Now Dixon did not like this speech. In the first place, she did not like Margaret's trick of calling her 'dear old Dixon' whenever she was particularly demonstrative. She knew that Miss Hale was apt to call all people that she liked "old," as a sort of term of endearment; but Dixon always winced away from the application of the word to herself, who, being not much past fifty, was, she thought, in the very prime of life. Secondly, she did not like being so easily taken at her word; she had, with all her terror, a lurking curiosity about Spain, the Inquisition, and Popish mysteries. So, after clearing her throat, as if to show her willingness to do away with difficulties, she asked Miss Hale whether she thought, if she took care never to see a priest, or enter into one of their churches, there would be so very much danger of her being converted? Master Frederick, to be sure, had gone over unaccountably.

Now Dixon did not like this speech. In the first place, she did not like being called 'dear old Dixon'. She knew that Miss Hale used 'old' as a term of endearment; but Dixon winced away from it, thinking herself, at not much past fifty, to be in the very prime of life. Secondly, she had a secret lurking curiosity about Spain, and Popish mysteries. So, after clearing her throat, she asked Miss Hale whether she might be safe from conversion if she took care never to enter one of their churches? Master Frederick, to be sure, had gone over unaccountable.


"I fancy it was love that first predisposed him to conversion," said Margaret, sighing.

'I fancy that was because of love,' said Margaret, sighing.


"Indeed, Miss!" said Dixon; "well! I can preserve myself from priests, and from churches; but love steals in unawares! I think it's as well I should not go."

'Indeed, Miss!' said Dixon. 'I can protect myself from churches; but love steals in unawares! I think it's as well I should not go.'


Margaret was afraid of letting her mind run too much upon this Spanish plan. But it took off her thoughts from too impatiently dwelling upon her desire to have all explained to Mr. Thornton. Mr. Bell appeared for the present to be stationary at Oxford, and to have no immediate purpose of going to Milton, and some secret restraint seemed to hang over Margaret, and prevent her from even asking, or alluding again to any probability of such a visit on his part. Nor did she feel at liberty to name what Edith had told her of the idea he had entertained,--it might be but for five minutes,--of going to Spain. He had never named it at Helstone, during all that sunny day of leisure; it was very probably but the fancy of a moment,--but if it were true, what a bright outlet it would be from the monotony of her present life, which was beginning to fall upon her.

Margaret was afraid of thinking too much about this Spanish trip. But it took her mind off Mr. Thornton. Mr. Bell appeared to have no immediate plan to go to Milton, and some secret restraint prevented Margaret from asking him when he might visit. Nor did she feel at liberty to ask about his idea of visiting Spain; for he had never mentioned it at Helstone. It was probably just the fancy of a moment - but what a bright fancy!


One of the great pleasures of Margaret's life at this time was in Edith's boy. He was the pride and plaything of both father and mother, as long as he was good; but he had a strong will of his own, and as soon as he burst out into one of his stormy passions, Edith would throw herself back in despair and fatigue, and sigh out, "Oh dear, what shall I do with him! Do, Margaret, please ring the bell for Hanley."

One of the great pleasures of Margaret's life at this time was Edith's boy. He was the pride and plaything of both father and mother, as long as he was good; but he had a strong will, and as soon as he burst out into a stormy passion, Edith would throw herself back in despair and fatigue, sighing, 'Oh dear, what shall I do with him! Do, Margaret, please ring the bell for Hanley.'


But Margaret almost liked him better in these manifestations of character than in his good blue-sashed moods. She would carry him off into a room, where they two alone battled it out; she with a firm power which subdued him into peace, while every sudden charm and wile she possessed was exerted on the side of right, until he would rub his little hot and tear-smeared face all over hers, kissing and caressing till he often fell asleep in her arms or on her shoulder. Those were Margaret's sweetest moments. They gave her a taste of the feeling that she believed would be denied to her for ever.

But Margaret almost liked him better in these moods. She would carry him off into a room, where they two alone battled it out; she with a firm power which subdued him into peace, exerting every charm and wile she possessed on the side of right, until he would rub his little tear-smeared face all over hers, caressing her till he often fell asleep on her shoulder. Those were Margaret's sweetest moments. They gave her a taste of the feeling that she believed would be denied to her for ever.


Mr. Henry Lennox added a new and not disagreeable element to the course of the household life by his frequent presence. Margaret thought him colder, if more brilliant than formerly; but there were strong intellectual tastes, and much and varied knowledge, which gave flavour to the otherwise rather insipid conversation. Margaret saw glimpses in him of a slight contempt for his brother and sister-in-law, and for their mode of life, which he seemed to consider as frivolous and purposeless. He once or twice spoke to his brother, in Margaret's presence, in a pretty sharp tone of enquiry, as to whether he meant entirely to relinquish his profession; and on Captain Lennox's reply, that he had quite enough to live upon, she had seen Mr. Lennox's curl of the lip as he said, "And is that all you live for?"

Mr. Henry Lennox's frequent presence added a new element to the household life. Margaret thought him colder, if more brilliant than formerly; but his intellectual tastes and knowledge gave flavour to the otherwise rather insipid conversation. Margaret saw glimpses in him of a slight contempt for his brother and sister-in-law, and for their mode of life, which he seemed to consider as frivolous and purposeless. He once asked his brother, in Margaret's presence, whether he meant entirely to give up his profession. On Captain Lennox's reply, that he had quite enough to live upon, Mr. Lennox's lip curled as he said, 'And is that all you live for?'


But the brothers were much attached to each other, in the way that any two persons are, when the one is cleverer and always leads the other, and this last is patiently content to be led. Mr. Lennox was pushing on in his profession; cultivating, with profound calculation, all those connections that might eventually be of service to him; keen-sighted, far-seeing, intelligent, sarcastic, and proud. Since the one long conversation relating to Frederick's affairs, which she had with him the first evening in Mr. Bell's presence, she had had no great intercourse with him, further than that which arose out of their close relations with the same household. But this was enough to wear off the shyness on her side, and any symptoms of mortified pride and vanity on his. They met, continually, of course, but she thought that he rather avoided being alone with her; she fancied that he, as well as she, perceived that they had drifted strangely apart from their former anchorage, side by side, in many of their opinions, and all their tastes.

But the brothers were much attached to each other. Mr. Lennox was pushing on in his profession; cultivating all those connections that might be of use to him; keen-sighted, sarcastic, and proud. Since their one long conversation about Frederick's affairs, she had made only small talk with him. But this was enough to wear off the shyness on her side, and any mortified vanity on his. She thought that he rather avoided being alone with her; she fancied that he perceived that they had drifted strangely apart in many of their opinions, and all their tastes.


And yet, when he had spoken unusually well, or with remarkable epigrammatic point, she felt that his eye sought the expression of her countenance first of all, if but for an instant; and that, in the family intercourse which constantly threw them together, her opinion was the one to which he listened with a deference,--the more complete, because it was reluctantly paid, and concealed as much as possible.

And yet, when he had spoken unusually well, she felt that his eye sought her out first of all, if but for an instant; and that, in the family discussion, her opinion was the one to which he listened with deference - the more complete, because it was reluctantly paid, and concealed as much as possible.


"Bear up, brave heart! we will be calm and strong; Sure, we can master eyes, or cheek, or tongue, Nor let the smallest tell-tale sign appear She ever was, and is, and will be dear." RHYMING PLAY.


It was a hot summer's evening. Edith came into Margaret's bed-room, the first time in her habit, the second ready dressed for dinner. No one was there at first; the next time Edith found Dixon laying out Margaret's dress on the bed; but no Margaret. Edith remained to fidget about.

It was a hot summer's evening. Edith came into Margaret's bedroom, dressed for dinner. She found Dixon laying out Margaret's dress on the bed; but no Margaret.


"Oh, Dixon! not those horrid blue flowers to that dead gold-coloured gown. What taste! Wait a minute, and I will bring you some pomegranate blossoms."

'Oh, Dixon! not those horrid blue flowers with that dead gold-coloured gown. What taste! Wait a minute, and I will bring you some pomegranate blossoms.'


"It's not a dead gold-colour ma'am. It's a straw-colour. And blue always goes with straw-colour." But Edith had brought the brilliant scarlet flowers before Dixon had got half through her remonstrance.

'It's not a dead gold-colour, ma'am. It's a straw-colour. And blue always goes with straw-colour.' But Edith had brought the scarlet flowers before Dixon had finished.


"Where is Miss Hale?" asked Edith, as soon as she had tried the effect of the garniture. "I can't think," she went on, pettishly, "how my aunt allowed her to get into such rambling habits in Milton! I'm sure I'm always expecting to hear of her having met with something horrible among all those wretched places she pokes herself into. I should never dare to go down some of those streets without a servant. They're not fit for ladies."

'Where is Miss Hale?' asked Edith pettishly. 'I can't think how my aunt Hale allowed her to get into such rambling habits when she was in Milton! I'm always expecting to hear of her having met with something horrible in those wretched places she pokes herself into. I should never dare to go down some of those streets without a servant. They're not fit for ladies.'


Dixon was still huffed about her despised taste; so she replied rather shortly:

Dixon was still huffed about her despised taste; so she replied, rather shortly:


"It's no wonder to my mind, when I hear ladies talk such a deal about ladies--and when they're such fearful, delicate, dainty ladies too--I say it's no wonder to me that there are no longer any saints on earth----"

'It's no wonder to my mind, when they're such fearful, delicate, dainty ladies - it's no wonder to me that there are no longer any saints on earth-'


"Oh, Margaret! here you are! I have been so wanting you. But how your cheeks are flushed with the heat, poor child! But only think what that tiresome Henry has done; really, he exceeds brother-in-law's limits. Just when my party was made up so beautifully--fitted in so precisely for Mr. Colthurst--there has Henry come, with an apology it is true, and making use of your name for an excuse, and asked me if he may bring that Mr. Thornton of Milton--your tenant, you know--who is in London about some law business. It will spoil my number, quite."

'Oh, Margaret! here you are! I have been so wanting you. Only think what that tiresome Henry has done. Just when my party was made up so beautifully - there has Henry come, with an apology it is true, and using your name for an excuse, has asked me if he may bring that Mr. Thornton of Milton - your tenant, you know - who is in London about some law business. It will spoil my number at dinner.'


