 CHAPTER XI Here is iron, they say, and all our blood, and a grain or two perhaps is good. But his, he makes me harshly feel, has got a little too much of steel. Anonymous. Margaret, said Mr. Hale, as he returned from showing his guests downstairs, I could not help watching your face with some anxiety when Mr. Thornton made his confession of having been a shop boy. I knew it all along from Mr. Bell, so I was aware of what was coming, but I half expected to see you get up and leave the room. Oh, papa, you don't mean that you thought me so silly. I really liked that account of himself better than anything else he said. Everything else revolted me, from its hardness. But he spoke about himself so simply, with so little of the pretence that makes the vulgarity of shop people, and with such tender respect for his mother, that I was less likely to leave the room than when he was boasting about Milton, as if there was not such another place in the world, or quietly professing to despise people for careless, wasteful, and providence, without ever seeming to think at his duty to try to make them different, to give them anything of the training which his mother gave him, and to which he evidently owes his position, whatever that may be. No, his statement of having been a shop boy was a thing I liked best of all. I am surprised that you, Margaret, said her mother. You who were always accusing people of being shoppy at Halston. I don't. I think, Mr. Hale, you have done quite right in introducing such a person to us without telling us what he had been. I really was very much afraid of showing him how much shocked I was at some parts of what he said. His father, dying in miserable circumstances, why it might have been in the workhouse. I am not sure if it was not worse than being in the workhouse, replied her husband. I heard a good deal of his previous life from Mr. Bell before we came here, and as he has told you apart, I will fill up what he left out. His father speculated wildly, failed, and then killed himself, because he could not bear the disgrace. All his former friends shrunk from the disclosures that had to be made of his dishonest gambling, wild, hopeless struggles made with other people's money to regain his own moderate portion of wealth. No one came forward to help the mother and this boy. There was another child, I believe, a girl, too young to earn money, but of course she had to be kept. At least no friend came forward immediately, and Mrs. Thornton is not one, I fancy, to wait till charty kindness comes to find her out. So they left Milton. I knew he had gone into a shop, and that his earnings, with some fragment of property secured to his mother, had been made to keep them for a long time. Mr. Bell said they absolutely lived upon water-porage for years, how he did not know, but long after the creditors had given up hope of any payment of old Mr. Thornton's debts, if indeed they ever had hoped at all about it after his suicide. This young man returned to Milton and went quietly round to each creditor, paying him the first installment of the money owing to him. No noise, no gathering together of creditors, it was done very silently and quietly, but always paid at last, helped on materially by the circumstances of one of the creditors, a craved old fellow, Mr. Bell says, taking in Mr. Thornton as a kind of partner. That really is fine, said Margaret, what a pity such a nature should be tainted by his position as a Milton-manufacturer. How tainted, asked her father. Oh, papa, by that testing everything by the standard of wealth. When he spoke of the mechanical powers, he evidently looked upon them only as new ways of extending trade and making money, and the poor men around him, they were poor because they were vicious, out of the pale of his sympathies because they had not his iron nature and the capabilities that it gives him for being rich. Not vicious, he never said that, improvident and self-indulgent were his words. Margaret was collecting her mother's working materials and preparing to go to bed. Just as she was leaving the room, she hesitated. She was inclined to make an acknowledgment which she thought would please her father, but which to be full and true must include a little annoyance. However, out it came. Papa, I do think Mr. Thornton a very remarkable man, but personally I don't like him at all. And I do, said her father, laughing, personally, as you call it, and all. I don't set him up for a hero or anything of that kind. But good night, child. Your mother looks sadly tired tonight, Margaret. Margaret had noticed her mother's jaded appearance with anxiety for some time past, and this remark of her father's sent her up to bed with a dim fear lying like a weight on her heart. The life in Milton was so different from what Mrs. Hale had been accustomed to live in Halston, in and out perpetually into the fresh and open air. The air itself was so different, deprived of all revivifying principle, as it seemed to be here. The domestic worries pressed so very closely and in so new and sordid a form, upon all the women in the family, that there was good reason to fear that her mother's health might be becoming seriously affected. There were several other signs of something wrong about Mrs. Hale. She and Dixon held mysterious consultations in her bedroom, from which Dixon would come out crying in cross, as was her custom when any distress of her mistress called upon her sympathy. Once Margaret had gone into the chamber soon after Dixon left it, and found her mother on her knees, and as Margaret stole out, she caught a few words, which were evidently a prayer for strength and patience to endure severe bodily suffering. Margaret yearned to reunite the bond of intimate confidence which had been broken by her long residence at her Aunt Shaw's, and strove by Dental caresses, and softened words to creep into the warmest place in her mother's heart. But though she received caresses and fond words back again, in such profusion as would have gladdened her formerly, yet she felt that there was a secret withheld from her, and she believed it were serious reference to her mother's help. She lay awake very long this night, planning how to lessen the evil influence of their Milton life on her mother. A servant to give Dixon permanent assistance should be got if she gave up her whole time to the search. And then, at any rate, her mother might have all the personal attention she required, and had been accustomed to her whole life. Visiting register offices, seeing all manner of unlikely people, and very few in the least likely, absorbed Margaret's time and thoughts for several days. One afternoon she met Bessie Higgins in the street, and stopped to speak to her. Well, Bessie, how are you? Better, I hope, now the wind has changed. Better and not better, if you know what that means. Not exactly, replied Margaret, smiling. I'm better in not being torn to pieces by coughing a night, but I'm weary and tired of Milton and longing to get away to the land of Bula, and when I think I'm farther and farther off, my heart sinks, and I'm no better, I'm