any right to impose leading-strings upon them for the rest of their time. I value my own independence so highly that I would not care to have another man perpetually advising and lecturing me. He might be the wisest of men, but I should rebel and resent his interference. I imagine this is a stronger feeling in the North of England than in the South.'
'Is not that because there has been no equality of friendship between the adviser and advised classes? Because every man has had to stand in an unchristian and isolated position, apart from and jealous of his brother-man?'


"I only state the fact. I am sorry to say, I have an appointment at eight o'clock, and I must just take facts as I find them to-night, without trying to account for them; which, indeed, would make no difference in determining how to act as things stand--the facts must be granted."
"But," said Margaret in a low voice, "it seems to me that it makes all the difference in the world--." Her father made a sign to her to be silent, and allow Mr. Thornton to finish what he had to say. He was already standing up and preparing to go.
"You must grant me this one point. Given a strong feeling of independence in every Darkshire man, have I any right to obtrude my views, of the manner in which he shall act, upon another (hating it as I should do most vehemently myself), merely because he has labour to sell and I capital to buy?"

'I only state the fact. I am sorry to say I have an appointment at eight o'clock, and I must just take facts as I find them tonight.'
'But,' said Margaret in a low voice, 'it seems to me that it makes all the difference in the world-'
Her father made a sign to her to be silent. Mr. Thornton was already standing up and preparing to go, saying,
'You must grant me this one point. Given a strong feeling of independence in every Darkshire man, have I any right to impose my views of how other men shall act, merely because they have labour to sell and I capital to buy?'


"Not in the least," said Margaret, determined to say just this one thing; "not in the least because of your labour and capital positions, whatever they are, but because you are a man, dealing with a set of men over whom you have, whether you reject the use of it or not, immense power, just because your lives and your welfare are so constantly and intimately interwoven. God has made us so that we must be mutually dependent. We may ignore our own dependence, or refuse to acknowledge that others depend upon us in more respects than the payment of weekly wages; but the thing must be, nevertheless. Neither you nor any other master can help yourselves. The most proudly independent man depends on those around him for their insensible influence on his character--his life. And the most isolated of all your Darkshire Egos has dependants clinging to him on all sides; he cannot shake them off, any more than the great rock he resembles can shake off--"
"Pray don't go into similes, Margaret; you have led us off once already," said her father, smiling, yet uneasy at the thought that they were detaining Mr. Thornton against his will, which was a mistake; for he rather liked it, as long as Margaret would talk, although what she said only irritated him.

'Not in the least,' said Margaret, determined just to say this one thing; 'not in the least because of your labour and capital positions, whatever they are, but because you are a man, dealing with a set of men over whom you have immense power, with your lives and welfare constantly interwoven. God has made us mutually dependent. We may ignore this, or refuse to acknowledge it; but the thing must be, nevertheless. The most proudly independent man depends on those around him for their influence on his character - his life. And the most isolated of all your Darkshire Egos has dependants clinging to him on all sides; he cannot shake them off, any more than the great rock he resembles can shake off-'
'Pray don't go into any more similes, Margaret,' said her father, smiling, yet uneasy. However, Mr. Thornton did not mind being detained; he rather liked hearing Margaret talk, although what she said irritated him.


"Just tell me, Miss Hale, are you yourself ever influenced--no, that is not a fair way of putting it;--but if you are ever conscious of being influenced by others, and not by circumstances, have those others been working directly or indirectly? Have they been labouring to exhort, to enjoin, to act rightly for the sake of example, or have they been simple, true men, taking up their duty, and doing it unflinchingly, without a thought of how their actions were to make this man industrious, that man saving? Why, if I were a workman, I should be twenty times more impressed by the knowledge that my master was honest, punctual, quick, resolute in all his doings (and hands are keener spies even than valets), than by any amount of interference, however kindly meant, with my ways of going on out of work-hours. I do not choose to think too closely on what I am myself; but, I believe, I rely on the straightforward honesty of my hands, and the open nature of their opposition, in contra-distinction to the way in which the turn-out will be managed in some mills, just because they know I scorn to take a single dishonourable advantage, or do an underhand thing myself. It goes farther than a whole course of lectures on 'Honesty is the Best Policy'--life diluted into words. No, no! What the master is, that will the men be, without over-much taking thought on his part."
"That is a great admission," said Margaret, laughing. "When I see men violent and obstinate, in pursuit of their rights, I may safely infer that the master is the same; that he is a little ignorant of that spirit which suffereth long, and is kind, and seeketh not her own."

'Just tell me, Miss Hale - if you are ever conscious of being influenced by others, have those others been working directly or indirectly? Have they exhorted you to act rightly, or have they been simply doing their duty unflinchingly? Why, if I were a workman, I should be twenty times more impressed by knowing that my master was honest, punctual, and resolute, than by any amount of interference, however kindly meant. I rely on the straightforward honesty of my hands, and the open nature of their opposition, in contrast to the way in which the turnout will be managed in some mills - because they know I will not take a dishonourable advantage, or do an underhand thing myself. It goes farther than a whole course of lectures on "Honesty is the Best Policy" - life diluted into words. No, no! What the master is, that will the men be.'
'That is a great admission,' said Margaret, laughing. 'When I see men violent and obstinate in pursuit of their rights, I may safely infer that the master is the same: that he is a little ignorant of that spirit which suffereth long, and is kind and selfless.'


"You are just like all strangers who don't understand the working of our system, Miss Hale," said he, hastily. "You suppose that our men are puppets of dough, ready to be moulded into any amiable form we please. You forget we have only to do with them for less than a third of their lives; and you seem not to perceive that the duties of a manufacturer are far larger and wider than those merely of an employer of labour: we have a wide commercial character to maintain, which makes us into the great pioneers of civilisation."
"It strikes me," said Mr. Hale, smiling, "that you might pioneer a little at home. They are a rough, heathenish set of fellows, these Milton men of yours."
"They are that," replied Mr. Thornton. "Rose-water surgery won't do for them. Cromwell would have made a capital mill-owner, Miss Hale. I wish we had him to put down this strike for us."

'You are just like all strangers who don't understand the working of our system, Miss Hale,' said he, hastily. 'You suppose that our men are puppets of dough, ready to be moulded into any form we please. You forget we have only to do with them for less than a third of their lives; and you seem not to perceive that the duties of a manufacturer are far larger than those merely of an employer of labour. We have commerce to maintain, which makes us into the great pioneers of civilisation.'
'It strikes me,' said Mr. Hale, smiling, 'that you might pioneer a little at home. They are a rough, heathenish set of fellows, these Milton men of yours.'
'They are that,' replied Mr. Thornton. 'Cromwell would have made a capital mill-owner, Miss Hale. I wish we had him to put down this strike for us.'


"Cromwell is no hero of mine," she said, coldly. "But I am trying to reconcile your admiration of despotism with your respect for other men's independence of character."
He reddened at her tone. "I choose to be the unquestioned and irresponsible master of my hands, during the hours they labour for me. But those hours past, our relation ceases; and then comes in the same respect for their independence that I myself exact."
He did not speak again for a minute, he was too much vexed. But he shook it off, and bade Mr. and Mrs. Hale good night. Then, drawing near to Margaret, he said in a lower voice--
"I spoke hastily to you once this evening, and I am afraid, rather rudely. But you know I am but an uncouth Milton manufacturer; will you forgive me?"

'Cromwell is no hero of mine,' said she, coldly. 'But I am trying to reconcile your admiration of despotism with your respect for other men's independence of character.'
He reddened at her tone. 'I choose to be the unquestioned master of my hands, during the hours that they labour for me. But after those hours, I respect their independence.' Vexed, he did not speak again for a minute. But he shook it off, and bade Mr. and Mrs. Hale good night.
To Margaret he said in a lower voice, 'I spoke hastily to you, and I am afraid, rather rudely. But you know I am only an uncouth Milton manufacturer; will you forgive me?'