"I don't mind dinner. I don't want any," said Margaret, in a low voice. "Dixon can get me a cup of tea here, and I will be in the drawing-room by the time you come up. I shall really be glad to lie down."

'I don't mind dinner. I don't want any,' said Margaret, in a low voice. 'Dixon can get me a cup of tea here, and I will be in the drawing-room by the time you come up. I shall really be glad to lie down.'


"No, no! that will never do. You do look wretchedly white, to be sure; but that is just the heat, and we can't do without you possibly. (Those flowers a little lower, Dixon. They look glorious flames, Margaret, in your black hair.) You know we planned you to talk about Milton to Mr. Colthurst. Oh! to be sure! and this man comes from Milton. I believe it will be capital, after all. Mr. Colthurst can pump him well on all the subjects in which he is interested, and it will be great fun to trace out your experiences, and this Mr. Thornton's wisdom, in Mr. Colthurst's next speech in the House. Really, I think it is a happy hit of Henry's. I asked him if he was a man one would be ashamed of; and he replied, 'Not if you've any sense in you, my little sister.' So I suppose he is able to sound his h's, which is not a common Darkshire accomplishment--eh, Margaret?"

'No, no! that will never do. You do look wretchedly white, to be sure; but that is just the heat, and we can't do without you. You know we planned you to talk about Milton to Mr. Colthurst. Oh! and this man comes from Milton. I believe it will be capital, after all. Mr. Colthurst can pump him, and it will be great fun to trace out your experiences, and this Mr. Thornton's wisdom, in Mr. Colthurst's next speech in parliament. Really, it is a happy hit of Henry's. I asked him if Mr. Thornton was a man one would be ashamed of; and he replied, "Not if you've any sense, my little sister." So I suppose he is able to sound his h's - eh, Margaret?'


"Mr. Lennox did not say why Mr. Thornton was come up to town? Was it law business connected with the property?" asked Margaret, in a constrained voice.

'Mr. Lennox did not say why Mr. Thornton was come up to town? Was it connected with the property?' asked Margaret, in a constrained voice.


"Oh! he's failed, or something of the kind, that Henry told you of that day you had such a headache--what was it? (There, that's capital, Dixon. Miss Hale does us credit, does she not?) I wish I was as tall as a queen, and as brown as a gipsy, Margaret."

'Oh! he's failed, or something of the kind, as Henry told you that day you had such a headache. There, that's capital, Dixon. Miss Hale does us credit, does she not? I wish I was as tall as a queen, and as brown as a gipsy, Margaret.'


"Oh! I really have such a terrible head for law business. Henry will like nothing better than to tell you all about it. I know the impression he made upon me was, that Mr. Thornton is very badly off, and a very respectable man, and that I'm to be very civil to him: and as I did not know how, I came to you to ask you to help me. And now come down with me, and rest on the sofa for a quarter of an hour."

'Oh, I really have such a terrible head for law business. Henry will tell you all about it. I gathered that Mr. Thornton is very badly off, and a very respectable man, and that I'm to be very civil to him; so I came to ask you to help me. And now come down with me.'


The privileged brother-in-law came early; and Margaret, reddening as she spoke, began to ask him the questions she wanted to hear answered about Mr. Thornton.

Henry Lennox arrived early. Margaret, reddening, began to ask him about Mr. Thornton.


"He came up about this sub-letting the property--Marlborough Mills, and the house and premises adjoining, I mean. He is unable to keep it on; and there are deeds and leases to be looked over and agreements to be drawn up. I hope Edith will receive him properly; but she was rather put out, as I could see, by the liberty I had taken in begging for an invitation for him. But I thought you would like to have some attention shown him: and one would be particularly scrupulous in paying every respect to a man who is going down in the world." He had dropped his voice to speak to Margaret, by whom he was sitting; but as he ended he sprang up, and introduced Mr. Thornton, who had that moment entered, to Edith and Captain Lennox.

'He came to London about sub-letting the property - Marlborough Mills, and the house and premises. He is unable to keep it on; and there are leases to be looked over, and agreements to be drawn up. I hope Edith will receive him properly; she was rather put out when I begged an invitation for him. But I thought you would like to have some attention shown him: and one would wish to be scrupulous in paying every respect to a man who is going down in the world.'
As he ended he sprang up, and introduced Mr. Thornton, who had that moment entered, to Edith and Captain Lennox.


Margaret looked with an anxious eye at Mr. Thornton while he was thus occupied. It was considerably more than a year since she had seen him; and events had occurred to change him much in that time. His fine figure yet bore him above the common height of men; and gave him a distinguished appearance, from the ease of motion which arose out of it, and was natural to him; but his face looked older and careworn; yet a noble composure sate upon it, which impressed those who had just been hearing of his changed position, with a sense of inherent dignity and manly strength. He was aware, from the first glance he had given round the room, that Margaret was there; he had seen her intent look of occupation as she listened to Mr. Henry Lennox; and he came up to her with the perfectly regulated manner of an old friend. With his first calm words a vivid colour flashed into her cheeks, which never left them again during the evening. She did not seem to have much to say to him. She disappointed him by the quiet way in which she asked what seemed to him to be the merely necessary questions respecting her old acquaintances, in Milton; but others came in--more intimate in the house than he--and he fell into the background, where he and Mr. Lennox talked together from time to time.

Margaret looked anxiously at Mr. Thornton. It was more than a year since she had seen him; and he had changed in that time. His fine figure and his height gave him a distinguished appearance, with a natural ease of motion; but his face looked older and care-worn. Yet a noble composure sat upon it, indicating an inner dignity and manly strength.
He was aware from his first glance that Margaret was there; he had seen her intent look as she listened to Mr. Henry Lennox; and he came up to her with the perfectly regulated manner of an old friend. With his first calm words a vivid colour flashed into her cheeks, which never left them again during the evening. She did not seem to have much to say to him. She disappointed him by the quiet way in which she asked the necessary questions about her old acquaintances in Milton. Others came in, and he fell back to talk to Mr. Lennox.


"You think Miss Hale looking well," said Mr. Lennox, "don't you? Milton didn't agree with her, I imagine; for when she first came to London, I thought I had never seen any one so much changed. To-night she is looking radiant. But she is much stronger. Last autumn she was fatigued with a walk of a couple of miles. On Friday evening we walked up to Hampstead and back. Yet on Saturday she looked as well as she does now."

'You think Miss Hale looking well,' said Mr. Lennox, 'don't you? Milton didn't agree with her, I imagine; for when she first came to London, I had never seen anyone so much changed. Tonight she is looking radiant. But she is much stronger. Last autumn she was fatigued with a walk of a couple of miles. On Friday evening we walked up to Hampstead and back.'


Mr. Colthurst was a very clever man, and a rising member of Parliament. He had a quick eye at discerning character, and was struck by a remark which Mr. Thornton made at dinner-time. He enquired from Edith who that gentleman was; and, rather to her surprise, she found, from the tone of his "Indeed!" that Mr. Thornton of Milton was not such an unknown name to him as she had imagined it would be. Her dinner was going off well. Henry was in good humour, and brought out his dry caustic wit admirably. Mr. Thornton and Mr. Colthurst found one or two mutual subjects of interest, which they could only touch upon then, reserving them for more private after-dinner talk. Margaret looked beautiful in the pomegranate flowers; and if she did lean back in her chair and speak but little, Edith was not annoyed, for the conversation flowed on smoothly without her. Margaret was watching Mr Thornton's face. He never looked at her: so she might study him unobserved, and note the changes which even this short time had wrought in him. Only at some unexpected mot of Mr. Lennox's, his face flashed out into the old look of intense enjoyment: the merry brightness returned to his eyes, the lips just parted to suggest the brilliant smile of former days; and for an instant, his glance instinctively sought hers, as if he wanted her sympathy. But when their eyes met, his whole countenance changed; he was grave and anxious once more; and he resolutely avoided even looking near her again during dinner.

Mr. Colthurst was a very clever man, and a rising member of parliament. He was struck by a remark which Mr. Thornton made at dinner, and enquired of Edith who that gentleman was. To her surprise, she found that Mr. Thornton of Milton was not such an unknown name to him as she had imagined. Her dinner was going off well. Henry was in good humour, and displayed his dry caustic wit admirably. Mr. Thornton and Mr. Colthurst found one or two mutual subjects of interest. Margaret looked beautiful in the pomegranate flowers; and if she spoke little, Edith was not annoyed, for the conversation flowed on smoothly without her.
Margaret was watching Mr. Thornton's face. He never looked at her; so she might study him unobserved, and note the changes in him. Only once, at some witty remark of Mr. Lennox's, his face flashed out into the old look of intense enjoyment; the merry brightness returned to his eyes, the lips just parted to suggest the brilliant smile of former days; and for an instant, his glance instinctively sought hers. But when their eyes met, his whole countenance changed; he was grave and anxious once more. He resolutely avoided looking near her again during dinner.


There were only two ladies beside their own party, and as these were occupied in conversation by her aunt and Edith, when they went up into the drawing-room, Margaret languidly employed herself about some work. Presently the gentlemen came up, Mr. Colthurst and Mr. Thornton in close conversation. Mr. Lennox drew near to Margaret, and said in a low voice:

When the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing-room, Mr. Colthurst and Mr. Thornton were in close conversation. Mr. Lennox drew near to Margaret, and said in a low voice:


"I really think Edith owes me thanks for my contribution to her party. You've no idea what an agreeable, sensible fellow this tenant of yours is. He has been the very man to give Colthurst all the facts he wanted coaching in. I can't conceive how he contrived to mismanage his affairs."

'I really think Edith owes me thanks. You've no idea what an agreeable, sensible fellow this tenant of yours is. He has been the very man to give Colthurst the facts he wanted. I can't conceive how he contrived to mismanage his affairs.'


"With his powers and opportunities you would have succeeded," said Margaret. He did not quite relish the tone in which she spoke, although the words but expressed a thought which had passed through his own mind. As he was silent, they caught a swell in the sound of conversation going on near the fire-place between Mr. Colthurst and Mr. Thornton.