worse. Margaret turned round to walk alongside of the girl in her feeble progress homeward. But for a minute or two she did not speak. At last she said in a low voice, Bessie, do you wish to die? For she shrank from death herself with all the clinging to life so natural to the young and healthy. Bessie was silent in her turn for a minute or two, then she replied, If you had led the life I have and getting as weary of it as I have, and thought at times, maybe it'll last for fifty or sixty years, it does with some, and got dizzy in days and sick as each of them sixty years seemed to spin about me and mock me with its length of hours and minutes and endless bits of time, a winch. I tell thee thou'd been glad enough when the doctor said he feared thou'd never see another winter. Why, Bessie, what kind of a life has yours been? Not worse than many others, I reckon. Only I fretted again it, and they didn't. But what was it? You know, I'm a stranger here, so perhaps I'm not so quick at understanding what you mean as if I'd lived all my life at Milton. If you'd have come to our house when you said you would, I could maybe have told you, but father says you're just like the rest on him. It's out of sight, out of mind with you. I don't know who the rest are, and I've been very busy, and to tell the truth I had forgotten my promise. You offered it, we asked none of it. I had forgotten what I said for the time, continued Margaret quietly. I should have thought of it again when I was less busy. May I go with you now? Bessie gave a quick glance at Margaret's face to see if the wish expressed was really felt. The sharpness in her eye turned to a wistful longing as she met Margaret's soft and friendly gaze. I have none so many to care for me, if you'll care, you may come. So they walked on together in silence as they turned up into a small court, opening out of a squalid streak, Bessie said. You'll not be daunted if father's at home and speaks a bit gruffish at first. He took a mind to you, you see, and he thought a dealer you're coming to see us, and just because he liked you he were vexed and put about. Don't fear, Bessie. But Nicholas was not at home when they entered. A great slatterly girl, not so old as Bessie, but taller and stronger, was busy at the wash tub, knocking about the furniture in a rough, capable way, but altogether making so much noise that Margaret shrunk out of sympathy with poor Bessie, who had sat down on the first chair as if completely tired out with her walk. Margaret asked the sister for a cup of water, and while she ran to fetch it, knocking down the firearms and tumbling over a chair in her way, she unloosed Bessie's bonnet strings to relieve her catching breath. Do you think such life as this is worth caring for, gasped Bessie at last? Margaret did not speak but held the water to her lips. Bessie took a long and fever strought, and then fell back and shut her eyes. Margaret heard her murmur to herself. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, neither shall the sunlight on them nor any heat. Margaret bent over and said, Bessie, don't be impatient with your life, whatever it is or may have been. Remember who gave it you and made it what it is. She was startled by hearing Nicholas speak behind her. He had come in without her noticing him. Now I'll not have my winch preached to. She's bad enough as it is with her dreams and her methodsy fancies and her visions of cities with golden gates and precious stones, but if it amuses her I let it be, but I'm none going to have more stuff poured into her. But surely, said Margaret, facing round, you believe in what I said that God gave her life and ordered what kind of life it was to be. I believe what I see and know more. That's what I believe, young woman. I don't believe all I hear. No, not by a big deal. I did hear a young lass making a do about knowing where we lived and coming to see us. And my winch here thought a deal about it and flushed up many a time, when who little knew as I was looking at her at the sound of a strange step. But who's come at last and who's welcome, as long as he'll keep from preaching on what who knows not about? Bessie had been watching Margaret's face. She half sat up to speak now, laying her hand on Margaret's arm with a gesture of entreaty. Don't be vexed with him. There's many a one thinks like him, many and many a one here. If you could hear them speak, you'd not be shocked at him. He's a rare good man, his father, but oh, said she, falling back into despair. What he says at times makes me long to die more than ever, for I want to know so many things and I'm so tossed about with wonder. Poor winch, poor old winch, I'm loath to vex thee I am, but a man would speak out for the truth and when I see the world going all wrong at this time of day, bothering itself with things that knows not about and leaving undone all the things that lie in disorder, close at its hand. Why I say, leave all this talk about religion alone and set to work on what you see and know. That's my creed. It's simple and not far to fetch nor hard to work. But the girl only pleaded the more with Margaret. Don't think hardly on him. He's a good man, he is. I sometimes think I should be moped with sorrow even in the city of God if father is not there. The feverish color came into her cheek and the feverish flame into her eye. But you will be there, father, you shall. Oh, my heart. She put her hand to it and became ghastly pale. Margaret held her in her arms and put the weary head to rest upon her bosom. She lifted the thin, soft hair from off the temples and bathed them with water. Nicholas understood all her signs for different articles with the quickness of love and even the round-eyed sister moved with laborious gentleness at Margaret's hush. Presently the spasm that foreshadowed death had passed away and Bessie roused herself and said, I'll go to bed, its best place, but—catching at Margaret's gown—you'll come again, I know you will, but just say it. I will come tomorrow, said Margaret. Bessie lent back against her father, who prepared to carry her upstairs, but as Margaret rose to go he struggled to say something. I could wish there were a God if it were only to ask him to bless thee. Margaret went away very sad and thoughtful. She was late for tea at home. At Holston, on punctuality at mealtimes, was a great fault in her mother's eyes, but now this, as well as many other little irregularities, seem to have lost their power of irritation and Margaret almost longed for the old complainings. Have you met with a servant, dear? No, mama, that Anne Buckley would never have done. Suppose I try, said Mr. Hale. Everybody else has had their turn at this great difficulty. Now let me try. I may be the Cinderella to put on the slipper after all. Margaret could hardly smile at this little joke, so oppressed was she by her visit to the Higgins. What would you do, papa? How would you set about it? Why, I would apply to some good house-mother to recommend me one known to herself or her servants. Very good, but we must first catch our house-mother. You have caught her. Or rather, she is