"Certainly," said she, smiling up in his face, the expression of which was somewhat anxious and oppressed, and hardly cleared away as he met her sweet sunny countenance, out of which all the north-wind effect of their discussion had entirely vanished. But she did not put out her hand to him, and again he felt the omission, and set it down to pride.

'Certainly,' said she, smiling. His anxious expression hardly cleared as he met her sweet sunny countenance. But she did not put out her hand to him, and again he felt the omission, and set it down to pride.


"Where are the sounds that swam along The buoyant air when I was young; The last vibration now is o'er, And they who listened are no more; Ah! let me close my eyes and dream." W. S. LANDOR.


The idea of Helstone had been suggested to Mr. Bell's waking mind by his conversation with Mr. Lennox, and all night long it ran riot through his dreams. He was again the tutor in the college where he now held the rank of Fellow; it was again a long vacation, and he was staying with his newly-married friend, the proud husband, and happy Vicar of Helstone. Over babbling brooks they took impossible leaps, which seemed to keep them whole days suspended in the air. Time and space were not, though all other things seemed real. Every event was measured by the emotions of the mind, not by its actual existence, for existence it had none. But the trees were gorgeous in their autumnal leafiness--the warm odours of flower and herb came sweet upon the sense--the young wife moved about the house with just that mixture of annoyance at her position, as regarded wealth, with pride in her handsome and devoted husband, which Mr. Bell had noticed in real life a quarter of a century ago. The dream was so like life that, when he awoke, his present life seemed a dream. Where was he? In the close, handsomely furnished room of a London hotel! Where were those who spoke to him, moved around him, touched him, not an instant ago?

The idea of Helstone had been suggested to Mr. Bell by this conversation, and all night long it ran riot through his dreams. He dreamt he was again the tutor at his college; it was again a long vacation, and he was staying with his newly married friend, the proud and happy Vicar of Helstone. Over babbling brooks they took impossible leaps, which seemed to keep them whole days suspended in the air. Time and space did not exist, though all other things seemed real. Every event was measured by emotion. But the trees were gorgeous in their autumnal leafiness - the warm odours of flower and herb were sweet. The young wife moved about her house with that mixture of annoyance at her lowered position, and pride in her devoted husband, which Mr. Bell remembered from a quarter of a century ago.
The dream was so like life that, when he awoke, the present seemed like a dream. Where were those who spoke to him, touched him, not an instant ago?


Dead! buried! lost for evermore, as far as earth's for evermore would extend. He was an old man, so lately exultant in the full strength of manhood. The utter loneliness of his life was insupportable to think about. He got up hastily, and tried to forget what never more might be, in a hurried dressing for the breakfast in Harley Street.

Dead! lost for evermore. He was an old man, and the utter loneliness of his life was insupportable to think about. He got up hastily, and tried to forget it, hurriedly dressing for the breakfast in Harley Street.


He could not attend to all the lawyer's details, which, as he saw, made Margaret's eyes dilate, and her lips grow pale, as one by one fate decreed, or so it seemed, every morsel of evidence which would exonerate Frederick, should fall from beneath her feet and disappear. Even Mr. Lennox's well-regulated professional voice took a softer, tenderer tone, as he drew near to the extinction of the last hope. It was not that Margaret had not been perfectly aware of the result before. It was only that the details of each successive disappointment came with such relentless minuteness to quench all hope, that she at last fairly gave way to tears. Mr. Lennox stopped reading.
"I had better not go on," said he, in a concerned voice. "It was a foolish proposal of mine. Lieutenant Hale," and even this giving him the title of the service from which he had so harshly been expelled, was soothing to Margaret. "Lieutenant Hale is happy now; more secure in fortune and future prospects than he could ever have been in the navy; and has, doubtless, adopted his wife's country as his own."

He could not attend to all the lawyer's details, which, as he saw, made Margaret's eyes dilate, and her lips grow pale, as every morsel of evidence which would exonerate Frederick seemed to disappear. Even Mr. Lennox's professional voice took a softer tone as he drew near to the extinction of the last hope. When she gave way to tears, Mr. Lennox stopped reading.
'I had better not go on. It was a foolish proposal of mine. Lieutenant Hale is happy now; more secure in future prospects than he could ever have been in the navy; and has, doubtless, adopted his wife's country as his own.'


"That is it," said Margaret. "It seems so selfish in me to regret it," trying to smile, "and yet he is lost to me, and I am so lonely." Mr. Lennox turned over his papers, and wished that he were as rich and prosperous as he believed he should be some day. Mr. Bell blew his nose, but, otherwise, he also kept silence; and Margaret, in a minute or two, had apparently recovered her usual composure. She thanked Mr. Lennox very courteously for his trouble; all the more courteously and graciously because she was conscious that, by her behaviour, he might probably be led to imagine that he had given her needless pain. Yet it was pain she would not have been without.
Mr. Bell came up to wish her good-bye.

'That is it,' said Margaret. 'It seems so selfish of me to regret it,' trying to smile, 'and yet he is lost to me, and I am so lonely.'
Mr. Lennox turned over his papers, and wished that he were as rich and prosperous as he believed he should be some day. Mr. Bell blew his nose, but, otherwise, he also kept silence; and Margaret, in a minute or two, had apparently recovered her usual composure, and thanked Mr. Lennox very courteously for his trouble.


"Margaret!" said he, as he fumbled with his gloves, "I am going down to Helstone to-morrow, to look at the old place. Would you like to come with me? Or would it give you too much pain? Speak out, don't be afraid."
"Oh, Mr. Bell," said she--and could say no more. But she took his old gouty hand, and kissed it.

'Margaret!' said Mr. Bell, as he fumbled with his gloves. 'I am going down to Helstone tomorrow, to look at the old place. Would you like to come with me? Or would it give you too much pain?'
'Oh, Mr. Bell,' said she - and could say no more. But she took his old gouty hand, and kissed it.


"Come, come; that's enough," said he, reddening with awkwardness. "I suppose your aunt Shaw will trust you with me. We'll go to-morrow morning, and we shall get there about two o'clock, I fancy. We'll take a snack, and order dinner at the little inn--the Lennard Arms, it used to be--and go and get an appetite in the forest. Can you stand it, Margaret? It will be a trial, I know, to both of us, but it will be a pleasure to me, at least. And there we'll dine--it will be but doe-venison, if we can get it at all--and then I'll take my nap, while you go out and see old friends. I'll give you back safe and sound, barring railway accidents, and I'll insure your life for a thousand pounds before starting, which may be some comfort to your relations; but otherwise, I'll bring you back to Mrs. Shaw by lunch time on Friday. So, if you say yes, I'll just go upstairs and propose it."
"It's no use my trying to say how much I shall like it," said Margaret, through her tears.

'Come, come,' said he, awkwardly. 'I suppose your aunt Shaw will trust you with me. We'll go tomorrow morning, and we shall get there about two o'clock, I fancy. We'll take a snack, and order dinner at the little inn - the Lennard Arms. And we'll dine on doe-venison - and then I'll take my nap while you go and see old friends. I'll bring you back safe and sound to Mrs. Shaw by lunch-time on Friday. So, if you say yes, I'll just go upstairs and propose it.'
'I shall like it,' said Margaret, through her tears.


"Well, then, prove your gratitude by keeping those fountains of yours dry for the next two days. If you don't, I shall feel queer myself about the lachrymal ducts, and I don't like that."
"I won't cry a drop," said Margaret, winking her eyes to shake the tears off her eyelashes, and forcing a smile.
"There's my good girl. Then we'll go upstairs and settle it all." Margaret was in a state of almost trembling eagerness, while Mr. Bell discussed his plan with her aunt Shaw, who was first startled, then doubtful and perplexed, and in the end, yielding rather to the rough force of Mr. Bell's words than to her own conviction; for to the last, whether it was right or wrong, proper or improper, she could not settle to her own satisfaction, till Margaret's safe return, the happy fulfilment of the project, gave her decision enough to say, "she was sure it had been a very kind thought of Mr. Bell's, and just what she herself had been wishing for Margaret, as giving her the very change which she required, after all the anxious time she had had."