'With his powers and opportunities you would have succeeded,' said Margaret. He did not quite relish the tone in which she spoke, although the words echoed his own thought. As he was silent, they caught some of the conversation going on between Mr. Colthurst and Mr. Thornton.


"I assure you, I heard it spoken of with great interest--curiosity as to its result, perhaps I should rather say. I heard your name frequently mentioned during my short stay in the neighbourhood." Then they lost some words; and when next they could hear Mr. Thornton was speaking.

'I assure you, I heard it spoken of with great interest as to its result. I heard your name frequently mentioned during my stay in the neighbourhood.' Then they lost some words; and when next they could hear, Mr. Thornton was speaking.


"I have not the elements for popularity--if they spoke of me in that way, they were mistaken. I fall slowly into new projects; and I find it difficult to let myself be known, even by those whom I desire to know, and with whom I would fain have no reserve. Yet, even with all these drawbacks, I felt that I was on the right path, and that, starting from a kind of friendship with one, I was becoming acquainted with many. The advantages were mutual: we were both unconsciously and consciously teaching each other."

'I have not the elements for popularity. I fall slowly into new projects; and I find it difficult to let myself be known, even by those whom I desire to know. Yet, even with all these drawbacks, I felt that I was on the right path, and that, starting from a kind of friendship with one, I was becoming acquainted with many. The advantages were mutual: we were both unconsciously and consciously teaching each other.'


"You say 'were.' I trust you are intending to pursue the same course?"

'You say "were." I trust you are intending to pursue the same course?'


"I must stop Colthurst," said Henry Lennox, hastily. And by an abrupt, yet apropos question, he turned the current of the conversation, so as not to give Mr. Thornton the mortification of acknowledging his want of success and consequent change of position. But as soon as the newly-started subject had come to a close, Mr. Thornton resumed the conversation just where it had been interrupted, and gave Mr. Colthurst the reply to his inquiry.

'I must stop Colthurst,' said Henry Lennox, hastily. And by an abrupt question, he turned the current of the conversation, so as not to give Mr. Thornton the mortification of acknowledging his failure. But as soon as the newly-started subject had come to a close, Mr. Thornton resumed the conversation just where it had been interrupted, and gave Mr. Colthurst his reply.


"I have been unsuccessful in business, and have had to give up my position as a master. I am on the look-out for a situation in Milton, where I may meet with employment under some one who will be willing to let me go along my own way in such matters as these. I can depend upon myself for having no go-ahead theories that I would rashly bring into practice. My only wish is to have the opportunity of cultivating some intercourse with the hands beyond the mere 'cash nexus.' But it might be the point Archimedes sought from which to move the earth, to judge by the importance attached to it by some of our manufacturers, who shake their heads and look grave as soon as I name the one or two experiments that I should like to try."

'I have been unsuccessful in business, and have had to give up my position as a master. I am on the look out for a situation in Milton, where I may be employed by someone who will be willing to let me go my own way in such matters as these. I have no rash go-ahead theories. I wish only to have consultation with the hands beyond the mere "cash nexus." But I might as well be attempting to move the earth, to judge by the way some of our manufacturers shake their heads and look grave as soon as I mention the experiments that I should like to try.'


"You call them 'experiments' I notice," said Mr. Colthurst, with a delicate increase of respect in his manner.

'You call them "experiments"?' said Mr. Colthurst.


"Because I believe them to be such. I am not sure of the consequences that may result from them. But I am sure they ought to be tried. I have arrived at the conviction that no mere institutions, however wise, and however much thought may have been required to organise and arrange them, can attach class to class as they should be attached, unless the working out of such institutions bring the individuals of the different classes into actual personal contact. Such intercourse is the very breath of life. A working man can hardly be made to feel and know how much his employer may have laboured in his study at plans for the benefit of his workpeople. A complete plan emerges like a piece of machinery, apparently fitted for every emergency. But the hands accept it as they do machinery, without understanding the intense mental labour and forethought required to bring it to such perfection. But I would take an idea, the working out of which would necessitate personal intercourse; it might not go well at first, but at every hitch interest would be felt by an increasing number of men, and at last its success in working come to be desired by all, as all had borne a part in the formation of the plan; and even then I am sure that it would lose its vitality, cease to be living, as soon as it was no longer carried on by that sort of common interest which invariably makes people find means and ways of seeing each other, and becoming acquainted with each others' characters and persons, and even tricks of temper and modes of speech. We should understand each other better, and I'll venture to say we should like each other more."

'Because I believe them to be such. I am not sure of the consequences that may result from them. But I am sure they ought to be tried. I believe that no mere institutions, however wise, can attach class to class as they should be attached, unless the individuals of the different classes come into actual personal contact. A working man can hardly know how much his employer may have laboured in his study at plans for the benefit of his workpeople. A complete plan emerges like a piece of machinery, and the hands accept without understanding the intense effort required to bring it to perfection. But I would take an idea, which should be worked out through personal discussion; it might not go well at first, but at every hitch interest would be felt by an increasing number of men, and at last its success would be desired by all who had helped to form the plan. We should understand each other better, and I'll venture to say we should like each other more.'


"And you think they may prevent recurrence of strikes?"

'And you think this may prevent the recurrence of strikes?'


"Not at all. My utmost expectation only goes as far as this--that they may render strikes not the bitter, venomous sources of hatred they have hitherto been. A more hopeful man might imagine that a closer and more genial intercourse between classes might do away with strikes. But I am not a hopeful man."

'Not at all. At best, it may render strikes less bitter and venomous than they have hitherto been. A more hopeful man might imagine that closer communication between classes might do away with strikes. But I am not a hopeful man.'


Suddenly, as if a new idea had struck him, he crossed over to where Margaret was sitting, and began, without preface, as if he knew she had been listening to all that had passed:


"Miss Hale, I had a round-robin from some of my men--I suspect in Higgins' handwriting--stating their wish to work for me, if ever I was in a position to employ men again on my own behalf. That was good, wasn't it?"

'Miss Hale, I had a round-robin from some of my men - I suspect in Higgins's handwriting - stating their wish to work for me, if ever I was in a position to employ men again on my own behalf. That was good, wasn't it?'


"Yes. Just right. I am glad of it," said Margaret, looking up straight into his face with her speaking eyes, and then dropping them under his eloquent glance. He gazed back at her for a minute, as if he did not know exactly what he was about. Then sighed; and saying, "I knew you would like it," he turned away, and never spoke to her again until he bid her a formal "good night."

'Yes. I am glad of it,' said Margaret, looking up straight into his face with her speaking eyes, and then dropping them under his eloquent glance. He gazed back at her for a minute, as if he did not know exactly what he was about.
Then he sighed; and saying, 'I knew you would like it,' he turned away, and never spoke to her again until he bid her a formal 'good night.'


As Mr. Lennox took his departure, Margaret said, with a blush that she could not repress, and with some hesitation,

As Mr. Lennox took his departure, Margaret said hesitantly, with a blush that she could not repress,


"Can I speak to you to-morrow? I want your help about--something."

'Can I speak to you tomorrow? I want your help about - something.'


"Certainly. I will come at whatever time you name. You cannot give me a greater pleasure than by making me of any use. At eleven? Very well."

'Certainly. It will be a pleasure. At eleven? Very well.'


His eye brightened with exultation. How she was learning to depend upon him! It seemed as if any day now might give him the certainty, without having which he had determined never to offer to her again.

Henry Lennox's eye brightened with exultation. How she was learning to depend upon him! It seemed as if any day now might give him the certainty that she would accept him. Without that, he had determined never to offer to her again.


I see my way as birds their trackless way-- I shall arrive! what time, what circuit first, I ask not: but unless God sends his hail Or blinding fire-balls, sleet, or stifling snow, In some time--his good time--I shall arrive; He guides me and the bird. In His good time! BROWNING'S PARACELSUS.


So the winter was getting on, and the days were beginning to lengthen, without bringing with them any of the brightness of hope which usually accompanies the rays of a February sun. Mrs. Thornton had of course entirely ceased to come to the house. Mr. Thornton came occasionally, but his visits were addressed to her father, and were confined to the study. Mr. Hale spoke of him as always the same; indeed, the very rarity of their intercourse seemed to make Mr. Hale set only the higher value on it. And from what Margaret could gather of what Mr. Thornton had said, there was nothing in the cessation of his visits which could arise from any umbrage or vexation. His business affairs had become complicated during the strike, and required closer attention than he had given to them last winter. Nay, Margaret could even discover that he spoke from time to time of her, and always, as far as she could learn, in the same calm friendly way, never avoiding and never seeking any mention of her name.

So the winter was getting on, and the days were beginning to lengthen, without bringing any brightness of hope. Mrs. Thornton had entirely ceased to come to the house. Mr. Thornton came occasionally, but only to visit her father in his study. Mr. Hale spoke of him always with the same high regard. And from what Margaret could gather, he had ceased to visit not from any umbrage, but because his business affairs had required close attention since the strike. Nay, Margaret discovered that he even spoke from time to time of her, always in the same calm, friendly way.


She was not in spirits to raise her father's tone of mind. The dreary peacefulness of the present time had been preceded by so long a period of anxiety and care--even intermixed with storms--that her mind had lost its elasticity. She tried to find herself occupation in teaching the two younger Boucher children, and worked hard at goodness; hard, I say most truly, for her heart seemed dead to the end of all her efforts; and though she made them punctually and painfully, yet she stood as far off as ever from any cheerfulness; her life seemed still bleak and dreary. The only thing she did well, was what she did out of unconscious piety, the silent comforting and consoling of her father. Not a mood of his but what found a ready sympathiser in Margaret; not a wish of his that she did not strive to forecast, and to fulfil. They were quiet wishes to be sure, and hardly named without hesitation and apology. All the more complete and beautiful was her meek spirit of obedience. March brought the news of Frederick's marriage. He and Dolores wrote; she in Spanish-English, as was but natural, and he with little turns and inversions of words which proved how far the idioms of his bride's country were infecting him.