coming into the snare, and you will catch her tomorrow if you're skillful. What do you mean, Mr. Hale? Asked his wife, her curiosity aroused. Why, my paragon pupil, as Margaret calls him, has told me that his mother intends to call on Mrs. and Miss Hale tomorrow. Mrs. Thornton exclaimed Mrs. Hale. The mother of whom he spoke to us, said Margaret. Mrs. Thornton, the only mother he has, I believe, said Mr. Hale quietly. I shall like to see her. She must be an uncommon person, her mother added. Perhaps she may have a relation who might suit us and be glad of our place. She sounded to be such a careful economical person that I should like any one out of the same family. My dear, said Mr. Hale alarmed, pray don't go off on that idea. I fancy Mrs. Thornton is as haughty and proud in her way as our little Margaret here is in hers, and that she completely ignores that old time of trial and poverty and economy of which he speaks so openly. I am sure at any rate she would not like strangers to know anything about it. Take notice that is not my kind of haughtiness, papa, if I have any at all, which I don't agree to, though you're always accusing me of it. I don't know positively that it is hers either, but from little things I have gathered from him, I fancy so. They cared too little to ask in what manner her son had spoken about her. Margaret only wanted to know if she must stay in to receive this call, as it would prevent her going to see how best he was until late in the day, since the early morning was always occupied in household affairs. And then she recollected that her mother must not be left to have the whole weight of entertaining her visitor. End of Chapter 11, Recording by Leanne Howlett Chapter 12 of North and South This is the LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Leanne Howlett North and South By Elizabeth Clegghorn Gaskell Chapter 12 Morning Calls Well, I suppose we must. Friends and Council Mr. Thornton had had some difficulty in working up his mother to the desired point of civility. She did not often make calls, and when she did, it was in heavy state that she went through her duties. Her son had given her a carriage, but she refused to let him keep horses for it. They were hired for the solemn occasions when she paid morning or evening visits. She had had horses for three days, not a fortnight before, and it comfortably killed off all her acquaintances, who might now put themselves to trouble and expense in their turn. Yet, Crampton was too far off for her to walk, and she had repeatedly questioned her son as to whether his wish that she should call on the hails was strong enough to bear the expense of cab hire. She would have been thankful if it had not, for, as she said, she saw no use in making up friendships and intimacies with all the teachers and masters in Milton. Why, he would be wanting her to call on Fanny's dancing master's wife the next thing. And so I would, mother, if Mr. Mason and his wife were friendless in a strange place like the hails. Oh, you need not speak so hastily. I am going tomorrow. I only wanted you exactly to understand about it. If you're going tomorrow, I shall order horses. Nonsense, John. One would think you were made of money. Not quite yet, but about the horses I've determined. The last time you were out in a cab, you came home with a headache from the jolting. I never complained of it, I'm sure. No, my mother is not given to complaints, said he, a little proudly. But so much the more I have to watch over you, now as for Fanny there, a little hardship would do her good. She is not made of the same stuff as you are, John. She could not bear it. Mrs. Thornton was silent after this, for her last words bore relation to a subject which mortified her. She had an unconscious contempt for a weak character, and Fanny was weak in the very points in which her mother and brother were strong. Mrs. Thornton was not a woman much given to reasoning. Her quick judgment and firm resolution served her in good stead of any long arguments and discussions with herself. She felt instinctively that nothing could strengthen Fanny to endure hardships patiently, or face difficulties bravely. And though she winced as she made this acknowledgement to herself about her daughter, it only gave her a kind of pitying tenderness of manner towards her, much of the same description of demeanor with which mothers are want to treat their weak and sickly children. A stranger, a careless observer, might have considered that Mrs. Thornton's manner to her children be tokened far more love to Fanny than to John. But such a one would have been deeply mistaken. The very daringness with which mother and son spoke out unpalatable truths, the one to the other, showed a reliance on the firm center of each other's souls, which the uneasy tenderness of Mrs. Thornton's manner to her daughter, the shame with which she thought to hide the poverty of her child and all the grand qualities which she herself possessed unconsciously, and which she set so high a value upon in others, this shame, I say, betrayed the want of a secure resting place for her affection. She never called her son by any name but John. Love and dear and such like terms were reserved for Fanny, but her heart gave thanks for him day and night, and she walked proudly among women for his sake. Fanny, dear, I shall have horses to the carriage today to go and call on these hails. Should not you go and see nurse? It's in the same direction, and she's always so glad to see you. You could go on there while I am at Mrs. Hales. Oh, Mama, it's such a long way, and I am so tired. With what, as Mrs. Thornton, her brow slightly contracting. I don't know, the weather, I think. It is so relaxing. Couldn't you bring nurse here, Mama? The carriage could fetch her, and she could spend the rest of the day here, which I know she would like. Mrs. Thornton did not speak, but she laid her work on the table and seemed to think. It will be a long way for her to walk back at night, she remarked at last. Oh, but I will send her home in a cab. I never thought of her walking. At this point, Mr. Thornton came in just before going to the mill. Mother, I need hardly say that if there is any little thing that could serve Mrs. Hales an invalid, you will offer it, I'm sure. If I can find it out, I will, but I have never been ill myself, so I'm not much up to invalid's fancies. Well, here is Fanny, then, who has seldom without an ailment. She will be able to suggest something, perhaps, won't you, fan? I have not always an ailment, said Fanny pettishly, and I'm not going with Mama. I have a headache today, and I shan't go out. Mr. Thornton looked annoyed. His mother's eyes were bent on her work, at which she was now stitching away busily. Fanny, I wish you to go, said he authoritatively. It will do you good instead of harm. You will oblige me by going, without my saying anything more about it. He went abruptly out of the room after saying this. If he had stayed a minute longer, Fanny would have cried at his tone of command, even when he used the words, you will oblige me. As it was, she grumbled. John