'Well, then, prove your gratitude by keeping those fountains of yours dry for the next two days, or you will set me off too.'
'I won't cry a drop,' said Margaret, forcing a smile.
'There's my good girl. Then we'll go upstairs and settle it all.'
Aunt Shaw was first startled, then doubtful and perplexed, but in the end, yielded to Mr. Bell. 'She was sure it had been a very kind thought of Mr. Bell's, and just what she herself had been wishing for Margaret, as giving her the very change which she required.'


"There's nought so finely spun But it cometh to the sun."
Mr. Thornton sate on and on. He felt that his company gave pleasure to Mr. Hale; and was touched by the half-spoken wishful entreaty that he would remain a little longer--the plaintive "Don't go yet," which his poor friend put forth from time to time. He wondered Margaret did not return; but it was with no view of seeing her that he lingered. For the hour--and in the presence of one who was so thoroughly feeling the nothingness of earth--he was reasonable and self-controlled. He was deeply interested in all her father said
"Of death, and of the heavy lull, And of the brain that has grown dull."

Mr. Thornton sat on. He felt that his company gave pleasure to Mr. Hale; and was touched by the plaintive entreaty 'Don't go yet,' which his poor friend begged from time to time. He wondered that Margaret did not return; but it was with no view of seeing her that he lingered. He was deeply interested in all her father said.


It was curious how the presence of Mr. Thornton had power over Mr. Hale to make him unlock the secret thoughts which he kept shut up even from Margaret. Whether it was that her sympathy would be so keen, and show itself in so lively a manner, that he was afraid of the reaction upon himself, or whether it was that to his speculative mind all kinds of doubts presented themselves at such a time, pleading and crying aloud to be resolved into certainties, and that he knew she would have shrunk from the expression of any such doubts--nay, from him himself as capable of conceiving them--whatever was the reason, he could unburden himself better to Mr. Thornton than to her of all the thoughts and fancies and fears that had been frost-bound in his brain till now. Mr. Thornton said very little; but every sentence he uttered added to Mr. Hale's reliance and regard for him. Was it that he paused in the expression of some remembered agony, Mr. Thornton's two or three words would complete the sentence, and show how deeply its meaning was entered into. Was it a doubt--a fear--a wandering uncertainty seeking rest, but finding none--so tear-blinded were its eyes--Mr. Thornton, instead of being shocked, seemed to have passed through that very stage of thought himself, and could suggest where the exact ray of light was to be found, which should make the dark places plain. Man of action as he was, busy in the world's great battle, there was a deeper religion binding him to God in his heart, in spite of his strong wilfulness, through all his mistakes, than Mr. Hale had ever dreamed. They never spoke of such things again, as it happened; but this one conversation made them peculiar people to each other; knit them together, in a way which no loose indiscriminate talking about sacred things can ever accomplish. When all are admitted, how can there be a Holy of Holies?

It was curious how Mr. Thornton's presence could unlock the secret thoughts which Mr. Hale kept shut up even from Margaret. Whether he was afraid of his own reaction to her keen sympathy, or whether he felt she would have shrunk from his doubts and fears at such a time - whatever the reason, he could unburden himself better to Mr. Thornton than to her. Mr. Thornton said very little; but every sentence he uttered added to Mr. Hale's regard for him. If he paused in the expression of some remembered agony, Mr. Thornton's two or three words would complete the sentence, and show how deeply he understood. Mr. Thornton, instead of being shocked by any doubts, seemed to have passed through that very stage of thought himself, and could suggest where to find the ray of light which should make the dark places plain. Busy man of action though he was, there was a deep religion binding him to God in his heart, through all his mistakes. They never spoke of such things again, as it happened; but this one conversation knit them together.


And all this while, Margaret lay as still and white as death on the study floor! She had sunk under her burden. It had been heavy in weight and long carried; and she had been very meek and patient, till all at once her faith had given way, and she had groped in vain for help! There was a pitiful contraction of suffering upon her beautiful brows, although there was no other sign of consciousness remaining. The mouth--a little while ago, so sullenly projected in defiance--was relaxed and livid.
"E par che de la sua labbia si mova Uno spirto soave e pien d'amore, Chi va dicendo a l'anima: sospira!"

And all this while, Margaret lay as still and white as death on the study floor! Her burden had been heavy and long carried; and she had been very meek and patient under it, till all at once her faith had given way, and she had groped in vain for help.


The first symptom of returning life was a quivering about the lips--a little mute soundless attempt at speech; but the eyes were still closed; and the quivering sank into stillness. Then, feebly leaning on her arms for an instant to steady herself, Margaret gathered herself up, and rose. Her comb had fallen out of her hair; and with an intuitive desire to efface the traces of weakness, and bring herself into order again, she sought for it, although from time to time, in the course of the search, she had to sit down and recover strength. Her head drooped forwards--her hands meekly laid one upon the other--she tried to recall the force of her temptation, by endeavouring to remember the details which had thrown her into such deadly fright; but she could not. She only understood two facts--that Frederick had been in danger of being pursued and detected in London, as not only guilty of manslaughter, but as the more unpardonable leader of the mutiny, and that she had lied to save him. There was one comfort; her lie had saved him, if only by gaining some additional time. If the inspector came again to-morrow, after she had received the letter she longed for to assure her of her brother's safety, she would brave shame, and stand in her bitter penance--she the lofty Margaret--acknowledging before a crowded justice-room, if need were, that she had been as "a dog, and done this thing." But if he came before she heard from Frederick; if he returned, as he had half threatened, in a few hours, why! she would tell that lie again; though how the words would come out, after all this terrible pause for reflection and self-reproach, without betraying her falsehood, she did not know, she could not tell. But her repetition of it would gain time--time for Frederick.

The first symptom of returning life was a quivering about the lips - a mute attempt at speech, that sank into stillness. Then, feebly leaning on her arms to steady herself, Margaret gathered herself up, and rose. Her comb had fallen out of her hair; and with an intuitive desire to remove the traces of weakness, she sought for it, although in the course of the search, she had to sit down and recover strength. She tried to remember the details which had thrown her into such deadly fright; but she could not. She only understood two facts - that Frederick had been in danger of being pursued and detected in London, and that she had lied to save him.
There was one comfort; her lie had gained him time. If the inspector came again tomorrow, after she had received a letter assuring her of her brother's safety, she would brave shame, and acknowledge before a crowded courtroom that she had withheld the truth. But if the inspector came before she heard from Frederick, why! she would tell that lie again; though how the words would come out without betraying her falsehood, she did not know. But it would gain time for Frederick.


She was roused by Dixon's entrance into the room; she had just been letting out Mr. Thornton.
He had hardly gone ten steps in the street, before a passing omnibus stopped close by him, and a man got down, and came up to him, touching his hat as he did so. It was the police-inspector.
Mr. Thornton had obtained for him his first situation in the police, and had heard from time to time of the progress of his protg, but they had not often met, and at first Mr. Thornton did not remember him.
"My name is Watson--George Watson, sir, that you got----"
"Ah, yes! Why you are getting on famously, I hear."

She was roused by Dixon's entrance into the room; she had just let out Mr. Thornton.
He had hardly gone ten steps in the street, before a man came up to him, touching his hat. It was the police-inspector.
Mr. Thornton had obtained for him his first situation in the police, and had heard from time to time of his progress, but they had not often met. At first Mr. Thornton did not remember him.
'My name is Watson - George Watson, sir-'
'Ah, yes! I recollect. You are getting on famously, I hear.'