The dreary peacefulness of this time had been preceded by so long a period of anxiety and care that her mind had lost its elasticity. She occupied herself in teaching the two younger Boucher children, and worked hard at goodness; worked hard, I say truly, for despite her efforts, her heart seemed dead; her life seemed bleak and dreary. The only thing she did well was the silent comforting of her father. There was not a wish of his that she did not strive to foresee, and to fulfil. They were quiet wishes to be sure, and hardly named without apology. All the more beautiful was her meek spirit of obedience.
March brought the news of Frederick's marriage. He and Dolores wrote; she in Spanish-English, as was only natural, and he with little Spanish turns of phrase.


On the receipt of Henry Lennox's letter, announcing how little hope there was of his ever clearing himself at a court-martial, in the absence of the missing witnesses, Frederick had written to Margaret a pretty vehement letter, containing his renunciation of England as his country; he wished he could unnative himself, and declared that he would not take his pardon if it were offered him, nor live in the country if he had permission to do so. All of which made Margaret cry sorely, so unnatural did it seem to her at the first opening; but on consideration, she saw rather in such expression the poignancy of the disappointment which had thus crushed his hopes; and she felt that there was nothing for it but patience. In the next letter Frederick spoke so joyfully of the future that he had no thought for the past; and Margaret found a use in herself for the patience she had been craving for him. She would have to be patient. But the pretty, timid, girlish letters of Dolores were beginning to have a charm for both Margaret and her father. The young Spaniard was so evidently anxious to make a favourable impression upon her lover's English relations, that her feminine care peeped out at every erasure; and the letters announcing the marriage, were accompanied by a splendid black lace mantilla, chosen by Dolores herself for her unseen sister-in-law, whom Frederick had represented as a paragon of beauty, wisdom and virtue. Frederick's worldly position was raised by this marriage on to as high a level as they could desire. Barbour and Co. was one of the most extensive Spanish houses, and into it he was received as a junior partner. Margaret smiled a little and then sighed as she remembered afresh her old tirades against trade. Here was her preux chevalier of a brother turned merchant, trader! But then she rebelled against herself, and protested silently against the confusion implied between a Spanish merchant and a Milton millowner. Well, trade or no trade, Frederick was very, very happy. Dolores must be charming, and the mantilla was exquisite! And then she returned to the present life.

Frederick had received a letter from Henry Lennox, announcing how little hope there was of his ever clearing himself at a court-martial, in the absence of the missing witnesses. At this, Frederick wrote Margaret a pretty vehement letter, renouncing England as his country; he declared that he would not take a pardon if it were offered him, nor live in England if he had permission to do so. All of which made Margaret cry sorely at first; but on consideration, she saw in such expression his sharp disappointment; and she felt that there was nothing for it but patience.
In the next letter, Frederick spoke so joyfully of the future that he had no thought for the past; and Margaret needed patience herself. But the pretty, timid, girlish letters of Dolores were beginning to have a charm for both Margaret and her father. She was so evidently anxious to make a favourable impression upon her lover's English relations, that her care peeped out at every erasure; and the letters announcing the marriage were accompanied by a splendid black lace mantilla, chosen by Dolores herself for her unseen sister-in-law.
Frederick's position was raised by this marriage to as high a level as they could desire. Barbour and Co. was one of the most extensive Spanish houses, and into it he was received as a junior partner. Margaret smiled a little, and then sighed as she remembered her old tirades against trade. Here was her chevalier of a brother turned merchant, trader! But then she rebelled against herself. Trade or no trade, Frederick was very, very happy. Dolores must be charming, and the mantilla was exquisite! And then she returned to the present life.


Her father had occasionally experienced a difficulty in breathing this spring, which had for the time distressed him exceedingly. Margaret was less alarmed, as this difficulty went off completely in the intervals; but she still was so desirous of his shaking off the liability altogether, as to make her very urgent that he should accept Mr. Bell's invitation to visit him at Oxford this April. Mr. Bell's invitation included Margaret. Nay more, he wrote a special letter commanding her to come; but she felt as if it would be a greater relief to her to remain quietly at home, entirely free from any responsibility whatever, and so to rest her mind and heart in a manner which she had not been able to do for more than two years past.

Her father had occasionally experienced a distressing difficulty in breathing. This made Margaret urge him to accept Mr. Bell's invitation to visit him at Oxford in April. The invitation included Margaret; but she felt that it would be a greater relief to her to remain quietly at home, entirely free from any responsibility, and so rest her mind and heart in a manner which she had not been able to do for more than two years.


When her father had driven off on his way to the railroad, Margaret felt how great and long had been the pressure on her time and her spirits. It was astonishing, almost stunning, to feel herself so much at liberty; no one depending on her for cheering care, if not for positive happiness; no invalid to plan and think for; she might be idle, and silent and forgetful,--and what seemed worth more than all the other privileges--she might be unhappy if she liked. For months past, all her own personal cares and troubles had had to be stuffed away into a dark cupboard; but now she had leisure to take them out, and mourn over them, and study their nature, and seek the true method of subduing them into the elements of peace. All these weeks she had been conscious of their existence in a dull kind of way, though they were hidden out of sight. Now, once for all she would consider them and appoint to each of them its right work in her life. So she sat almost motionless for hours in the drawing-room, going over the bitterness of every remembrance with an unwincing resolution. Only once she cried aloud, at the stinging thought of the faithlessness which gave birth to that abasing falsehood.

When her father had gone, Margaret felt how great had been the pressure on her time and spirits. It was almost stunning to feel herself so much at liberty; no one depending on her for cheering care; no invalid to plan for; she might be idle, and silent - and she might be unhappy if she liked. For months, all her own personal troubles had had to be stuffed away into a dark cupboard; but now she had leisure to take them out, and mourn over them, and seek the true method of subduing them into the elements of peace.
So she sat almost motionless for hours in the drawing-room, going over the bitterness of every remembrance with an unwincing resolution. Only once she cried aloud, at the stinging thought of the faithlessness which led to that falsehood.


She now would not even acknowledge the force of the temptation; her plans for Frederick had all failed, and the temptation lay there a dead mockery,--a mockery which had never had life in it; the lie had been so despicably foolish, seen by the light of the ensuing events, and faith in the power of truth so infinitely the greater wisdom!

Her plans for Frederick had all failed, and the temptation to lie seemed now a dead mockery. The lie had been so despicably foolish, and faith in the power of truth would have been so infinitely wiser!


In her nervous agitation, she unconsciously opened a book of her father's that lay upon the table,--the words that caught her eye in it, seemed almost made for her present state of acute self-abasement:--

In her nervous agitation, she unconsciously opened a book of her father's that lay upon the table. The words that caught her eye seemed made for her state:


"Je ne voudrois pas reprendre mon cur en ceste sorte: meurs de honte, aveugle, impudent, traistre et desloyal ton Dieu, et sembables choses; mais je voudrois le corriger par voye de compassion. Or sus, mon pauvre cur, nous voil tombe dans la fosse, laquelle nous avions tant resolu d'eschapper. Ah! revelons-nous, et quittons-la pour jamais, reclamons la misericorde de Dieu, et esperons en elle qu'elle nous assistera pour desormais estra plus fermes; et remettons-nous au chemin de l'humilit. Courage, soyons meshuy sur nos gardes, Dieu nous aydera."

'"Now, my poor heart, we are falling into the pit, which we had resolved to escape. Ah! Let us rise again, and leave it for ever. Let us claim the mercy of God, and hope that it will help us to be firmer henceforth; let us return to the way of humility. Courage! Let us be on our guard, and God will help us."'


"The way of humility. Ah," thought Margaret, "that is what I have missed! But courage, little heart. We will turn back, and by God's help we may find the lost path."

'The way of humility,' thought Margaret. 'That is what I have missed! But courage, little heart. By God's help we may find the lost path.'


So she rose up, and determined at once to set to on some work which should take her out of herself. To begin with, she called in Martha, as she passed the drawing-room door in going up-stairs, and tried to find out what was below the grave, respectful, servant-like manner, which crusted over her individual character with an obedience which was almost mechanical. She found it difficult to induce Martha to speak of any of her personal interests; but at last she touched the right chord, in naming Mrs. Thornton. Martha's whole face brightened, and, on a little encouragement, out came a long story, of how her father had been in early life connected with Mrs. Thornton's husband--nay, had even been in a position to show him some kindness; what, Martha hardly knew, for it had happened when she was quite a little child; and circumstances had intervened to separate the two families until Martha was nearly grown up, when, her father having sunk lower and lower from his original occupation as clerk in a warehouse, and her mother being dead, she and her sister, to use Martha's own expression, would have been "lost" but for Mrs. Thornton; who sought them out, and thought for them, and cared for them.

So she rose up, and determined at once to set to on some work which should take her out of herself. To begin with, she called in Martha, and tried to find out what was below her grave, respectful, servant-like manner. She found it difficult to induce Martha to speak of any of her personal interests; but at last she touched the right chord, in naming Mrs. Thornton. Martha's whole face brightened, and, on a little encouragement, out came a long story. Her father had been connected with Mrs. Thornton's husband, but circumstances had separated the two families until Martha was nearly grown up. Then, her father having sunk lower and lower from his original occupation as a clerk, and her mother being dead, she and her sister, to use Martha's own expression, would have been 'lost' but for Mrs. Thornton; who sought them out and cared for them.


"I had had the fever, and was but delicate; and Mrs. Thornton and Mr. Thornton too, they never rested till they had nursed me up in their own house, and sent me to the sea and all. The doctor said the fever was catching, but they cared none for that--only Miss Fanny, and she went a-visiting these folk that she is going to marry into. So though she was afraid at the time, it has all ended well."

'I had the fever, and was delicate; and Mrs. Thornton, and Mr. Thornton too, had me nursed in their own house, and sent me to the sea and all. The doctors said the fever was catching, but they cared none for that - only Miss Fanny, and she went a-visiting these folk that she is going to marry into.'


"Miss Fanny going to be married!" exclaimed Margaret.

'Miss Fanny is going to be married!' exclaimed Margaret.


"Yes; and to a rich gentleman, too, only he's a deal older than she is. His name is Watson; and his mills are somewhere out beyond Hayleigh; it's a very good marriage, for all he's got such gray hair."