always speaks as if I fancied I was ill, and I am sure I never do fancy any such thing. Who are these hails that he makes such a fuss about? Fanny don't speak so of your brother. He has good reasons of some kind or other, or he would not wish us to go. Make haste and put your things on. But the little altercation between her son and her daughter did not incline Mrs. Thornton more favorably towards these hails. Her jealous heart repeated her daughter's questions. Who are they that he is so anxious we should pay them all this attention? It came up like a burden to a song, long after Fanny had forgotten all about it in the pleasant excitement of seeing the effect of a new bonnet in the looking glass. Mrs. Thornton was shy. It was only of late years that she had had leisure enough in her life to go into a society, and a society she did not enjoy it. As dinner giving, and as criticizing other people's dinners, she took satisfaction in it. But this going to make acquaintance with strangers was a very different thing. She was ill at ease and looked more than usually stern and forbidding as she entered the hails little drawing room. Margaret was busy embroidering a small piece of cambrick for some little article of dress for Eve's expected baby. Flimsy useless work as Mrs. Thornton observed her herself. She liked Mrs. Hale's double knitting far better. That was sensible of its kind. The room altogether was full of knickknacks, which must take a long time to dust, and time to people of limited income was money. She made all these reflections as she was talking in her stately way to Mrs. Hale, and uttering all the stereotyped commonplaces that most people can find to say with their senses blindfolded. Mrs. Hale was making rather more exertion in her answers, captivated by some real old lace which Mrs. Thornton wore. Lace, as she afterwards observed a Dixon of that old English point, which has not been made for this seventy years and which cannot be bought. It must have been an heirloom and shows that she had ancestors. So the owner of the ancestral lace became worthy of something more than the languid exertion to be agreeable to a visitor by which Mrs. Hale's efforts at conversation would have been otherwise bounded. And presently, Margaret, racking her brain to talk to Fanny, heard her mother and Mrs. Thornton plunge into the interminable subject of servants. I suppose you are not musical, said Fanny, as I see no piano. I am fond of hearing good music. I cannot play well myself, and papa and mama don't care much about it, so we sold our old piano when we came here. I wonder how you can exist without one. It almost seems to me a necessary of life. Fifteen shillings a week, and three saved out of them, thought Margaret to herself. But she must have been very young. She probably has forgotten her own personal experience. But she must know of those days. Margaret's manner had an extra tinge of coldness in it when she next spoke. You have good concerts here, I believe. Oh yes, delicious, too crowded, that is the worst. The directors admit so indiscriminately, but one is sure to hear the newest music there. I always have a large order to give to Johnson's the day after a concert. Do you like new music simply for its newness, then? Oh, one knows it is the fashion in London or else the singers would not bring it down here. You have been in London, of course. Yes, said Margaret, I have lived there for several years. Oh, London and the Alhambra are the two places I long to see. London and the Alhambra. Yes, ever since I read the tales of the Alhambra, don't you know them? I don't think I do, but surely it is a very easy journey to London. Yes, but somehow, said Fanny, lowering her voice. Mama has never been to London herself and can't understand my longing. She is very proud of Milton, dirty, smoky place as I feel it to be. I believe she admires it the more for those very qualities. If it had been Mrs. Thornton's home for some years, I can well understand her loving it, said Margaret and her clear bell-like voice. What are you saying about me, Miss Hale? May I inquire? Margaret had not the words ready for an answer to this question, which took her a little by surprise, so Miss Thornton replied. Oh, Mama, we are only trying to account for your being so fond of Milton. Thank you, said Mrs. Thornton. I do not feel that my very natural liking for the place where I was born and brought up, and which has since been my residence for some years, requires any accounting for. Margaret was vexed. As Fanny had put it, it did seem as if they had been impertently discussing Mrs. Thornton's feelings, but she also rose up against that lady's manner of showing that she was offended. Mrs. Thornton went on after a moment's pause. Do you know anything of Milton, Miss Hale? Have you seen any of our factories, our magnificent warehouses? No, said Margaret. I have not seen anything of that description as yet. Then she felt that by concealing her utter indifference to all such places, she was hardly speaking with truth, so she went on. I dare say, Papa would have taken me before now if I had cared, but I really do not find much pleasure in going over manufactures. There are very curious places, said Mrs. Hale, but there is so much noise and dirt always. I remember once going in a lilac silk to see candles made, and my gown was utterly roined. Very probably, said Mrs. Thornton, in a short displeased manner, I merely thought that as strangers newly come to reside in a town which has risen to eminence in the country, from the character and progress of its peculiar business, you might have cared to visit some of the places where it is carried on, places unique in the kingdom I am informed. If Miss Hale changes her mind and condescends to be curious as to the manufacturers of Milton, I can only say I should be glad to procure her admission to printworks or readmaking or the more simple operations of spinning carried on in my son's mill. Every improvement of machinery is, I believe, to be seen there in its highest perfection. I am so glad you don't like mills and manufactures and all those kind of things, said Fanny, in a half whisper as she rose to accompany her mother, who was taking leave of Mrs. Hale with wrestling dignity. I think I should like to know all about them if I were you, replied Margaret quietly. Fanny, said her mother as they drove away, we will be civil to these Hales, but don't form one of your hasty friendships with the daughter. She will do you no good, I see. The mother looks very ill and seems a nice, quiet kind of person. I don't want to form any friendship with Miss Hale, mama, said Fanny Pouting. I thought I was doing my duty by talking to her and trying to amuse her. Well, at any rate, John must be satisfied now. End of Chapter 12 Recording by Leanne Howlett Chapter 13 of North and South This is the LibriVox Recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Gemma Blythe. North and South by Elizabeth Glacogne-Gascale. Chapter 13 The Soft Breeze in a Solitary Place That doubt and trouble, fear and pain, and anguish all are shadows vain. The death itself