"Yes, sir. I ought to thank you, sir. But it is on a little matter of business I made so bold as to speak to you now. I believe you were the magistrate who attended to take down the deposition of a poor man who died in the Infirmary last night."
"Yes," replied Mr. Thornton. "I went and heard some kind of a rambling statement, which the clerk said was of no great use. I'm afraid he was but a drunken fellow, though there is no doubt he came to his death by violence at last. One of my mother's servants was engaged to him, I believe, and she is in great distress to-day. What about him?"
"Why, sir, his death is oddly mixed up with somebody in the house I saw you coming out of just now; it was a Mr. Hales's I believe."

'Yes, I ought to thank you, sir. But it is on a little matter of business I make so bold as to speak to you now. I believe you were the magistrate who attended to take down the deposition of a poor man who died in the Infirmary last night.'
'Yes,' replied Mr. Thornton. 'I went and heard some kind of a rambling statement, which the clerk said was of no great use. I'm afraid he was a drunken fellow, though he came to his death by violence at last. One of my mother's servants was engaged to him, I believe, and she is in great distress. What about him?'
'Why, sir, his death is oddly mixed up with somebody in the house I saw you coming out of just now; Mr. Hale's, I believe.'


"Yes!" said Mr. Thornton, turning sharp round and looking into the inspector's face with sudden interest. "What about it?"
"Why, sir, it seems to me that I have got a pretty distinct chain of evidence, inculpating a gentleman who was walking with Miss Hale that night at the Outwood station, as the man who struck or pushed Leonards off the platform and so caused his death. But the young lady denies that she was there at the time."
"Miss Hale denies she was there!" repeated Mr. Thornton in an altered voice. "Tell me, what evening was it? What time?"
"About six o'clock, on the evening of Thursday, the twenty-sixth."

'Yes?' said Mr. Thornton, looking into the inspector's face with sudden interest.
'Why, sir, I have got a pretty distinct chain of evidence, inculpating a gentleman who was walking with Miss Hale that night at the Outwood station, as the man who struck or pushed Leonards off the platform. But the young lady denies that she was there at the time.'
'Miss Hale denies she was there!' repeated Mr. Thornton, in an altered voice. 'Tell me, what evening was it? What time?'
'About six o'clock, on the evening of Thursday, the twenty-sixth.'


They walked on, side by side, in silence for a minute or two. The inspector was the first to speak.
"You see, sir, there is like to be a coroner's inquest; and I've got a young man who is pretty positive,--at least he was at first;--since he has heard of the young lady's denial, he says he should not like to swear; but still he's pretty positive that he saw Miss Hale at the station, walking about with a gentleman, not five minutes before the time, when one of the porters saw a scuffle, which he set down to some of Leonards' impudence--but which led to the fall which caused his death. And seeing you come out of the very house, sir, I thought I might make bold to ask if--you see, it's always awkward having to do with cases of disputed identity, and one doesn't like to doubt the word of a respectable young woman unless one has strong proof to the contrary."
"And she denied having been at the station that evening!" repeated Mr. Thornton, in a low, brooding tone.
"Yes, sir, twice over, as distinct as could be. I told her I should call again, but seeing you just as I was on my way back from questioning the young man who said it was her, I thought I would ask your advice, both as the magistrate who saw Leonards on his death-bed, and as the gentleman who got me my berth in the force."
"You were quite right," said Mr. Thornton. "Don't take any steps till you have seen me again."

They walked on, side by side, in silence for a minute or two. The inspector was the first to speak.
'You see, sir, there is like to be a coroner's inquest; and I've got a young man who is pretty sure that he saw Miss Hale at the station, walking about with a gentleman, not five minutes before one of the porters saw a scuffle, which he set down to some of Leonards' impudence - but which led to the fall which caused his death. And seeing you come out of the very house, sir, I thought I might make bold to ask - you see, it's awkward, and one doesn't like to doubt the word of a respectable young woman unless one has strong proof to the contrary.'
'And she denied having been at the station that evening!' repeated Mr. Thornton, in a low, brooding tone.
'Yes, sir, twice. I told her I should call again, and I was just on my way there after talking to the witness again when I saw you. I thought I would ask your advice, both as the magistrate who saw Leonards on his death-bed, and as the gentleman who got me my berth in the force.'
'You were quite right,' said Mr. Thornton. 'Don't take any steps till you have seen me again.'


"The young lady will expect me to call, from what I said."
"I only want to delay you an hour. It's now three. Come to my warehouse at four."
"Very well, sir!"

'The young lady will expect me to call.'
'I only want to delay you an hour. It's now three. Come to my warehouse at four.'
'Very well, sir!'


And they parted company. Mr. Thornton hurried to his warehouse, and, sternly forbidding his clerks to allow any one to interrupt him, he went his way to his own private room, and locked the door. Then he indulged himself in the torture of thinking it all over, and realising every detail. How could he have lulled himself into the unsuspicious calm in which her tearful image had mirrored itself not two hours before, till he had weakly pitied her and yearned towards her, and forgotten the savage, distrustful jealousy with which the sight of her--and that unknown to him--at such an hour--in such a place--had inspired him! How could one so pure have stooped from her decorous and noble manner of bearing! But was it decorous--was it? He hated himself for the idea that forced itself upon him, just for an instant--no more--and yet, while it was present, thrilled him with its old potency of attraction towards her image. And then this falsehood--how terrible must be some dread of shame to be revealed--for, after all, the provocation given by such a man as Leonards was, when excited by drinking, might, in all probability, be more than enough to justify any one who came forward to state the circumstances openly and without reserve! How creeping and deadly that fear which could bow down the truthful Margaret to falsehood! He could almost pity her.

And they parted company. Mr. Thornton hurried to his warehouse, and, sternly forbidding his clerks to allow anyone to interrupt him, he went to his private room, and locked the door. Then he indulged himself in the torture of thinking it all over.
How could he have lulled himself into pity by her tearful image, and have forgotten the savage, distrustful jealousy with which the sight of her and another man - at such an hour - in such a place - had filled him! How could one so pure have stooped from her decorous and noble manner of bearing! But was it decorous?
He hated himself for the idea that forced itself upon him, just for an instant, and yet thrilled him with its old potency of attraction towards her image. And then this falsehood - how terrible her dread must be of some shame to be revealed. After all, the provocation given by such a man as Leonards might be more than enough to justify anyone stating the circumstances openly! How creeping and deadly that fear which could bow down the truthful Margaret to falsehood! He could almost pity her.


What would be the end of it? She could not have considered all she was entering upon; if there was an inquest and the young man came forward. Suddenly he started up. There should be no inquest. He would save Margaret. He would take the responsibility of preventing the inquest, the issue of which, from the uncertainty of the medical testimony (which he had vaguely heard the night before, from the surgeon in attendance), could be but doubtful; the doctors had discovered an internal disease far advanced, and sure to prove fatal; they had stated that death might have been accelerated by the fall, or by the subsequent drinking and exposure to cold. If he had but known how Margaret would have become involved in the affair--if he had but foreseen that he would have stained her whiteness by a falsehood, he could have saved her by a word; for the question, of inquest or no inquest, had hung trembling in the balance only the night before. Miss Hale might love another--was indifferent and contemptuous to him--but he would yet do her faithful acts of service of which she should never know. He might despise her, but the woman whom he had once loved should be kept from shame; and shame it would be to pledge herself to a lie in a public court, or otherwise to stand and acknowledge her reason for desiring darkness rather than light.

What would be the end of it? She could not have considered; if there was an inquest and the young man came forward-
Suddenly he started up. There should be no inquest. He would save Margaret. He would take the responsibility of preventing the inquest. He had heard the medical testimony from the surgeon the night before, and it was doubtful; the doctors had discovered an internal disease far advanced, and sure to prove fatal. They had stated that death might have been accelerated by the fall, or by the subsequent drinking and exposure to cold.
If he had only known how Margaret would have become involved in the affair - if he had foreseen that she would have stained her whiteness by a falsehood, he could have saved her by a word; for the necessity of an inquest had hung in the balance only the night before. Miss Hale might love another - was indifferent and contemptuous to him - but he would yet do her faithful acts of service of which she should never know. He might despise her, but the woman whom he had once loved should be kept from shame; and shame it would be to lie in a public court.