'Yes; and to a rich gentleman, only he's a deal older than she is. His name is Watson; and his mills are somewhere out beyond Hayleigh; it's a very good marriage.'


At this piece of information, Margaret was silent long enough for Martha to recover her propriety, and, with it, her habitual shortness of answer. She swept up the hearth, asked at what time she should prepare tea, and quitted the room with the same wooden face with which she had entered it. Margaret had to pull herself up from indulging a bad trick, which she had lately fallen into, of trying to imagine how every event that she heard of in relation to Mr. Thornton would affect him: whether he would like it or dislike it.

At this piece of information, Margaret was silent long enough for Martha to recover her propriety. She swept up the hearth and quitted the room with the same wooden face with which she had entered it. Margaret had to pull herself up from indulging a bad trick, which she had lately fallen into - of trying to imagine how every event would affect Mr. Thornton: whether he would like it or dislike it.


The next day she had the little Boucher children for their lessons, and took a long walk, and ended by a visit to Mary Higgins. Somewhat to Margaret's surprise, she found Nicholas already come home from his work; the lengthening light had deceived her as to the lateness of the evening. He too seemed, by his manners, to have entered a little more on the way of humility; he was quieter, and less self-asserting.

The next day she had the little Boucher children for their lessons, and took a long walk, and ended by a visit to Mary Higgins. She found Nicholas already come home from his work. He too seemed to have entered a little more on the way of humility; he was quieter, and less self-asserting.


"So th' oud gentleman's away on his travels, is he?" said he. "Little 'uns telled me so. Eh! but the're sharp 'uns they are; I a'most think they beat my own wenches for sharpness, though mappen it's wrong to say so, and one on 'em in her grave. There's summut in th' weather, I reckon, as sets folk a-wandering. My measter, him at th' shop yonder, is spinning about th' world somewhere."

'So th' oud gentleman's away on his travels, is he?' said he. 'Little 'uns telled me so. Eh! but they're sharp 'uns, they are. My measter is spinning about th' world somewhere.'


"Is that the reason you're so soon at home to-night?" asked Margaret innocently.

'Is that the reason you're so early home tonight?' asked Margaret innocently.


"Thou know'st nought about it, that's all," said he, contemptuously. "I'm not one wi' two faces--one for my measter, and t'other for his back. I counted a' th' clocks in the town striking afore I'd leave my work. No! yon Thornton's good enough for to fight wi', but too good for to be cheated. It were you as getten me the place, and I thank yo' for it. Thornton's is not a bad mill, as times go. Stand down, lad, and say yo'r pretty hymn to Miss Marget. That's right; steady on thy legs, and right arm out as straight as a skewer. One to stop, two to stay, three mak' ready, and four away!"

'Thou know'st nought about it,' said he contemptuously. 'I'm not one wi' two faces - one for my measter, and t'other for his back. No! yon Thornton's good enough to fight wi', but too good to be cheated. It were you as getten me the place, and I thank yo' for it. Thornton's is not a bad mill. Stand down, lad, and say your pretty hymn to Miss Margaret. Steady on thy legs, and right arm out. One to stop, two to stay, three mak' ready, and four away!'


The little fellow repeated a Methodist hymn, far above his comprehension in point of language, but of which the swinging rhythm had caught his ear, and which he repeated with all the developed cadence of a member of parliament. When Margaret had duly applauded, Nicholas called for another, and yet another, much to her surprise, as she found him thus oddly and unconsciously led to take an interest in the sacred things which he had formerly scouted.

The little fellow repeated a Methodist hymn, whose swinging rhythm had caught his ear. When Margaret had duly applauded, Nicholas called for another, to her surprise, as she found him taking an interest in the sacred things which he had formerly scorned.


It was past the usual tea-time when she reached home; but she had the comfort of feeling that no one had been kept waiting for her; and of thinking her own thoughts while she rested, instead of anxiously watching another person to learn whether to be grave or gay. After tea she resolved to examine a large packet of letters, and pick out those that were to be destroyed.

It was past the usual tea-time when she reached home; but she had the comfort of feeling that no one had been kept waiting for her. After tea she resolved to examine a large packet of letters, and pick out those that were to be destroyed.


Among them she came to four or five of Mr. Henry Lennox's, relating to Frederick's affairs; and she carefully read them over again, with the sole intention, when she began, to ascertain exactly on how fine a chance the justification of her brother hung. But when she had finished the last, and weighed the pros and cons, the little personal revelation of character contained in them forced itself on her notice. It was evident enough, from the stiffness of the wording, that Mr. Lennox had never forgotten his relation to her in any interest he might feel in the subject of the correspondence. They were clever letters; Margaret saw that in a twinkling; but she missed out of them all hearty and genial atmosphere. They were to be preserved, however, as valuable; so she laid them carefully on one side. When this little piece of business was ended, she fell into a reverie; and the thought of her absent father ran strangely in Margaret's head that night. She almost blamed herself for having felt her solitude (and consequently his absence) as a relief; but these two days had set her up afresh, with new strength and brighter hope. Plans which had lately appeared to her in the guise of tasks, now appeared like pleasures. The morbid scales had fallen from her eyes, and she saw her position and her work more truly. If only Mr. Thornton would restore her the lost friendship,--nay, if he would only come from time to time to cheer her father as in former days,--though she should never see him, she felt as if the course of her future life, though not brilliant in prospect, might lie clear and even before her. She sighed as she rose up to go to bed. In spite of the "One step's enough for me,"--in spite of the one plain duty of devotion to her father,--there lay at her heart an anxiety and a pang of sorrow.

Among them were four or five of Mr. Henry Lennox's, relating to Frederick's affairs; and she carefully read them over again, in order to judge exactly her brother's chances. But the little personal revelation of character contained in them forced itself on her notice. It was evident, from the stiff wording, that Mr. Lennox had never forgotten his proposal to her. They were clever letters; but they contained nothing hearty or genial. They were to be kept, however; so she laid them carefully on one side.
Then she fell into a reverie; and the thought of her father ran strangely in her head that night. She almost blamed herself for having felt his absence as a relief; but these two days had set her up afresh, with new strength and brighter hope. The morbid scales had fallen from her eyes, and she saw her position and her work more truly. If only Mr. Thornton would restore her the lost friendship - or only come from time to time to cheer her father - though she should never see him, she felt as if the course of her future life, though not brilliant in prospect, might lie clear and even before her.
She sighed as she rose up to go to bed. In spite of the plain duty of devotion to her father, there lay at her heart a pang of sorrow.


And Mr. Hale thought of Margaret, that April evening, just as strangely and as persistently as she was thinking of him. He had been fatigued by going about among his old friends and old familiar places. He had had exaggerated ideas of the change which his altered opinions might make in his friends' reception of him; but although some of them might have felt shocked or grieved, or indignant at his falling off in the abstract, as soon as they saw the face of the man whom they had once loved, they forgot his opinions in himself; or only remembered them enough to give an additional tender gravity to their manner. For Mr. Hale had not been known to many; he had belonged to one of the smaller colleges, and had always been shy and reserved; but those who in youth had cared to penetrate to the delicacy of thought and feeling that lay below his silence and indecision, took him to their hearts, with something of the protecting kindness which they would have shown to a woman. And the renewal of this kindliness, after the lapse of years, and an interval of so much change, overpowered him more than any roughness or expression of disapproval could have done.

And Mr. Hale thought of Margaret, that April evening, just as strangely and as persistently as she was thinking of him. He had been fatigued by going about among his old friends and familiar places. He had worried about his friends' reception of his altered opinions; but as soon as they saw the face of the man whom they had once loved, they forgot his views; or only remembered them enough to give an additional tender gravity to their manner. Mr. Hale had always been shy and reserved; but those who in youth had cared to penetrate to his delicacy of thought and feeling took him to their hearts. And the renewal of this kindliness, after so much time and change, overpowered him more than any disapproval could have done.


"I'm afraid we've done too much," said Mr. Bell. "You're suffering now from having lived so long in that Milton air."

'I'm afraid we've done too much,' said Mr. Bell. 'You're suffering now from having lived so long in that Milton air.'


"I am tired," said Mr. Hale. "But it is not Milton air. I'm fifty-five years of age, and that little fact of itself accounts for any loss of strength."

'I am tired,' said Mr. Hale. 'But it is not Milton air. I'm fifty-five.'


"Nonsense! I'm upwards of sixty, and feel no loss of strength, either bodily or mental. Don't let me hear you talking so. Fifty-five! why, you're quite a young man."

'Nonsense! I'm upwards of sixty, and feel no loss of strength. Fifty-five! why, you're quite a young man.'


Mr. Hale shook his head. "These last few years!" said he. But after a minute's pause, he raised himself from his half recumbent position, in one of Mr. Bell's luxurious easy-chairs, and said with a kind of trembling earnestness:

Mr. Hale shook his head. 'These last few years!' said he. But after a pause, he said with trembling earnestness:


"Bell! you're not to think, that if I could have foreseen all that would come of my change of opinion, and my resignation of my living--no! not even if I could have known how _she_ would have suffered,--that I would undo it--the act of open acknowledgment that I no longer held the same faith as the church in which I was a priest. As I think now, even if I could have foreseen that cruellest martyrdom of suffering, through the sufferings of one whom I loved, I would have done just the same as far as that step of openly leaving the church went. I might have done differently, and acted more wisely, in all that I subsequently did for my family. But I don't think God endued me with over-much wisdom or strength," he added, falling back into his old position.

'Bell! if I could have foreseen all that would come of my change of opinion - even if I could have known how she would have suffered - I would not undo my acknowledgment that I no longer held the same faith as my church. I would have done just the same as far as leaving the church goes. I might have acted more wisely, in all that I subsequently did for my family. But I don't think God endued me with over-much wisdom or strength,' he added, falling back into his chair.


Mr. Bell blew his nose ostentatiously before answering. Then he said:


"He gave you strength to do what your conscience told you was right; and I don't see that we need any higher or holier strength than that; or wisdom either. I know I have not that much; and yet men set me down in their fool's books as a wise man; an independent character; strong-minded, and all that cant. The veriest idiot who obeys his own simple law of right, if it be but in wiping his shoes on a door-mat, is wiser and stronger than I. But what gulls men are!"