shall not remain, that weary deserts we may tread, a dreary labyrinth may thread, through dark ways underground be led. Yet if we will one guide obey, the dreariest path the darkest way shall issue out in heavenly day, and we on diverse shores now cast shall meet our perilous voyage past, haul in off how this house sat last, all see trench. Margaret flew upstairs as soon as their visitors were gone, and put on her bonnet and shawl to run an aquile how Bessie Iggens was, and sit with her as long as she could before dinner. As she went along the crowded narrow streets she felt how much of interest they had gained by the simple fact of her having learned to care for a dweller in them. Mary Iggens, this ladenly younger sister, had endeavored as well as she could to tidy up the house for the expected visit. There had been rough stone and done in the middle of the floor, while the flags under the chairs and table and round the walls retained their dark, unwashed appearance. Although the day was hot, there burnt a large fire in the grate, making the whole place feel like an oven. Margaret did not understand that the lavishness of coals was a sign of hospitable welcome-doer on Mary's part, and thought that perhaps the oppressive heat was necessary for Bessie. Bessie herself lay on a squab or shorts over, placed under the window. She was very much more feeble than on the previous day, and died with raising herself at every step to look out and see if it was Margaret coming, and now that Margaret was there and had taken a chair by her. Bessie lay back silent and content to look at Margaret's face and touch her articles of dress with a childish admiration of their fineness of texture. I never knew while poking a Bible card for soft rain in a fall, but it must be nice to go dressed as you do. It's different for Carmen. Most fine folk died my eyes out with their colors, but somehow yours rested me. Where did you get this frock? In London, said Margaret, much mused. London? Have you been in London? Yes, I lived there for some years, but my home was in a forest in the country. Tell me about it, said Bessie. I liked to speak of the country and trees and such like things. She lent back and shed her eyes and crossed her eyes over her breast, lined at perfect rest. As if to receive all the ideas Margaret could suggest. Margaret had never spoken of Elston since she left it, except just naming the place incidentally. She saw it in dreams more vivid than life, and as she fell away to slumber, at night her memory wandered in all its pleasant places, but her heart was open to this girl. Oh, Bessie, I love the home we have left so dearly. I wish you could see it. I cannot tell you have its beauty. There are great trees standing all about it, with their branches stretching long and level and making a deep shade of rest even at noonday. And yet, though every leaf may seem still, there is a continual rushing sound of movement all around, not close at hand. Then sometimes the tuft is as soft and fine as velvet, and sometimes quite lush with the perpetual moisture of a little hidden tinkling brook near at hand, and then in other parts. There are billowy ferns, whole stretches of fern, some in the green shadow, some with long streaks of golden sun-line on them just like the sea. I have never seen the sea, moment Bessie, but go on, then you're in there. There are wide commons, high up as if above the very tops of the trees. I'm glad of that. I felt some other like down below, when I have gone for an out. I've owes water to get high up and see far away, and take a deep breath of fullness in that air. I get smothered enough in Milton, and I think the sound to speak of among the trees, going on forever and ever, would send me dazed. It's that made my headache so in the mill. Now on those commons I reckon there is but little noise. No, said Margaret. Nothing but here and there, a lark, hot in the air. Sometimes I used to hear a farmer speaking sharp and loud to his servants, but it was so far away that it only reminded me pleasantly that other people were hard at work in some distant place. Well, I just sat on my head there and did nothing, nothing I used to think once that if I could have a day of doing nothing to rest me a day of some quiet place like that you spoke on, it would maybe set me up. But now I've had many days of idleness and I'm just as weary of them as I was of my work. Sometimes I'm so tired out I think I cannot enjoy heaven without a piece of rest first. I'm rather afraid of going straight there without getting a good sleep in the grave to set me up. Don't be afraid, Bessie, said Margaret, laying her hand on the girls. God can give you more perfect rest than even idleness on earth or the dead sleep of the grave can do. Bessie moved on easily. Then she said, I wish father would not speak as he does. He means well as I tell her yesterday and tell you again and again. But you see, though I don't believe him a bit by day yet but not when I'm in a fever have a sleep and have a wake. It comes back upon me oh so bad and I think if this should be the end of all and if all I was born for is just to work my heart and my life away and a second in this tree place with the mill noise in my ears forever until I could scream out for them to stop and let me have a little piece of quiet and with a fluff fill in my lungs until I thirst to death for one long deep breath of the clear air you speak on and my mother gone and I never able to tell her again how I loved her and all all my troubles. I think if this life is the end and that there's no god to walk away all tears from all eyes you won't show. Said she sitting up and clutching violently almost fiercely at Margaret's hand I could go mad and kill you. I could. She fell back completely worn out with her passion. Margaret knelt down by her. Bessie, we have a father in heaven. I know it, I know it, Moonshee, turning her head uneasily from side to side. I'm very wicked. I've spoken very wickedly. Oh don't be frightened by me and never come again. I would not hold my head on your head and opening your eyes and looking earnestly at Margaret. I believe perhaps more than you do. Oh it's to come. I read the book of revelations until I know it off my heart and I never doubt when I'm waking and in my senses of all the glory I'm to come do. Don't let us talk of what fancies come into your head when you are feverish. I would rather hear something about what you used to do when you were well. I think I was well when mother died but I have never been right this strong since somewhere about that time. I began to work in a garden room soon after and the fluff got into my lungs and poisoned me. Fluff said Margaret inquiringly. Fluff, repeated Bessie, little bits fly off for the cotton when they garden it and fill the air till it looks all fine while it does. They say it wands round the lungs and tautens them up. Anyhow, there's many of one of the works in the garden room that falls into a waste, coffin and spit and blood because they're just poisoned by that fluff. But can it be a health death, Margaret? I don't know. Some folk have a great