Very gray and stern did Mr. Thornton look, as he passed out through his wondering clerks. He was away about half an hour; and scarcely less stern did he look when he returned, although his errand had been successful.
He wrote two lines on a slip of paper, put it in an envelope, and sealed it up. This he gave to one of the clerks, saying:--
"I appointed Watson--he who was a packer in the warehouse, and who went into the police--to call on me at four o'clock. I have just met a gentleman from Liverpool who wishes to see me before he leaves town. Take care to give this note to Watson when he calls."
The note contained these words:

Very grey and stern did Mr. Thornton look, as he passed out through his wondering clerks. He was away about half an hour; and scarcely less stern did he look when he returned, although his errand had been successful.
He wrote two lines on a slip of paper, put it in an envelope, and sealed it up. This he gave to one of the clerks, saying:
'I asked Watson - he who was a packer in the warehouse, and who went into the police - to call on me at four o'clock. But I need to see a gentleman from Liverpool before he leaves town. Give this note to Watson when he calls.'
The note contained these words:


"There will be no inquest. Medical evidence not sufficient to justify it. Take no further steps. I have not seen the coroner; but I will take the responsibility."

'There will be no inquest. Medical evidence not sufficient to justify it. Take no further steps. I have not seen the coroner; but I will take the responsibility.'


"Well," thought Watson, "it relieves me from an awkward job. None of my witnesses seemed certain of anything except the young woman. She was clear and distinct enough; the porter at the railroad had seen a scuffle! or when he found it was likely to bring him in as a witness, then it might not have been a scuffle, only a little larking, and Leonards might have jumped off the platform himself;--he would not stick firm to anything. And Jennings, the grocer's shopman,--well, he was not quite so bad, but I doubt if I could have got him up to an oath after he heard that Miss Hale flatly denied it. It would have been a troublesome job and no satisfaction. And now I must go and tell them they won't be wanted."

'Well,' thought Watson, 'it relieves me from an awkward job. None of my witnesses seemed certain of anything except the young woman. The porter had seen a scuffle; but when he found it was likely to bring him in as a witness, then it might not have been a scuffle, only a little larking, and Leonards might have jumped off the platform - he would not stick to anything. And Jennings, the shopman - well, I doubt if I could have got him up to an oath after he heard that Miss Hale denied it. It would have been a troublesome job. And now I must go and tell them they won't be wanted.'


He accordingly presented himself again at Mr. Hale's that evening. Her father and Dixon would fain have persuaded Margaret to go to bed; but they, neither of them, knew the reason for her low continued refusals to do so. Dixon had learnt part of the truth--but only part. Margaret would not tell any human being of what she had said, and she did not reveal the fatal termination to Leonards' fall from the platform. So Dixon's curiosity combined with her allegiance to urge Margaret to go to rest, which her appearance, as she lay on the sofa, showed but too clearly that she required. She did not speak except when spoken to; she tried to smile back in reply to her father's anxious looks and words of tender inquiry; but, instead of a smile, the wan lips resolved themselves into a sigh. He was so miserably uneasy that, at last, she consented to go into her own room, and prepare for going to bed. She was indeed inclined to give up the idea that the inspector would call again that night, as it was already past nine o'clock.
She stood by her father, holding on to the back of his chair.

He accordingly went to Mr. Hale's that evening. Her father and Dixon had tried to persuade Margaret to go to bed; but neither of them knew the reason for her continued refusals to do so. Dixon had learnt only part of the truth. Margaret would not tell any human being of what she had said, and she did not reveal the fatal end to Leonards' fall. Mr. Hale was so miserably uneasy at her wan appearance that, at last, she consented to prepare for bed. She thought the inspector would not call again that night, as it was already past nine o'clock.


"You will go to bed soon, papa, won't you? Don't sit up alone!"
What his answer was she did not hear; the words were lost in the far smaller sound that magnified itself to her fears, and filled her brain. There was a low ring at the door-bell.
She kissed her father and glided down stairs, with a rapidity of motion of which no one would have thought her capable, who had seen her the minute before. She put aside Dixon.
"Don't come; I will open the door. I know it is him--I can--I must manage it all myself."

'You will go to bed soon, papa, won't you? Don't sit up alone!'
What his answer was she did not hear; for there was a low ring at the door-bell. She kissed her father and glided rapidly downstairs.
'Don't come, Dixon; I will open the door. I know it is him - I must manage it myself.'


"As you please, miss!" said Dixon, testily; but in a moment afterwards, she added, "But you're not fit for it. You are more dead than alive."
"Am I?" said Margaret, turning round and showing her eyes all aglow with strange fire, her cheeks flushed, though her lips were baked and livid still.
She opened the door to the Inspector, and preceded him into the study. She placed the candle on the table, and snuffed it carefully, before she turned round and faced him.

'As you please, miss!' said Dixon testily; 'but you are more dead than alive.'
'Am I?' said Margaret. Her eyes were aglow, and her cheeks flushed, though her lips were livid still.
She opened the door to the Inspector, and led him into the study.


"You are late!" said she. "Well?" She held her breath for the answer.
"I am sorry to have given any unnecessary trouble, ma'am; for, after all, they've given up all thoughts of holding an inquest. I have had other work to do and other people to see, or I should have been here before now."
"Then it is ended," said Margaret. "There is to be no further enquiry."
"I believe I've got Mr. Thornton's note about me," said the Inspector, fumbling in his pocket-book.

'You are late!' said she. 'Well?' She held her breath for the answer.
'I'm sorry to have given any unnecessary trouble, ma'am. After all, they've given up all thoughts of holding an inquest. I have had people to see, or I should have been here before now.'
'Then it is ended,' said Margaret. 'There is to be no further enquiry.'
'I believe I've got Mr. Thornton's note about me,' said the Inspector, fumbling in his pocket-book.


"Mr. Thornton's!" said Margaret.
"Yes! he's a magistrate--ah! here it is."
She could not see to read it--no, not although she was close to the candle. The words swam before her. But she held it in her hand, and looked at it as if she were intently studying it.
"I'm sure, ma'am, it's a great weight off my mind; for the evidence was so uncertain, you see, that the man had received any blow at all, and if any question of identity came in, it so complicated the case, as I told Mr. Thornton----"

'Mr. Thornton's!'
'Yes! he's a magistrate - ah! here it is.' She could not read it. The words swam before her. But she held it, and looked at it as if she were intently studying it.
'I'm sure, ma'am, it's a great weight off my mind; for the evidence was so uncertain, you see.


"Mr. Thornton!" said Margaret again.
"I met him this morning, just as he was coming out of this house, and, as he's an old friend of mine, besides being the magistrate who saw Leonards last night, I made bold to tell him of my difficulty."
Margaret sighed deeply. She did not want to hear any more; she was afraid alike of what she had heard, and of what she might hear. She wished that the man would go. She forced herself to speak.

I met Mr. Thornton this morning, just as he was coming out of this house, and, as he's an old friend of mine, besides being the magistrate who saw Leonards last night, I made bold to tell him of my difficulty.'
Margaret sighed deeply. She did not want to hear any more; she wished that the man would go. She forced herself to speak.


"Thank you for calling. It is very late. I dare say it is past ten o'clock. Oh! here is the note!" she continued, suddenly interpreting the meaning of the hand held out to receive it. He was putting it up, when she said, "I think it is a cramped, dazzling sort of writing. I could not read it; will you just read it to me?"
He read it aloud to her.

'Thank you for calling. It is very late.' As he held out his hand for the note, she continued, 'It is a cramped sort of writing. I could not read it; will you just read it to me?'
He read it aloud to her.


"Thank you. You told Mr. Thornton that I was not there?"
"Oh, of course, ma'am. I'm sorry now that I acted upon information, which seems to have been so erroneous. At first the young man was so positive; and now he says that he doubted all along, and hopes that his mistake won't have occasioned you such annoyance as to lose their shop your custom. Good night, ma'am."
"Good night." She rang the bell for Dixon to show him out. As Dixon returned up the passage Margaret passed her swiftly.

