"Nay, I have done; you get no more of me:
And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,That thus so clearly I myself am free."
DRAYTON.
Margaret shut herself up in her own room, after she had quitted Mrs.
Thornton. She began to walk backwards and forwards, in her oldhabitual way of showing agitation; but, then, remembering that in thatslightly-built house every step was heard from one room to another, shesate down until she heard Mrs. Thornton go safely out of the house. Sheforced herself to recollect all the conversation that had passed betweenthem; speech by speech, she compelled her memory to go through withit. At the end, she rose up, and said to herself, in a melancholy tone:
"At any rate, her words do not touch me; they fall off from me; for I aminnocent of all the motives she attributes to me. But still, it is hard tothink that any one--any woman--can believe all this of another so easily.
It is hard and sad. Where I have done wrong, she does not accuse me-shedoes not know. He never told her: I might have known he wouldnot!"
She lifted up her head, as if she took pride in any delicacy of feelingwhich Mr. Thornton had shown. Then, as a new thought came acrossher, she pressed her hands tightly together.
"He, too, must take poor Frederick for some lover." (She blushed as theword passed through her mind.) "I see it now. It is not merely that heknows of my falsehood, but he believes that some one else cares for me;and that I----Oh dear!--oh dear! What shall I do? What do I mean? Whydo I care what he thinks, beyond the mere loss of his good opinion asregards my telling the truth or not? I cannot tell. But I am verymiserable! Oh, how unhappy this last year has been! I have passed outof childhood into old age. I have had no youth--no womanhood; thehopes of womanhood have closed for me--for I shall never marry; and Ianticipate cares and sorrows just as if I were an old woman, and withthe same fearful spirit. I am weary of this continual call upon me forstrength. I could bear up for papa; because that is a natural, pious duty.
And I think I could bear up against--at any rate, I could have the energyto resent, Mrs. Thornton"s unjust, impertinent suspicions. But it is hardto feel how completely he must misunderstand me. What has happenedto make me so morbid to-day? I do not know. I only know I cannot helpit. I must give way sometimes. No, I will not, though," said she,springing to her feet. "I will not--I will not think of myself and my ownposition. I won"t examine into my own feelings. It would be of no usenow. Some time, if I live to be an old woman, I may sit over the fire,and, looking into the embers, see the life that might have been."
All this time, she was hastily putting on her things to go out, onlystopping from time to time to wipe her eyes, with an impatience ofgesture at the tears that would come, in spite of all her bravery.
"I dare say, there"s many a woman makes as sad a mistake as I havedone, and only finds it out too late. And how proudly and impertinentlyI spoke to him that day! But I did not know then. It has come upon melittle by little, and I don"t know where it began. Now I won"t give way. Ishall find it difficult to behave in the same way to him, with thismiserable consciousness upon me; but I will be very calm and veryquiet, and say very little. But, to be sure, I may not see him; he keepsout of our way evidently. That would be worse than all. And yet nowonder that he avoids me, believing what he must about me."
She went out, going rapidly towards the country, and trying to drownreflection by swiftness of motion.
As she stood on the door-step, at her return, her father came up:
"Good girl!" said he. "You"ve been to Mrs. Boucher"s. I was just meaningto go there, if I had time, before dinner."
"No, papa; I have not," said Margaret, reddening. "I never thought abouther. But I will go directly after dinner; I will go while you are takingyour nap.
Accordingly Margaret went. Mrs. Boucher was very ill; really ill--notmerely ailing. The kind and sensible neighbour, who had come in theother day, seemed to have taken charge of everything. Some of thechildren were gone to the neighbours. Mary Higgins had come for thethree youngest at dinner-time; and since then Nicholas had gone for thedoctor. He had not come as yet; Mrs. Boucher was dying; and there wasnothing to do but to wait. Margaret thought that she should like to knowhis opinion, and that she could not do better than go and see theHigginses in the meantime. She might then possibly hear whetherNicholas had been able to make his application to Mr. Thornton.
She found Nicholas busily engaged in making a penny spin on thedresser, for the amusement of three little children, who were clinging tohim in a fearless manner. He, as well as they, was smiling at a goodlong spin; and Margaret thought, that the happy look of interest in hisoccupation was a good sign. When the penny stopped spinning, "lileJohnnie" began to cry.
"Come to me," said Margaret, taking him off the dresser, and holdinghim in her arms; she held her watch to his ear, while she asked Nicholasif he had seen Mr. Thornton.
The look on his face changed instantly.
"Ay!" said he. "I"ve seen and heerd too much on him."
"He refused you, then?" said Margaret, sorrowfully.
"To be sure. I knew he"d do it all long. It"s no good expecting marcy atthe hands o" them measters. Yo"re a stranger and a foreigner, and aren"tlikely to know their ways; but I knowed it."
"I am sorry I asked you. Was he angry? He did not speak to you asHamper did, did he?"
"He weren"t o"er-civil!" said Nicholas, spinning the penny again, as muchfor his own amusement as for that of the children. "Never yo" fret, I"monly where I was. I"ll go on tramp to-morrow. I gave him as good as Igot. I telled him, I"d not that good opinion on him that I"d ha" come asecond time of mysel"; but yo"d advised me for to come, and I werebeholden to yo"."
"You told him I sent you?"
"I dunno" if I ca"d yo" by your name. I dunnot think I did. I said, awoman who knew no better had advised me for to come and see if therewas a soft place in his heart."
"And he--?" asked Margaret.
"Said I were to tell yo" to mind yo"r own business.--That"s the longestspin yet, my lads.--And them"s civil words to what he used to me. Butne"er mind. We"re but where we was; and I"ll break stones on th" roadafore I let these little uns clem."
Margaret put the struggling Johnnie out of her arms, back into hisformer place on the dresser.