wheel at one end of their garden rooms to make a draft and carry off the dust but that wheel costs a deal of money, five or six hundred pounds maybe and brings in no profit so it's but a few of the masters that will put them up. And I've heard tell a man who didn't like walking places where there was a wheel because they said as how it made them hungry. At after they'd been long used to swallowing fluff don't go without it and that their wage ought to be raised if they were to work in such places so between masters and men the wheels fall through. I know I wish there'd been a wheel in our place though. Did not your father know about it, asked Margaret? Yes and he was sorry but our factory were a good one on the whole and a steady likely set of people and father was a fear of letting me go to a strange place. For though you wouldn't think it now, many of one men used to call me a greatly last enough and I didn't like to be recognized and soft and married school and more to be kept up, mother said and father he were always liking to buy books and go to lectures of one kind or another, all of which took money. So I just walked all until I should never get the word out of my ears or the fluff out of my throat in this world. That's all. How old are you, asked Margaret? Nineteen come July and I too am nineteen. She thought more sorrowfully than Bessie did of the contrast between them. She could not speak for a moment or two for the emotion she was trying to keep down. About Mary, said Bessie, I wanted to ask you to be a friend to her. She's seventeen but she's the last of us and I don't want her to go to the mill and yet I don't know what she's fit for. She could not do. Margaret glanced unconsciously at the unclean corners of the room. She could hardly undertake a servant's place, could she? We have an old faithful servant, almost a friend who wants help but who is very particular and it would not be right to plague her with giving her any assistance. That would really be an annoyance and an irritation. No, I see, I reckon you're right. Almer is a good wench. But who has she had to teach her what to do about a house? No mother and me at the mill till I were good for nothing but scolding her for doing badly what I didn't know how to do a bit. But I wish she could have lived with you for all that but even though she may not be exactly fitted to come and live with us as a servant and I don't know about that, I will always try and be a friend of for your sake, Bessie. And now I must go. I will come again as soon as I can but if it should not be tomorrow or the next day or even a week or a fortnight hence, don't think I've forgotten you. I may be busy. I know you won't forget me again. I'll not mistrust you no more. But remember, in a week or a fortnight, I may be dead and buried. I'll come as soon as I can, Bessie, said Margaret, squeezing her eye and dot. But you'll let me know if you're worse. Hey, that will I, said Bessie, returning the pressure. From that day forward, Mrs. Hale became more and more of a suffering invalid. It was now drawn near to the anniversary of Edith's marriage. And looking back upon the years accumulated heap of troubles, Margaret wondered how they had been born. If she could have anticipated them, how she would have shrunk away and hid herself from the coming time and her day-by-day-ad of itself and by itself, been very indurable. Small, keen, bright little spots of positive enjoyment having come sparkling into the very middle of sorrows a year ago. Or when she first went to Helston and first became silently conscious of the quirlessness of her mother's temper, she would have grown bitterly over the idea of a long illness to be born in a strange, desolate, nauseous, busy place with diminished comforts on every side of the whole mouth. But with the increase of zealous and just ground of complaint, a new kind of patient had sprung up in her mother's mind. She was gentle and quiet, an intense bodily suffering, almost in proportion, as she had been restless and depressed when there had been no real cause for grief. Mr. Hale wasn't exactly that stage of apprehension which, in men of his stamp, take the shape of willful blindness. He was more irritated than Margaret had ever known him at his daughter's expressed anxiety. Indeed, Margaret, you are grown fanciful. God knows I should be the first to take the alarm if your mother were really ill. We always saw her when she had her headaches at Helston, even without her telling us. She looks quite pale and white when she is ill, and now she has a bright healthy color in her cheeks just as she used to have when I first knew her. But Papa said, Margaret, with hesitation, Do you know? I think that is the flush of pain. Nonsense, Margaret. I tell you, you are too fanciful. You are the person not well, I think. Send for the doctor tomorrow for yourself, and then, if it will make your mind easier, he can see your mother. Thank you, dear Papa. It will make me happier indeed. And she went up to him to kiss him. But he pushed her away gently enough, but still, as if she had suggested unpleasant ideas, which he should be glad to get rid of, as readily as he could of her presence. He walked uneasily up and down the room. Poor Maria, said he absolutely wasn't. I wish one could do right without sacrificing others. I shall hate this town and myself too, if she. Pray, Margaret, does your mother often talk to you of the old places of Helston? I mean. No, Papa, said Margaret, sadly. Then you see, she can be fretting after them, eh? It has always been a comfort to me to think that your mother was so simple and open that I knew every little grievance she had. She never would conceal anything seriously affecting her health from me. Would she, eh, Margaret? I am quite sure she would not. So don't let me hear these foolish, morbid ideas. Come, give me a kiss and run off to bed. But she'll hide in basin about, raccooning, as she and Edith used to call it, long after her slow and languid undressing was finished, long after she began to listen as she lay in bed. OCTOBER 2007 NORTH AND SOUTH BY ELIZABETH CLYCORN GASKELL CHAPTER XIV THE MUTANY I was used to sleep at nights as sweetly as a child. Now, if the wind blew rough, it made me start, and think of my poor boy tossing about upon the roaring seas, and that I seemed to feel that it was hard to take him from me, for such a little fault. SOUTHY It was a comfort to Margaret about this time, to find that her mother drew more tenderly and intimately towards her than she had ever done since the days of her childhood. She took her to her heart as a confidential friend. The post Margaret had always longed to fill, and had envied Dixon for being preferred to. Margaret took pains to respond to every call made upon her for sympathy, and they were many, even when they bore relation to trifles, which she would no more have noticed or regarded herself than the elephant would perceive the little pin at his feet, which yet he lifts carefully up at the bidding of his keeper. All unconsciously, Margaret drew near to a reward. One evening Mr. Hale being absent, her