'Thank you. You told Mr. Thornton that I was not there?'
'Oh, of course, ma'am. I'm sorry now that I acted upon information which seems to have been erroneous. At first the young shop-man was so positive; and now he says that he doubted all along, and hopes that his mistake won't have annoyed you so as to lose your custom. Good night, ma'am.'
'Good night.' She rang the bell for Dixon, who showed him out.


"It is all right!" said she, without looking at Dixon; and before the woman could follow her with further questions she had sped upstairs, and entered her bed-chamber, and bolted her door.

'It is all right!' said Margaret to Dixon; and then sped upstairs, entered her bedchamber, and bolted her door.


She threw herself, dressed as she was, upon her bed. She was too much exhausted to think. Half-an-hour or more elapsed before the cramped nature of her position, and the chilliness, supervening upon great fatigue, had the power to rouse her numbed faculties. Then she began to recall, to combine, to wonder. The first idea that presented itself to her was, that all this sickening alarm on Frederick's behalf was over; that the strain was past. The next was a wish to remember every word of the Inspector's which related to Mr. Thornton. When had he seen him? What had he said? What had Mr. Thornton done? What were the exact words of his note?

She threw herself, dressed as she was, upon her bed. She was too exhausted to think. Half an hour or more elapsed before her cramped position, and the chilliness, roused her. Then she began to recall, to wonder.
Her first thought was that all this sickening alarm was over; that the strain was past. The next was a wish to remember every word of the Inspector's which related to Mr. Thornton. When had he seen him? What had Mr. Thornton said? What had he done?


And until she could recollect, even to the placing or omitting an article, the very expressions which he had used in the note, her mind refused to go on with its progress. But the next conviction she came to was clear enough;--Mr. Thornton had seen her close to Outwood station on the fatal Thursday night, and had been told of her denial that she was there. She stood a liar in his eyes. She was a liar. But she had no thought of penitence before God; nothing but chaos and night surrounded the one lurid fact that, in Mr. Thornton's eyes, she was degraded. She cared not to think, even to herself, of how much of excuse she might plead. That had nothing to do with Mr. Thornton; she never dreamed that he, or any one else, could find cause for suspicion in what was so natural as her accompanying her brother; but what was really false and wrong was known to him, and he had a right to judge her. "Oh, Frederick! Frederick!" she cried, "what have I not sacrificed for you!"

Until she could recollect the exact words of his note, her mind refused to go on.
But the next conviction she came to was clear enough; Mr. Thornton had seen her close to Outwood station on the fatal night, and had been told of her denial that she was there. She stood as a liar in his eyes. She was a liar. She had no thought of penitence before God; nothing but chaos and night surrounded the one lurid fact that, in Mr. Thornton's eyes, she was degraded.
She never dreamed that Mr. Thornton, or anyone, might find cause for suspicion in her accompanying her brother. It was the lie that shamed her. Her false, wrong act was known to him, and he had a right to judge her.
'Oh, Frederick! Frederick!' she cried, 'what have I not sacrificed for you!'


Even when she fell asleep her thoughts were compelled to travel the same circle, only with exaggerated and monstrous circumstances of pain.


When she awoke a new idea flashed upon her with all the brightness of the morning. Mr. Thornton had learnt her falsehood before he went to the coroner; that suggested the thought, that he had possibly been influenced so to do with a view of sparing her the repetition of her denial. But she pushed this notion on one side with the sick wilfulness of a child. If it were so, she felt no gratitude to him, as it only showed her how keenly he must have seen that she was disgraced already, before he took such unwonted pains to spare her any further trial of truthfulness, which had already failed so signally. She would have gone through the whole--she would have perjured herself to save Frederick, rather--far rather--than Mr. Thornton should have had the knowledge that prompted him to interfere to save her. What ill-fate brought him in contact with the Inspector? What made him be the very magistrate sent for to receive Leonards' deposition? What had Leonards said? How much of it was intelligible to Mr. Thornton, who might already, for aught she knew, be aware of the old accusation against Frederick, through their mutual friend, Mr. Bell? If so, he had striven to save the son, who came in defiance of the law to attend his mother's death-bed.

When she awoke a new idea flashed upon her. Mr. Thornton had learnt her falsehood before he went to the coroner; so he had possibly done so in order to spare her the repetition of her denial. But she pushed this notion aside with the sick wilfulness of a child. If it were so, she felt no gratitude to him, as it only showed her how keenly he must have seen that she was disgraced already. She would have gone through the whole - she would have perjured herself again to save Frederick, rather than Mr. Thornton should have had the knowledge that prompted him to save her.
What ill-fate brought him in contact with the Inspector? What made him be the very magistrate who received Leonards' deposition? What had Leonards said? For all she knew, Mr. Thornton might already be aware of the accusation against Frederick, through Mr. Bell. If so, he had striven to save the son who came to attend his mother's death-bed.


And under this idea she could feel grateful--not yet, if ever she should, if his interference had been prompted by contempt. Oh! had any one just cause to feel contempt for her? Mr. Thornton, above all people, on whom she had looked down from her imaginary heights till now! She suddenly found herself at his feet, and was strangely distressed at her fall. She shrank from following out the premises to their conclusion, and so acknowledging to herself how much she valued his respect and good opinion. Whenever this idea presented itself to her at the end of a long avenue of thoughts, she turned away from following that path--she would not believe in it.
It was later than she fancied, for in the agitation of the previous night, she had forgotten to wind up her watch; and Mr. Hale had given especial orders that she was not to be disturbed by the usual awakening. By and by the door opened cautiously, and Dixon put her head in. Perceiving that Margaret was awake, she came forwards with a letter.

And under this idea she could feel grateful - but not if his interference had been prompted by contempt.
Oh! had anyone such just cause to feel contempt for her? Mr. Thornton, above all people, on whom she had looked down from her imaginary heights till now! She suddenly found herself at his feet, and was strangely distressed at her fall. She shrank from admitting to herself how much she valued his respect and good opinion. Whenever this idea presented itself to her at the end of a long avenue of thoughts, she turned away from it.
Mr. Hale had given orders that she was not to be disturbed; but by and by the door opened cautiously, and Dixon put her head in. Seeing that Margaret was awake, she came forwards with a letter.


"Here's something to do you good, miss. A letter from Master Frederick."
"Thank you, Dixon. How late it is!"
She spoke very languidly, and suffered Dixon to lay it on the counterpane before her, without putting out a hand to take it.
"You want your breakfast, I'm sure. I will bring it you in a minute. Master has got the tray all ready, I know."

'Here's something to do you good, miss. A letter from Master Frederick.'
'Thank you, Dixon. How late it is!'
She spoke very languidly, and let Dixon lay it on the counterpane before her.
'You want your breakfast, I'm sure. I will bring it you in a minute.'


Margaret did not reply; she let her go; she felt that she must be alone before she could open that letter. She opened it at last. The first thing that caught her eye was the date two days earlier than she received it. He had then written when he had promised, and their alarm might have been spared. But she would read the letter and see. It was hasty enough, but perfectly satisfactory. He had seen Henry Lennox, who knew enough of the case to shake his head over it, in the first instance, and tell him he had done a very daring thing in returning to England, with such an accusation, backed by such powerful influence, hanging over him. But when they had come to talk it over, Mr. Lennox had acknowledged that there might be some chance of his acquittal, if he could but prove his statements by credible witnesses--that in such case it might be worth while to stand his trial, otherwise it would be a great risk. He would examine--he would take every pains. "It struck me," said Frederick, "that your introduction, little sister of mine, went a long way.