'He gave you strength to do what your conscience told you was right,' said Mr. Bell; 'and I don't see that we need any higher or holier strength than that; or wisdom either.'


There was a pause. Mr. Hale spoke first, in continuation of his thought:

There was a pause. Mr. Hale spoke first:


"What will become of her--I often think? I suppose the Lennoxes will ask her to live with them. I try to think they will. Her Aunt Shaw loved her very well in her own quiet way; but she forgets to love the absent."

'What will become of her - I often think? I suppose the Lennoxes will ask her to live with them. Her aunt Shaw loved her well in her own quiet way; but she forgets to love the absent.'


"A very common fault. What sort of people are the Lennoxes?"

'A very common fault. What sort of people are the Lennoxes?'


"He, handsome, fluent, and agreeable. Edith, a sweet spoiled beauty. Margaret loves her with all her heart, and Edith with as much of her heart as she can spare."

'He, handsome, fluent, and agreeable. Edith, a sweet little spoiled beauty. Margaret loves her with all her heart.'


"Now, Hale; you know that girl of yours has got pretty nearly all my heart. I told you that before. Of course, as your daughter, as my god-daughter, I took great interest in her before I saw her the last time. But this visit that I paid to you at Milton made me her slave. I went, a willing old victim, following the car of the conqueror. For, indeed, she looks as grand and serene as one who has struggled, and may be struggling, and yet has the victory secure in sight. Yes, in spite of all her present anxieties, that was the look on her face. And so, all I have is at her service, if she needs it; and will be hers, whether she will or no, when I die. Moreover, I myself, will be her preux chevalier, sixty and gouty though I be. Seriously, old friend, your daughter shall be my principal charge in life, and all the help that either my wit or my wisdom or my willing heart can give, shall be hers. I don't choose her out as a subject for fretting. Something, I know of old, you must have to worry yourself about, or you wouldn't be happy. But you're going to outlive me by many a long year. You, spare, thin men are always tempting and always cheating Death! It's the stout, florid fellows like me, that always go off first."

'Now, Hale; you know that girl of yours has got pretty nearly all my heart. That visit that I paid to you at Milton made me her slave. I went, a willing old victim, following the car of the conqueror. For, indeed, she looks as grand and serene as one who has struggled, and yet has the victory secure in sight. All I have is at her service, if she needs it; and will be hers when I die. Moreover, I myself will be her chevalier, sixty and gouty though I be. Seriously, old friend, your daughter shall be my principal charge in life, and all the help that I can give shall be hers. But you're going to outlive me by many a long year. You spare, thin men are always cheating Death! It's the stout, florid fellows like me that go off first.'


If Mr. Bell had had a prophetic eye he might have seen the torch all but inverted, and the angel with the grave and composed face standing very nigh, beckoning to his friend. That night Mr. Hale laid his head down upon the pillow on which it never more should stir with life. The servant who entered his room in the morning, received no answer to his speech; drew near the bed, and saw the calm, beautiful face lying white and cold under the ineffaceable seal of death. The attitude was exquisitely easy; there had been no pain--no struggle. The action of the heart must have ceased as he lay down.

If Mr. Bell had had a prophetic eye he might have seen the angel with the grave and composed face standing very nigh, beckoning to his friend. That night Mr. Hale laid his head down on the pillow on which it never more should stir with life.
The servant who entered his room in the morning received no answer to his speech; drew near the bed, and saw the calm, beautiful face lying white and cold. There had been no pain - no struggle. His heart must have stopped as he lay down.


Mr. Bell was stunned by the shock; and only recovered when the time came for being angry at every suggestion of his man's.


"A coroner's inquest? Pooh. You don't think I poisoned him! Dr. Forbes says it is just the natural end of a heart complaint. Poor old Hale! You wore out that tender heart of yours before its time. Poor old friend! how he talked of his---- Wallis, pack up a carpet-bag for me in five minutes. Here have I been talking. Pack it up, I say. I must go to Milton by the next train."

'Poor old Hale! Dr. Forbes says it is the natural end of a heart complaint. You wore out that tender heart of yours before its time. Poor old friend! Wallis, pack up a carpet-bag for me. Pack it up, I say. I must go to Milton by the next train.'


The bag was packed, the cab ordered, the railway reached, in twenty minutes from the time of this decision. The London train whizzed by, drew back some yards, and in Mr. Bell was hurried by the impatient guard. He threw himself back in his seat, to try, with closed eyes, to understand how one in life yesterday could be dead to-day; and shortly tears stole out between his grizzled eye-lashes, at the feeling of which he opened his keen eyes, and looked as severely cheerful as his set determination could make him. He was not going to blubber before a set of strangers. Not he!

The bag was packed, the cab ordered, the railway reached in twenty minutes. The London train arrived, and Mr. Bell was hurried in by the impatient guard. He threw himself back in his seat, trying, with closed eyes, to understand how one alive yesterday could be dead today; and shortly tears stole out between his grizzled eye-lashes. On feeling them he opened his keen eyes, and looked as severely cheerful as he could. He was not going to blubber before a set of strangers. Not he!


There was no set of strangers, only one sitting far from him on the same side. By-and-by Mr. Bell peered at him, to discover what manner of man it was that might have been observing his emotion; and behind the great sheet of the outspread "Times," he recognized Mr. Thornton.

There was no set of strangers, only one sitting far from him on the same side. Mr. Bell peered at him; and behind the great sheet of the outspread Times, he recognised Mr. Thornton.


"Why, Thornton! is that you?" said he, removing hastily to a closer proximity. He shook Mr. Thornton vehemently by the hand, until the gripe ended in a sudden relaxation, for the hand was wanted to wipe away tears. He had last seen Mr. Thornton in his friend Hale's company.

'Why, Thornton! is that you?' said he, moving to a closer seat. He shook Mr. Thornton vehemently by the hand, until his own hand was needed to wipe away tears. He had last seen Mr. Thornton in his friend's company.


"I'm going to Milton, bound on a melancholy errand. Going to break to Hale's daughter the news of his sudden death!"

'I'm going to Milton on a melancholy errand. Going to break to Hale's daughter the news of his sudden death!'


"Ay; I keep saying it to myself, 'Hale is dead!' but it doesn't make it any the more real. Hale is dead for all that. He went to bed well, to all appearance, last night, and was quite cold this morning when my servant went to call him."

'Ay; I keep saying it to myself, "Hale is dead!" but it doesn't make it any more real. He went to bed well, to all appearance, last night, and was quite cold this morning when my servant went to call him.'


"At Oxford. He came to stay with me: hadn't been in Oxford this seventeen years--and this is the end of it."


Not one word was spoken for above a quarter of an hour. Then Mr. Thornton said:


"Margaret you mean. Yes! I am going to tell her. Poor fellow! how full his thoughts were of her all last night! Good God! Last night only. And how immeasurably distant he is now! But I take Margaret as my child for his sake. I said last night I would take her for her own sake. Well, I take her for both."

'Margaret, you mean. Yes! I am going to tell her. Poor fellow! how full his thoughts were of her all last night! But I take Margaret as my child for his sake.'


Mr. Thornton made one or two fruitless attempts to speak, before he could get out the words:


"I rather fancy there will be two people waiting for her: myself for one. I would take a live dragon into my house to live, if by hiring such a chaperon, and setting up an establishment of my own, I could make my old age happy with having Margaret for a daughter. But there are those Lennoxes!"

'I rather fancy there will be two people waiting for her: myself for one. I would take a live dragon into my house, if, by hiring such a chaperone, I could make my old age happy with having Margaret for a daughter. But there are those Lennoxes!'


"Who are they?" asked Mr. Thornton with trembling interest.

'Who are they?' asked Mr. Thornton with trembling interest.


"Oh, smart London people, who very likely will think that they've the best right to her. Captain Lennox married her cousin--the girl she was brought up with. Good enough people, I dare say. And there's her Aunt, Mrs. Shaw. There might be a way open, perhaps, by my offering to marry that worthy lady! but that would be quite a pis aller. And then there's that brother!"

'Oh, smart London people, who very likely will think they've the best right to her. Captain Lennox married her cousin - the girl she was brought up with. Good enough people, I dare say. There's her aunt, Mrs. Shaw. And then there's that brother!'


"What brother? A brother of her aunt's?"


"No, no; a clever Lennox (the captain's a fool, you must understand); a young barrister, who will be setting his cap at Margaret. I know he has had her in his mind these five years or more; one of his chums told me as much; and he was only kept back by want of fortune. Now that will be done away with."

'A clever Lennox, a young barrister, who will be setting his cap at Margaret. I know he has had her in his mind this five years or more: one of his chums told me as much; and he was only kept back by her want of fortune. Now that will be done away with.'


"How?" asked Mr. Thornton, too earnestly curious to be aware of the impertinence of his question.

'How?' asked Mr. Thornton, earnestly curious.


"Why, she'll have my money at my death. And if this Henry Lennox is half good enough for her, and she likes him--well! I might find another way of getting a home through a marriage. I'm dreadfully afraid of being tempted, at an unguarded moment, by her aunt."

'Why, she'll have my money at my death. And if this Henry Lennox is half good enough for her, and she likes him - well!'


Neither Mr. Bell nor Mr. Thornton was in a laughing humour; so the oddity of any of the speeches which the former made was unnoticed by them. Mr. Bell whistled, without emitting any sound beyond a long hissing breath; changed his seat, without finding comfort or rest; while Mr. Thornton sat immovably still, his eyes fixed on one spot in the newspaper, which he had taken up in order to give himself leisure to think.

Mr. Bell whistled, and changed his seat, without finding comfort or rest. Mr. Thornton sat immoveable, his eyes fixed on one spot in the newspaper.


"Where have you been?" asked Mr. Bell, at length.

'Where have you been?' asked Mr. Bell, at length.


"To Havre. Trying to detect the secret of the great rise in the price of cotton."

'To Havre. Trying to detect the secret of the great rise in the price of cotton.'


"Ugh! Cotton, and speculations, and smoke, well-cleansed and well-cared-for machinery, and unwashed and neglected hands. Poor old Hale! Poor old Hale! If you could have known the change which it was to him from Helstone. Do you know the New Forest at all?"