mother began to talk to her about her brother, Frederick, on the very subject on which Margaret had longed to ask questions, and almost the only one on which her timidity overcame her natural openness. The more she wanted to hear about him, the less likely she was to speak. Oh, Margaret, it was so windy last night, it came howling down the chimney in our room. I could not sleep. I never can when there is such a terrible wind. I got into a wakeful habit when poor Frederick was at sea, and now, even if I don't waken all at once, I dream of him in some stormy sea, with great clear, glass-green walls of waves, on either side of his ship, but far higher than her very masts, curling over her with that cruel, terrible white foam, like some gigantic, crusted serpent. It is an old dream, but it always comes back on windy nights, till I am thankful to waken, sitting straight and stiff up in bed with my terror. Poor Frederick, he is on land now, so wind can do him no harm, though I did think it might shake down some of those tall chimneys. Where is Frederick now, Mama? Our letters are directed to the care of Monsieur's barber at Cadiz, I know, but where is he himself? I can't remember the name of the place, but he is not called Hale, you must remember that, Margaret. Notice the F.D. in every corner of the letters. He has taken the name of Dickinson. I wanted him to have been called Bearsford, to which he had a kind of right, but your father thought he had better not. He might be recognized, you know, if he were called by my name. Mama, said Margaret, I was at Aunt Shaw's when it all happened, and I suppose I was not old enough to be told plainly about it. But I should like to know now, if I may, if it does not give you too much pain to speak about it. Pain? No, replied Mrs. Hale, her cheek, flushing. Yet it is pain to think that perhaps I may never see my darling boy again. Or else he did right, Margaret. They may say what they like, but I have his own letters to show, and I will leave him, though he is my son, sooner than any court-martial on earth. Go to my little Japan cabinet, dear, and in the second left-hand drawer you will find a packet of letters. Margaret went. There were the yellow sea-stained letters, with the peculiar fragrance which ocean letters have. Margaret carried them back to her mother, who untied the silken string with trembling fingers, and, examining their dates, she gave them to Margaret to read, making her hurried, anxious remarks on their contents, almost before her daughter could have understood what they were. You see, Margaret, how from the very first he disliked Captain Reed. He was second lieutenant in the ship, the Orion, in which Frederick sailed the very first time. Poor little fellow, how well he looked in his mid-shipman's dress. With his dirk in his hand, cutting open all the newspapers with it, as if it were a paper-knife, but this Mr. Reed, as he was then, seemed to take a dislike to Frederick from the very beginning. And then, stay! These are the letters he wrote on board the Russell, when he was appointed to her, and found his old enemy Captain Reed in command. He did mean to bear all his tyranny patiently. Look! This is the letter. Just read it, Margaret. Where is it he says, Stop! My father may rely upon me, that I will bear with all proper patience everything that one officer and gentleman can take from another. But from my former knowledge of my present Captain I confess I look forward with apprehension to a long course of tyranny on board the Russell. You see, he promises to bear patiently, and I am sure he did, for he was the sweetest tempered boy, when he was not vexed, that could possibly be. Is that the letter in which he speaks, Captain Reed's, impatient with the men, for not going through the ship's maneuvers as quickly as the Avenger? You see, he says that they had many new hands on board the Russell, while the Avenger had been nearly three years on the station, with nothing to do but to keep slavers off, and work her men till they ran up and down the rigging like rats or monkeys. Margaret slowly read the letter, half-eligible through the fading of the ink. It might be, it probably was, a statement of Captain Reed's imperiousness in trifles, very much exaggerated by the narrator, who had written it while fresh and warm from the scene of altercation. Some sailors being aloft in the main top-sail rigging, the Captain had ordered them to race down, threatening the hindmost with the cat of nine tails. He, who was farthest on the spar, feeling the impossibility of passing his companions, and yet passionately dreading the disgrace of the flogging, threw himself desperately down to catch a rope considerably lower, failed and fell senseless on deck. He only survived for a few hours afterwards, and the indignation of the ship's crew was at boiling-point when young Hale wrote. But we did not receive this letter till long, long after we heard of the mutiny. Poor Fred, I daresay it was a comfort to him to write it, even though he could not have known had to send it, poor fellow. And then we saw a report in the papers, that's to say, long before Fred's letter reached us, of an atrocious mutiny having broken out on board the Russell, and that the mutineers had remained in possession of the ship, which had gone off, it was supposed, to be a pirate, and that Captain Reed was sent adrift in a boat with some men, officers or something, whose names were all given, for they were picked up by a West Indian steamer. Oh, Margaret, how your father and I turned sick over that list, when there was no name of Frederick Hale. We thought it must be some mistake, for poor Fred was such a fine fellow, only perhaps rather too passionate, and we hoped that the name of Carr, which was in the list, was a misprint for that of Hale. Newspapers are so careless, and towards post-time the next day Papa set off to work to Southampton to get the papers, and I could not stop at home, so I went to meet him. He was very late, much later than I thought he would have been, and I sat down under the hedge to wait for him. He came at last, his arms hanging loose down, his head sunk, and walking heavily along, as if every step was a labour and a trouble. Margaret, I see him now. Don't go on, Mama. I can understand it all, said Margaret, leaning up caressingly against her mother's side, and kissing her hand. No you can't, Margaret. No one can who did not see him then. I could hardly lift myself up to go and meet him. Everything seemed so to reel around me all at once, and when I got to him, he did not speak, or seemed surprised to see me there, more than three miles from home beside the old ham-beach-tree. But he put my arm in his, and kept stroking my hand, as if he wanted to soothe me to be very quiet under some great heavy blow. And when I trembled so all over that I could not speak, he took me in his arms, and stooped down his head on mine, and began to shake and to cry in a strange muffled, groaning voice, till I, for very fright, stood quite still, and only begged him to tell me what he had heard. And then, with his hand jerking, as if someone