Margaret did not reply; she let Dixon go; she felt that she must be alone before she could open that letter.
She opened it at last. The first thing that caught her eye was the date: two days previously, so he had written when he had promised. It was hastily written, but perfectly satisfactory. He had seen Henry Lennox, who knew enough of the case to shake his head over it, and tell him he had done a very daring thing in returning to England, with such an accusation hanging over him. But when they had talked it over, Mr. Lennox had acknowledged that there might be some chance of acquittal, if he could find credible witnesses. Otherwise it would be a great risk to stand trial. He would examine the case.
'It struck me,' wrote Frederick, 'that your introduction, little sister of mine, went a long way.


Is it so? He made so many inquiries, I can assure you. He seemed a sharp, intelligent fellow, and in good practice too, to judge from the signs of business and the number of clerks about him. But these may be only lawyer's dodges. I have just caught a packet on the point of sailing--I am off in five minutes. I may have to come back to England again on this business, so keep my visit secret. I shall send my father some rare old sherry, such as you cannot buy in England,--(such stuff as I've got in the bottle before me)! He needs something of the kind--my dear love to him--God bless him. I'm sure--here's my cab. P.S.--What an escape that was!

Is it so? He made many inquiries, I can assure you. He seemed a sharp, intelligent fellow, and in a good practice too. I have just caught a packet on the point of sailing - I am off in five minutes. I may have to come back to England again on this business, so keep my visit secret. I shall send my father some rare old sherry - my dear love to him - God bless him. - here's my cab. P.S. What an escape that was!'


Take care you don't breathe of my having been--not even to the Shaws."


Margaret turned to the envelope: it was marked "Too late." The letter had probably been trusted to some careless waiter, who had forgotten to post it. Oh! what slight cobwebs of chances stand between us and Temptation! Frederick had been safe, and out of England twenty, nay, thirty hours ago; and it was only about seventeen hours since she had told a falsehood to baffle pursuit, which even then would have been vain. How faithless she had been! Where now was her proud motto, "Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra?" If she had but dared to bravely tell the truth as regarded herself, defying them to find out what she refused to tell concerning another, how light of heart she would now have felt! Not humbled before God, as having failed in trust towards Him; not degraded and abased in Mr. Thornton's sight. She caught herself up at this with a miserable tremor; here was she classing his low opinion of her alongside with the displeasure of God.

Margaret turned to the envelope; it was marked 'Too late.' The letter had probably been trusted to some careless waiter, who had forgotten to post it. Oh! what slight cobwebs of chance stand between us and Temptation! Frederick had been safely out of England twenty, nay, thirty hours ago; and it was only seventeen hours since she had told a falsehood to baffle pursuit - which would have been in vain. How faithless she had been! If she had only dared to bravely tell the truth about herself, if not him, how light of heart she would now have felt! Not humbled before God; not degraded and abased in Mr. Thornton's sight.
She caught herself up at this: here she was classing Mr. Thornton's low opinion alongside the displeasure of God.


How was it that he haunted her imagination so persistently? What could it be? Why did she care for what he thought, in spite of all her pride; in spite of herself? She believed that she could have borne the sense of Almighty displeasure, because He knew all, and could read her penitence, and hear her cries for help in time to come. But Mr. Thornton--why did she tremble, and hide her face in the pillow? What strong feeling had overtaken her at last?

How was it that he haunted her imagination so persistently? Why did she care what he thought in spite of all her pride? She believed that she could have borne the sense of Almighty displeasure, because He knew all, and could read her penitence. But Mr. Thornton - why did she tremble, and hide her face in the pillow? What strong feeling had overtaken her at last?


She sprang out of bed and prayed long and earnestly. It soothed and comforted her so to open her heart. But as soon as she reviewed her position she found the sting was still there; that she was not good enough, nor pure enough to be indifferent to the lowered opinion of a fellow creature: that the thought of how he must be looking upon her with contempt, stood between her and her sense of wrong-doing. She took her letter in to her father as soon as she was drest. There was so slight an allusion to their alarm at the railroad station, that Mr. Hale passed over it without paying any attention to it. Indeed, beyond the mere fact of Frederick having sailed undiscovered and unsuspected, he did not gather much from the letter at the time, he was so uneasy about Margaret's pallid looks. She seemed continually on the point of weeping.
"You are sadly overdone, Margaret. It is no wonder. But you must let me nurse you now."

She sprang out of bed and prayed long and earnestly. It soothed and comforted her to open her heart. But as soon as she reviewed her position she found the sting was still there; that she was not good enough, nor pure enough to be indifferent to his low opinion; that the thought of his contempt stood between her and her sense of wrong-doing.
She took her letter to her father as soon as she was dressed. There was so slight an allusion to their alarm at the station, that Mr. Hale did not pay it any attention. Indeed, beyond the mere fact of Frederick having sailed undiscovered, he did not gather much from the letter, because he was so uneasy about Margaret's pallid looks. She seemed continually on the point of weeping.
'You are sadly overdone, Margaret. It is no wonder. But you must let me nurse you now.'


He made her lie down on the sofa, and went for a shawl to cover her with. His tenderness released her tears; and she cried bitterly.


"Poor child!--poor child!" said he, looking fondly at her, as she lay with her face to the wall, shaking with her sobs. After a while they ceased, and she began to wonder whether she durst give herself the relief of telling her father of all her trouble. But there were more reasons against it than for it. The only one for it was the relief to herself; and against it was the thought that it would add materially to her father's nervousness, if it were indeed necessary for Frederick to come to England again; that he would dwell on the circumstance of his son's having caused the death of a man, however unwittingly and unwillingly; that this knowledge would perpetually recur to trouble him, in various shapes of exaggeration and distortion from the simple truth. And about her own great fault--he would be distressed beyond measure at her want of courage and faith, yet perpetually troubled to make excuses for her. Formerly Margaret would have come to him as priest as well as father, to tell him of her temptation and her sin; but latterly they had not spoken much on such subjects; and she knew not how, in his change of opinions, he would reply if the depth of her soul called unto his. No; she would keep her secret, and bear the burden alone. Alone she would go before God, and cry for His absolution. Alone she would endure her disgraced position in the opinion of Mr. Thornton.

'Poor child! - poor child!' said he fondly, as she lay with her face to the wall, shaking with sobs. After a while they ceased, and she began to wonder whether she dared tell her father of her trouble. But there were more reasons against it than for it. The only reason for it was the relief to herself; and against it was the thought that it would add greatly to her father's nervousness. He would be troubled by his son's having caused the death of a man, however unwittingly; and he would be distressed beyond measure at her own great fault - her lack of courage and faith - yet would feel the need to make excuses for her.
No; she would keep her secret, and bear the burden alone. Alone she would ask for God's absolution. Alone she would endure her disgrace in Mr. Thornton's opinion.


She was unspeakably touched by the tender efforts of her father to think of cheerful subjects on which to talk, and so to take her thoughts away from dwelling on all that had happened of late. It was some months since he had been so talkative as he was this day. He would not let her sit up, and offended Dixon desperately by insisting on waiting upon her himself.
At last she smiled; a poor, weak little smile; but it gave him the truest pleasure.
"It seems strange to think, that what gives us most hope for the future should be called Dolores," said Margaret. The remark was more in character with her father than with her usual self; but to-day they seemed to have changed natures.
"Her mother was a Spaniard, I believe: that accounts for her religion. Her father was a stiff Presbyterian when I knew him. But it is a very soft and pretty name."

She was unspeakably touched by her father's tender efforts to talk of cheerful subjects. It was some months since he had been so talkative.
At last she smiled; a poor, weak smile; but it gave him the truest pleasure.
'It seems strange to think that what gives us most hope for the future should be called Dolores, which means sorrows,' said Margaret.
'Her mother was a Spaniard, I believe: that accounts for her religion. Her father is a stiff Presbyterian.'


"How young she is!--younger by fourteen months than I am. Just the age that Edith was when she was engaged to Captain Lennox. Papa, we will go and see them in Spain."
He shook his head. But he said, "If you wish it Margaret. Only let us come back here. It would seem unfair--unkind to your mother, who always, I'm afraid, disliked Milton so much, if we left it now she is lying here, and cannot go with us. No, dear; you shall go and see them, and bring me back a report of my Spanish daughter."
"No, papa, I won't go without you. Who is to take care of you when I am gone?"