'Ugh! Cotton, and speculations, and smoke. Poor old Hale! If you could have known the change which it was to him from Helstone. Do you know the New Forest at all?'


"Then you can fancy the difference between it and Milton. What part were you in? Were you ever at Helstone? a little picturesque village, like some in the Odenwald? You know Helstone?"

'Then you can fancy the difference between it and Milton. Were you ever at Helstone? - a little picturesque village?'


"I have seen it. It was a great change to leave it and come to Milton."

'I have seen it. It was a great change for them to leave it and come to Milton.'


He took up his newspaper with a determined air, as if resolved to avoid further conversation; and Mr. Bell was fain to resort to his former occupation of trying to find out how he could best break the news to Margaret.

He took up his newspaper with a determined air, as if to avoid further conversation; and Mr. Bell went back to wondering how to break the news to Margaret.


She was at an upstairs window; she saw him alight; she guessed the truth with an instinctive flash. She stood in the middle of the drawing-room, as if arrested in her first impulse to rush downstairs, and as if by the same restraining thought she had been turned to stone; so white and immovable was she.

She was at an upstairs window; she saw him arrive, and guessed the truth with an instinctive flash. She stood in the middle of the drawing-room as if turned to stone, so white and still was she.


"Oh! don't tell me! I know it from your face! You would have sent--you would not have left him--if he were alive! Oh, papa, papa!"

'Oh! don't tell me! I know it from your face! You would not have left him - if he were alive! Oh papa, papa!'


"Thought fights with thought; out springs a spark of truth From the collision of the sword and shield." W. S. LANDOR.


"Margaret," said her father, the next day, "we must return Mrs. Thornton's call. Your mother is not very well, and thinks she cannot walk so far; but you and I will go this afternoon."

'Margaret,' said her father, the next day, 'we must return Mrs. Thornton's call. Your mother is not very well, and thinks she cannot walk so far; but you and I will go this afternoon.'


As they went, Mr. Hale began about his wife's health, with a kind of veiled anxiety, which Margaret was glad to see awakened at last.

As they went, Mr. Hale began talking about his wife's health, with an anxiety which Margaret was glad to see awakened at last.


"Did you consult the doctor, Margaret? Did you send for him?"

'Did you consult the doctor, Margaret? Did you send for him?'


"No, papa, you spoke of his coming to see me. Now I was well. But if I only knew of some good doctor, I would go this afternoon, and ask him to come, for I am sure mamma is seriously indisposed."

'No, papa; but if I only knew of some good doctor, I would ask him to come, for I am sure mamma is seriously indisposed.'


She put the truth thus plainly and strongly because her father had so completely shut his mind against the idea, when she had last named her fears. But now the case was changed. He answered in a despondent tone:

She put the truth thus plainly and strongly because her father had so completely shut his mind against the idea before. But now he answered despondently:


"Do you think she has any hidden complaint? Do you think she is really very ill? Has Dixon said anything? Oh, Margaret! I am haunted by the fear that our coming to Milton has killed her. My poor Maria!"

'Do you think she is really very ill? Has Dixon said anything? Oh, Margaret! I am haunted by the fear that our coming to Milton has killed her. My poor Maria!'


"Oh, papa! don't imagine such things," said Margaret, shocked. "She is not well, that is all. Many a one is not well for a time; and with good advice gets better and stronger than ever."

'Oh, papa! don't imagine such things,' said Margaret, shocked. 'She is not well, that is all.'


"But has Dixon said anything about her?"


"No! You know Dixon enjoys making a mystery out of trifles; and she has been a little mysterious about mamma's health, which has alarmed me rather, that is all. Without any reason I dare say. You know, papa, you said the other day I was getting fanciful."

'No! You know Dixon enjoys making a mystery out of trifles; and she has been a little mysterious about mamma's health, which has alarmed me rather, that is all.'


"I hope and trust you are. But don't think of what I said then. I like you to be fanciful about your mother's health! Don't be afraid of telling me your fancies. I like to hear them, though I dare say, I spoke as if I was annoyed. But we will ask Mrs. Thornton if she can tell us of a good doctor. We won't throw away our money on any but some one first-rate. Stay, we turn up this street."

'We will ask Mrs. Thornton if she can tell us of a good doctor. She lives up this street.'


The street did not look as if it could contain any house large enough for Mrs. Thornton's habitation. Her son's presence never gave any impression as to the kind of house he lived in; but, unconsciously, Margaret had imagined that tall, massive, handsomely dressed Mrs. Thornton must live in a house of the same character as herself. Now Marlborough Street consisted of long rows of small houses, with a blank wall here and there; at least that was all they could see from the point at which they entered it.

The street did not look as if it could contain any house large enough to be Mrs. Thornton's. Margaret had imagined that tall, handsomely dressed Mrs. Thornton must live in a house of the same character as herself. Marlborough Street consisted of long rows of small houses, with a blank wall here and there.


"He told me he lived in Marlborough Street, I'm sure," said Mr. Hale, with a much perplexed air.

'It is this street, I'm sure,' said Mr. Hale, perplexed.


"Perhaps it is one of the economies he still practises, to live in a very small house. But here are plenty of people about; let me ask."

'There are plenty of people about. Let me ask.'


She accordingly inquired of a passer-by, and was informed that Mr. Thornton lived close to the mill, and had the factory lodge-door pointed out to her, at the end of the long dead wall they had noticed.

She accordingly inquired of a passer-by, and was informed that Mr. Thornton lived close to the mill; and had the factory lodge-door pointed out to her, at the end of a long wall.


The lodge-door was like a common garden-door; on one side of it were great closed gates for the ingress and egress of lorries and wagons. The lodge-keeper admitted them into a great oblong yard, on one side of which were offices for the transaction of business; on the opposite, an immense many-windowed mill, whence proceeded the continual clank of machinery and the long groaning roar of the steam-engine, enough to deafen those who lived within the enclosure. Opposite to the wall, along which the street ran, on one of the narrow sides of the oblong, was a handsome stone-coped house,--blackened, to be sure, by the smoke, but with paint, windows, and steps kept scrupulously clean. It was evidently a house which had been built some fifty or sixty years. The stone facings--the long, narrow windows, and the number of them--the flights of steps up to the front door, ascending from either side, and guarded by railing--all witnessed to its age. Margaret only wondered why people who could afford to live in so good a house, and keep it in such perfect order, did not prefer a much smaller dwelling in the country, or even some suburb; not in the continual whirl and din of the factory. Her unaccustomed ears could hardly catch her father's voice, as they stood on the steps awaiting the opening of the door. The yard, too, with the great doors in the dead wall as a boundary, was but a dismal look-out for the sitting-rooms of the house--as Margaret found when they had mounted the old-fashioned stairs, and been ushered into the drawing-room, the three windows of which went over the front door and the room on the right-hand side of the entrance. There was no one in the drawing-room. It seemed as though no one had been in it since the day when the furniture was bagged up with as much care as if the house was to be overwhelmed with lava, and discovered a thousand years hence. The walls were pink and gold; the pattern on the carpet represented bunches of flowers on a light ground, but it was carefully covered up in the centre by a linen drugget, glazed and colourless. The window-curtains were lace; each chair and sofa had its own particular veil of netting or knitting. Great alabaster groups occupied every flat surface, safe from dust under their glass shades. In the middle of the room, right under the bagged-up chandelier, was a large circular table, with smartly-bound books arranged at regular intervals round the circumference of its polished surface, like gaily coloured spokes of a wheel. Everything reflected light, nothing absorbed it. The whole room had a painfully spotted, spangled, speckled look about it, which impressed Margaret so unpleasantly that she was hardly conscious of the peculiar cleanliness required to keep everything so white and pure in such an atmosphere, or of the trouble that must be willingly expended to secure that effect of icy, snowy discomfort. Wherever she looked there was evidence of care and labour, but not care and labour to procure ease, to help on habits of tranquil home employment; solely to ornament and then to preserve ornament from dirt or destruction.

Beside the lodge-door were great closed gates for the ingress and egress of lorries and wagons. The lodge-keeper admitted them into a large oblong yard; on one side of it were offices, and on the other, an immense many-windowed mill, from which came the continual clank of machinery and the long groaning roar of the steam-engine, enough to deafen those who lived nearby.
Opposite the street was a handsome stone-coped house - blackened by smoke, to be sure, but with paint, windows and steps kept scrupulously clean. It appeared to have been built some fifty or sixty years before, with the stone facings and long, narrow windows of that time. Margaret wondered why people who could afford to live in so good a house did not prefer a dwelling in the country, or even some suburb; not in the continual whirl and din of the factory. She could hardly hear her father's voice, as they stood on the steps awaiting the opening of the door. The yard, too, made but a dismal view for the windows - as Margaret found when they had mounted the old-fashioned stairs, and been ushered into the drawing-room.
There was no one there. The room seemed uninhabited. The walls were pink and gold; the pattern on the carpet represented bunches of flowers, but it was carefully covered up by a colourless linen drugget. The window-curtains were lace; each chair and sofa had its own veil of netting.
In the middle of the room, under the bagged-up chandelier, was a large circular table, with smartly-bound books arranged at regular intervals round its polished surface, like gaily-coloured spokes of a wheel. Everything reflected light, nothing absorbed it. The whole room had a painfully spangled, speckled look, which impressed Margaret so unpleasantly that she was hardly conscious of the peculiar cleanliness required to keep everything so white and pure in such an atmosphere.


They had leisure to observe, and to speak to each other in low voices, before Mrs. Thornton appeared. They were talking of what all the world might hear; but it is a common effect of such a room as this to make people speak low, as if unwilling to awaken the unused echoes.

They had time to look around, and to speak to each other in low voices, before Mrs. Thornton appeared. They were talking of what all the world might hear; but in such a room people speak low, as if unwilling to awaken the unused echoes.


