"These books, Dixon, I will keep. All the rest will you send to Mr. Bell?
They are of a kind that he will value for themselves, as well as forpapa"s sake. This----I should like you to take this to Mr. Thornton, afterI am gone. Stay; I will write a note with it." And she sate down hastily,as if afraid of thinking, and wrote:
"DEAR SIR,--The accompanying book I am sure will be valued by youfor the sake of my father, to whom it belonged.
"Yours sincerely, "MARGARET HALE."
She set out again upon her travels through the house, turning overarticles, known to her from her childhood, with a sort of caressingreluctance to leave them--old-fashioned, worn and shabby, as theymight be. But she hardly spoke again; and Dixon"s report to Mrs. Shawwas, that "she doubted whether Miss Hale heard a word of what shesaid, though she talked the whole time, in order to divert her attention."
The consequence of being on her feet all day was excessive bodilyweariness in the evening, and a better night"s rest than she had had sinceshe had heard of Mr. Hale"s death.
At breakfast time the next day, she expressed her wish to go and bidone or two friends good-bye. Mrs. Shaw objected:
"I am sure, my dear, you can have no friends here with whom you aresufficiently intimate to justify you in calling upon them so soon; beforeyou have been at church."
"But to-day is my only day; if Captain Lennox comes this afternoon, andif we must--if I must really go to-morrow----"
"Oh, yes; we shall go to-morrow. I am more and more convinced thatthis air is bad for you, and makes you look so pale and ill; besides,Edith expects us; and she may be waiting me; and you cannot be leftalone, my dear, at your age. No; if you must pay these calls, I will gowith you. Dixon can get us a coach, I suppose?"
So Mrs. Shaw went to take care of Margaret, and took her maid withher to, take care of the shawls and air-cushions. Margaret"s face was toosad to lighten up into a smile at all this preparation for paying twovisits, that she had often made by herself at all hours of the day. Shewas half afraid of owning that one place to which she was going wasNicholas Higgins"; all she could do was to hope her aunt would beindisposed to get out of the coach, and walk up the court, and at everybreath of wind have her face slapped by wet clothes, hanging out to dryon ropes stretched from house to house.
There was a little battle in Mrs. Shaw"s mind between ease and a senseof matronly propriety; but the former gained the day; and with many aninjunction to Margaret to be careful of herself, and not to catch anyfever, such as was always lurking in such places, her aunt permitted herto go where she had often been before without taking any precaution orrequiring any permission.
Nicholas was out; only Mary and one or two of the Boucher children athome. Margaret was vexed with herself for not having timed her visitbetter. Mary had a very blunt intellect, although her feelings were warmand kind; and the instant she understood what Margaret"s purpose wasin coming to see them, she began to cry and sob with so little restraintthat Margaret found it useless to say any of the thousand little things which had suggested themselves to her as she was coming along in thecoach. She could only try to comfort her a little by suggesting the vaguechance of their meeting again, at some possible time, in some possibleplace, and bid her tell her father how much she wished, if he couldmanage it, that he should come to see her when he had done his work inthe evening.
As she was leaving the place, she stopped and looked round; thenhesitated a little before she said:
"I should like to have some little thing to remind me of Bessy."
Instantly Mary"s generosity was keenly alive. What could they give?
And on Margaret"s singling out a little common drinking-cup, which sheremembered as the one always standing by Bessy"s side with drink forher feverish lips, Mary said:
"Oh, take summut better; that only cost fourpence!"
"That will do, thank you," said Margaret; and she went quickly away,while the light caused by the pleasure of having something to give yetlingered on Mary"s face.
"Now to Mrs. Thornton"s," thought she to herself. "It must be done." Butshe looked rather rigid and pale at the thought of it, and had hard workto find the exact words in which to explain to her aunt who Mrs.
Thornton was, and why she should go to bid her farewell.
They (for Mrs. Shaw alighted here) were shown into the drawing-room,in which a fire had only just been kindled. Mrs. Shaw huddled herselfup in her shawl, and shivered.
"What an icy room!" she said.
They had to wait for some time before Mrs. Thornton entered. Therewas some softening in her heart towards Margaret, now that she wasgoing away out of her sight. She remembered her spirit, as shown atvarious times and places even more than the patience with which shehad endured long and wearing cares. Her countenance was blander thanusual, as she greeted her; there was even a shade of tenderness in hermanner, as she noticed the white, tear-swollen face, and the quiver inthe voice which Margaret tried to make so steady.
"Allow me to introduce my aunt, Mrs. Shaw. I am going away fromMilton to-morrow; I do not know if you are aware of it; but I wanted tosee you once again, Mrs. Thornton, to--to apologise for my manner thelast time I saw you; and to say that I am sure you meant kindly-howevermuch we may have misunderstood each other."
Mrs. Shaw looked extremely perplexed by what Margaret had said.
Thanks for kindness! and apologies for failure in good manners! ButMrs. Thornton replied:
"Miss Hale, I am glad you do me justice. I did no more than I believedto be my duty in remonstrating with you as I did. I have always desired to act the part of a friend to you. I am glad you do me justice."
"And," said Margaret, blushing excessively as she spoke, "will you do mejustice, and believe that though I cannot--I do not choose--to giveexplanations of my conduct, I have not acted in the unbecoming wayyou apprehended?"
Margaret"s voice was so soft, and her eyes so pleading, that Mrs.
Thornton was for once affected by the charm of manner to which shehad hitherto proved herself invulnerable.