'How young she is! Papa, we will go and see them in Spain.'
He shook his head; but said, 'If you wish it, Margaret. Only let us come back here. It would seem unfair to your mother, who disliked Milton so much, and cannot go with us. No, dear; you shall go and see them, and bring me back a report of my Spanish daughter.'
'I won't go without you, Papa. Who will take care of you when I am gone?'


"I should like to know which of us is taking care of the other. But if you went, I should persuade Mr. Thornton to let me give him double lessons. We would work up the classics famously. That would be a perpetual interest. You might go on, and see Edith at Corfu, if you liked."

'I should like to know which of us is taking care of the other. But if you went, I should persuade Mr. Thornton to let me give him double lessons. We would work up the classics famously. You might go on and see Edith at Corfu, if you liked.'


Margaret did not speak all at once. Then she said rather gravely: "Thank you, papa. But I don't want to go. We will hope that Mr. Lennox will manage so well, that Frederick may bring Dolores to see us when they are married. And as for Edith, the regiment won't remain much longer in Corfu. Perhaps we shall see both of them here before another year is out."
Mr. Hale's cheerful subjects had come to an end. Some painful recollections had stolen across his mind, and driven him into silence. By and by Margaret said:

Margaret did not speak at once. Then she said gravely: 'Thank you, papa. But I don't want to go. We will hope that Mr. Lennox will manage so well that Frederick may bring Dolores to see us when they are married. As for Edith, the regiment won't remain much longer in Corfu.'
Mr. Hale's cheerful subjects had come to an end, and he sat in silence, until Margaret said:


"Papa--did you see Nicholas Higgins at the funeral? He was there, and Mary too. Poor fellow! it was his way of showing sympathy. He has a good warm heart under his bluff abrupt ways."
"I am sure of it," replied Mr. Hale. "I saw it all along, even while you tried to persuade me that he was all sorts of bad things. We will go and see them to-morrow, if you are strong enough to walk so far."

'Papa - did you see Nicholas Higgins at the funeral? He was there, and Mary too. Poor fellow! It was his way of showing sympathy. He has a good warm heart under his abrupt ways.'
'I am sure of it,' replied Mr. Hale. 'We will go and see them tomorrow, if you are strong enough.'


"Oh yes. I want to see them. We did not pay Mary--or rather she refused to take it, Dixon says. We will go so as to catch him just after his dinner, and before he goes to his work."
Towards evening Mr. Hale said:
"I half expected Mr. Thornton would have called. He spoke of a book yesterday which he had, and which I wanted to see. He said he would try and bring it to-day."

'Oh yes. I want to see them. We did not pay Mary - or rather, she refused to take any money, Dixon says. We will go so as to catch him just after his dinner, and before he goes to his work.'
Towards evening Mr. Hale said:
'I half expected Mr. Thornton would have called. Yesterday he spoke of bringing a book which I wanted to see.'


Margaret sighed. She knew he would not come. He would be too delicate to run the chance of meeting her, while her shame must be so fresh in his memory. The very mention of his name renewed her trouble, and produced a relapse into the feeling of depressed, pre-occupied exhaustion. She gave way to listless languor. Suddenly it struck her that this was a strange manner to show her patience, or to reward her father for his watchful care of her all through the day. She sate up, and offered to read aloud. His eyes were failing, and he gladly accepted her proposal. She read well: she gave the due emphasis; but had any one asked her, when she had ended, the meaning of what she had been reading, she could not have told. She was smitten with a feeling of ingratitude to Mr. Thornton, inasmuch as, in the morning, she had refused to accept the kindness he had shown her in making further inquiry from the medical men, so as to obviate any inquest being held.

Margaret sighed. She knew he would not come. He would be too delicate to run the chance of meeting her, while her shame must be so fresh in his memory. The very mention of his name produced a relapse of her depressed, pre-occupied exhaustion. She gave way to listless languor.
Suddenly it struck her that this was a strange way to reward her father for his watchful care of her all day. She sat up and offered to read aloud. He gladly accepted her proposal. She read well: but had anyone asked her afterwards what she had been reading, she could not have said. She was smitten with a feeling of ingratitude to Mr. Thornton; earlier, she had refused to admit the kindness he had shown her in consulting the medical men further, so as to make an inquest unnecessary.


Oh! she was grateful! She had been cowardly and false, and had shown her cowardliness and falsehood in action that could not be recalled; but she was not ungrateful. It sent a glow to her heart, to know she could feel towards one who had reason to despise her. His cause for contempt was so just, that she should have respected him less if she had thought he did not feel contempt. It was a pleasure to feel how thoroughly she respected him. He could not prevent her doing that; it was the one comfort in all this misery.
Late in the evening, the expected book arrived, "with Mr. Thornton's kind regards, and wishes to know how Mr. Hale is."
"Say that I am much better, Dixon, but that Miss Hale--"

Oh! she was grateful! She had been cowardly and false, and could not alter those actions now; but she was not ungrateful. It sent a glow to her heart, to know how she could feel towards one who had reason to despise her. His cause for contempt was so just, that she should have respected him less if he had not felt contempt for her. It was a pleasure to feel how thoroughly she respected him. He could not prevent her doing that; it was the one comfort in all this misery.
Late in the evening, the expected book was delivered, 'with Mr. Thornton's kind regards, and wishes to know how Mr. Hale is.'
'Say that I am much better, Dixon, but that Miss Hale-'


"No, papa," said Margaret, eagerly--"don't say anything about me. He does not ask."
"My dear child, how you are shivering!" said her father, a few minutes afterwards. "You must go to bed directly. You have turned quite pale!"
Margaret did not refuse to go, though she was loth to leave her father alone. She needed the relief of solitude after a day of busy thinking, and busier repenting.
But she seemed much as usual the next day; the lingering gravity and sadness, and the occasional absence of mind, were not unnatural symptoms in the early days of grief. And almost in proportion to her re-establishment in health, was her father's relapse into his abstracted musings upon the wife he had lost, and the past era in his life that was closed to him for ever.

'No, papa,' said Margaret, eagerly, 'don't say anything about me. He does not ask.'
'My dear child, how you are shivering!' said her father. 'You must go to bed directly.'
Margaret did not refuse. She needed the relief of solitude after a day of busy thinking, and busier repenting.
But she seemed much as usual the next day; her gravity and sadness, and occasional absence of mind, were not unnatural symptoms in the early days of grief. Meanwhile her father relapsed into his abstracted musing upon the wife he had lost, and the past that was closed to him for ever.


"And it's hame, hame, hame, Hame fain wad I be."
It needed the pretty light papering of the rooms to reconcile them to Milton. It needed more--more that could not be had. The thick yellow November fogs had come on; and the view of the plain in the valley, made by the sweeping bend of the river was all shut out when Mrs. Hale arrived at her new home.
Margaret and Dixon had been at work two days, unpacking and arranging, but everything inside the house still looked in disorder; and outside a thick fog crept up to the very windows, and was driven in to every open door in choking white wreaths of unwholsome mist.
"Oh, Margaret! are we to live here?" asked Mrs. Hale in blank dismay.
Margaret's heart echoed the dreariness of the tone in which this question was put. She could scarcely command herself enough to say, "Oh, the fogs in London are sometimes far worse!"

It needed more than the pretty papering of the rooms to reconcile them to Milton. The thick yellow November fogs had come on; and the view of the river was shut out when Mrs. Hale arrived at her new home.
Margaret and Dixon had been at work for two days, unpacking and arranging, but everything still looked in disorder. Outside, fog crept up to the windows, and was driven in to every open door in choking, unwholesome white wreaths.
'Oh, Margaret! are we to live here?' asked Mrs. Hale in blank dismay. Margaret, dreary at heart, made herself say,
'Oh, the fogs in London are sometimes far worse!'