At last Mrs. Thornton came in, rustling in handsome black silk, as was her wont; her muslins and laces rivalling, not excelling, the pure whiteness of the muslins and netting of the room. Margaret explained how it was that her mother could not accompany them to return Mrs. Thornton's call; but in her anxiety not to bring back her father's fears too vividly, she gave but a bungling account, and left the impression on Mrs. Thornton's mind that Mrs. Hale's was some temporary or fanciful fine-ladyish indisposition, which might have been put aside had there been a strong enough motive; or that if it was too severe to allow her to come out that day, the call might have been deferred. Remembering, too, the horses to her carriage, hired for her own visit to the Hales, and how Fanny had been ordered to go by Mr. Thornton, in order to pay every respect to them, Mrs. Thornton drew up slightly offended, and gave Margaret no sympathy--indeed, hardly any credit for the statement of her mother's indisposition.

At last Mrs. Thornton came in, rustling in handsome black silk. Margaret explained why her mother was not with them; but in her anxiety not to alarm her father, she gave a bungling account, and left the impression on Mrs. Thornton's mind that Mrs. Hale's was some fanciful fine-ladyish illness, which might have been put aside had she really wished. Mrs. Thornton drew up slightly offended, and gave Margaret no sympathy.


"How is Mr. Thornton?" asked Mr. Hale. "I was afraid he was not well, from his hurried note yesterday."

'How is Mr. Thornton?' asked Mr. Hale. 'I was afraid he was not well, from his hurried note yesterday.'


"My son is rarely ill; and when he is, he never speaks about it, or makes it an excuse for not doing anything. He told me he could not get leisure to read with you last night, sir. He regretted it, I am sure; he values the hours spent with you."

'My son is rarely ill; and when he is, he never makes it an excuse for not doing anything. He told me he had no time to read with you last night, sir. He regretted it, I am sure; he values the hours spent with you.'


"I am sure they are equally agreeable to me," said Mr. Hale. "It makes me feel young again to see his enjoyment and appreciation of all that is fine in classical literature."

'They are equally agreeable to me,' said Mr. Hale. 'It makes me feel young again to see his appreciation of fine classical literature.'


"I have no doubt that classics are very desirable for people who have leisure. But I confess, it was against my judgment that my son renewed his study of them. The time and place in which he lives, seem to me to require all his energy and attention. Classics may do very well for men who loiter away their lives in the country or in colleges; but Milton men ought to have their thoughts and powers absorbed in the work of to-day. At least, that is my opinion." This last clause she gave out with "the pride that apes humility."

'I have no doubt the classics are very desirable for people who have leisure. But it was against my judgment that my son renewed his study of them. Classics may do very well for men who loiter away their lives in the country or in colleges; but Milton men ought to have their thoughts and powers absorbed in the work of today. At least, that is my opinion.'


"But, surely, if the mind is too long directed to one object only, it will get stiff and rigid, and unable to take in many interests," said Margaret.

'But, surely, if the mind is too long directed to one object only, it will get stiff and rigid, and unable to take in many interests,' said Margaret.


"I do not quite understand what you mean by a mind getting stiff and rigid. Nor do I admire those whirligig characters that are full of this thing to-day, to be utterly forgetful of it in their new interest to-morrow. Having many interests does not suit the life of a Milton manufacturer. It is or ought to be enough for him to have one great desire, and to bring all the purposes of his life to bear on the fulfilment of that."

'I do not quite understand what you mean. Nor do I admire those whirligig characters that are full of one thing today, only to forget it in their new interest tomorrow. Having many interests does not suit the life of a Milton manufacturer. It ought to be enough for him to have one great desire, and to concentrate on that.'


Her sallow cheek flushed, and her eye lightened, as she answered:


"To hold and maintain a high, honourable place among the merchants of his country--the men of his town. Such a place my son has earned for himself. Go where you will--I don't say in England only, but in Europe--the name of John Thornton of Milton is known and respected amongst all men of business. Of course, it is unknown in the fashionable circles," she continued scornfully. "Idle gentlemen and ladies are not likely to know much of a Milton manufacturer, unless he gets into parliament, or marries a lord's daughter."

'To hold a high, honourable place among the merchants of his country. Such a place my son has earned for himself. Go where you will - not only in England, but in Europe - the name of John Thornton of Milton is respected amongst all men of business. Of course, it is unknown in fashionable circles,' she continued scornfully. 'Idle gentlemen and ladies are not likely to know much of a Milton manufacturer.'


Both Mr. Hale and Margaret had an uneasy, ludicrous consciousness that they had never heard of this great name, until Mr. Bell had written them word that Mr. Thornton would be a good friend to have in Milton. The proud mother's world was not their world of Harley street gentilities on the one hand, or country clergymen and Hampshire squires on the other. Margaret's face, in spite of all her endeavours to keep it simply listening in its expression, told the sensitive Mrs. Thornton this feeling of hers.

Both Mr. Hale and Margaret had an uneasy, ludicrous consciousness that they had never heard of this great name, until Mr. Bell had written to them about Mr. Thornton. Margaret's face, in spite of all her endeavours to keep it straight, told the sensitive Mrs. Thornton this feeling.


"You think you never heard of this wonderful son of mine, Miss Hale. You think I'm an old woman whose ideas are hounded by Milton, and whose own crow is the whitest ever seen."

'You think you never heard of this wonderful son of mine, Miss Hale. You think I'm an old woman whose ideas are bounded by Milton.'


"No," said Margaret, with some spirit. "It may be true that I was thinking I had hardly heard Mr. Thornton's name before I came to Milton. But since I have come here, I have heard enough to make me respect and admire him, and to feel how much justice and truth there is in what you have said of him."

'No,' said Margaret, with some spirit. 'It may be true that I had hardly heard Mr. Thornton's name before I came here. But since I have come, I have heard enough to make me respect and admire him, and to feel there is much in what you have said.'


"Who spoke to you of him?" asked Mrs. Thornton, a little mollified, yet jealous lest any one else's words should not have done him full justice.

'Who spoke to you of him?' asked Mrs. Thornton, a little mollified, yet jealous lest anyone else's words should not have done him full justice.


Margaret hesitated before she replied. She did not like this authoritative questioning. Mr. Hale came in, as he thought, to the rescue.

Margaret hesitated; she did not like this authoritative questioning. Mr. Hale came in, as he thought, to the rescue.


"It was what Mr. Thornton said himself, that made us know the kind of man he was. Was it not, Margaret?"

'It was what Mr. Thornton said himself, that made us know the kind of man he was.'


Mrs. Thornton drew herself up, and said--


"My son is not the one to tell of his own doings. May I again ask you, Miss Hale, from whose account you formed your favourable opinion of him? A mother is curious and greedy of commendation of her children, you know."

, 'My son is not one to tell of his own doings. May I again ask you, Miss Hale, who told you of him?'


Margaret replied, "It was as much from what Mr. Thornton withheld of that which we had been told of his previous life by Mr. Bell,--it was more that than what he said, that made us all feel what reason you have to be proud of him."

Margaret replied, 'It was what Mr. Thornton withheld of that which we had been told of his previous life by Mr. Bell - it was more that than what he said, that made us feel what reason you have to be proud of him.'


"Mr. Bell! What can he know of John? He, living a lazy life in a drowsy college. But I'm obliged to you, Miss Hale. Many a missy young lady would have shrunk from giving an old woman the pleasure of hearing that her son was well spoken of."

'Mr. Bell! What can he know of John? He, living a lazy life in a drowsy college. But I'm obliged to you, Miss Hale. Many a missy young lady would have shrunk from giving an old woman the pleasure of hearing that her son was well spoken of.'


"Why?" asked Margaret, looking straight at Mrs. Thornton, in bewilderment.

'Why?' asked Margaret, looking straight at Mrs. Thornton, in bewilderment.


"Why! because I suppose they might have consciences that told them how surely they were making the old mother into an advocate for them, in case they had any plans on the son's heart."

'Why! because I suppose they might have felt bashful, in case they had any plans on the son's heart.'


She smiled a grim smile, for she had been pleased by Margaret's frankness; and perhaps she felt that she had been asking questions too much as if she had a right to catechise. Margaret laughed outright at the notion presented to her; laughed so merrily that it grated on Mrs. Thornton's ear, as if the words that called forth that laugh, must have been utterly and entirely ludicrous.

She smiled a grim smile, for she had been pleased by Margaret's frankness. But Margaret laughed merrily at this notion.


Margaret stopped her merriment as soon as she saw Mrs. Thornton's annoyed look.

She stopped as soon as she saw Mrs. Thornton's annoyed look.


"I beg your pardon, madam. But I really am very much obliged to you for exonerating me from making any plans on Mr. Thornton's heart."

'I beg your pardon, madam. But I am very much obliged to you for exonerating me from making any plans on Mr. Thornton's heart.'


"Young ladies have, before now," said Mrs. Thornton, stiffly.

'Young ladies have, before now,' said Mrs. Thornton stiffly.


"I hope Miss Thornton is well," put in Mr. Hale, desirous of changing the current of the conversation.

'I hope Miss Thornton is well,' put in Mr. Hale, to change the subject.


"She is as well as she ever is. She is not strong," replied Mrs. Thornton, shortly.

'She is as well as she ever is. She is not strong,' replied Mrs. Thornton, shortly.


"And Mr. Thornton? I suppose I may hope to see him on Thursday?"

'And Mr. Thornton? May I hope to see him on Thursday?'


"I cannot answer for my son's engagements. There is some uncomfortable work going on in the town; a threatening of a strike. If so, his experience and judgment will make him much consulted by his friends. But I should think he could come on Thursday. At any rate, I am sure he will let you know if he cannot."

'I cannot answer for my son's engagements. There is some uncomfortable work going on; a threatening of a strike. If so, his experience and judgment will make him much consulted by his friends. But I should think he could come on Thursday.'


"A strike!" asked Margaret. "What for? What are they going to strike for?"


"For the mastership and ownership of other people's property," said Mrs. Thornton, with a fierce snort. "That is what they always strike for. If my son's work-people strike, I will only say they are a pack of ungrateful hounds. But I have no doubt they will."

'For the mastership and ownership of other people's property,' said Mrs. Thornton, with a fierce snort. 'That is what they always strike for. If my son's work-people strike, they are a pack of ungrateful hounds. But I have no doubt they will.'


"They are wanting higher wages, I suppose?" asked Mr. Hale.

'They want higher wages, I suppose?' asked Mr. Hale.