else moved it against his will, he gave me a wicked newspaper to read, calling our Frederick a traitor of the blackest die, a base ungrateful disgrace to his profession. Oh, I cannot tell what bad words they did not use. I took the paper in my hands as soon as I had read it. I tore it up to little bits. I tore it. I'll believe it, Margaret. I tore it with my teeth. I did not cry. I could not. My cheeks were as hot as fire, and my very eyes burnt in my head. I saw your father looking grave at me. I said it was a lie, and so it was. Months after this letter came, and you see what provocation Frederick had, it was not for himself or his own injuries. He rebelled, but he would speak his mind to Captain Reed, and so it went on from bad to worse, and you see most of the sailors stuck by Frederick. I thank Margaret, she continued after a pause, in a weak, trembling, exhausted voice. I am glad of it. I am prouder of Frederick standing up against injustice than if he had simply been a good officer. I am sure I am, said Margaret, in a firm, decided tone. Loyalty and obedience to wisdom and justice are fine, but it is still finer to defy arbitrary power, unjustly and cruelly used, not on behalf of ourselves, but on behalf of others, more helpless. For all that I wish I could see Frederick once more, just once. He was my first baby, Margaret. Mrs. Hale spoke wistfully, and almost as if apologizing for the yearning, craving wish, as though it were a depreciation of her remaining child. But such an idea never crossed Margaret's mind. She was thinking how her mother's desire could be fulfilled. It is six or seven years ago. Would they still prosecute him, mother? If he came and stood his trial, what would be the punishment? Surely he must bring evidence of his great provocation. It would do no good, replied Mrs. Hale. Some of the sailors who accompanied Frederick were taken, and there was a court-martial held on them on board the Amachea. I believed all they said in their defence, poor fellows, because it just agreed with Frederick's story. But it was of no use, and for the first time during the conversation Mrs. Hale began to cry. Yet something possessed Margaret to force the information she foresaw, yet dreaded from her mother. What happened to them, Mama? asked she. They were hung at the yard-arm, said Mrs. Hale solemnly, and the worst was that the court, in condemning them to death, said they had suffered themselves to be led astray from their duty by their superior officers. They were silent for a long time. And Frederick was in South America for several years, was he not? Yes, and now he is in Spain, at Cadiz, or somewhere near it. If he comes to England he will be hung, I shall never see his face again, for if he comes to England he will be hung. There was no comfort to be given. Mrs. Hale turned her face to the wall, and lay perfectly still in her mother's despair. Nothing could be said to console her. She took her hand out of Margaret's, with the little impatient movement, as if she would feign be left alone with the recollection of her son. When Mr. Hale came in, Margaret went out, oppressed with gloom, and seeing no promise of brightness, on any side of the horizon. End of Chapter 14 Thought Fights with Thought Outsprings 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. 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. 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 Mama 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. 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. 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. 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 Mama'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. 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 someone first rate. Stay, we turn 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 Marlboro 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. He told me he lived in Marlboro Street, I'm sure, said Mr. Hale, with a much perplexed air. Perhaps it is one of the economies he still practices to live in a very small house. But here are plenty of people about, let me ask. She accordingly acquired of a passerby 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. The lodge door was like a common garden door. On one side of it were great closed gates for the ingress and egress of lures 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 once preceded the continual clank of machinery and the long-growning 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-copped 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 50 or 60 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 whir and den 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 and the dead wall as a boundary, was but a dismal lookout 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 center by a linen droguet, glazed and colorless. The window curtains were lace. Each chair and sofa had its own particular veil of knitting 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 around the circumference of its polished surface, like gaily-colored 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 and 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 labor, but not care and labor to procure ease, to help on habits of tranquil home employment, solely to ornament and then to preserve ornament from dirt or destruction. 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. At last, Mrs. Thornton came in, rustling in handsome black silk, as was her want. Her muslins and laces rivaling, 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. Hales 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 hails 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. How was 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 hour 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. I have no doubt the 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 seemed to me to require all of 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 today. At least that is my opinion. This last clause, she gave out with the pride that apes humility. 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 today to be utterly forgetful of it in their new interest tomorrow. 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 fulfillment of that. And that is, asked Mr. Hale, her sallow cheek flushed and her eyes lightened as she answered, to hold and maintain a high honorable 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. 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 in Hampshire Squires on the other. Margaret's face, in spite of all her endeavors to keep it simply listening in his expression, told the sensitive Mrs. Thornton this feeling of hers. You think you never heard of this wonderful son of mine, Ms. Hale? You think I'm an old woman whose ideas are bounded by Milton and whose own crow is the widest ever seen? 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. Who spoke to you of him? asked Mrs. Thornton, a little mollified, yet jealous lest anyone else's word 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. It was what Mr. Thornton said himself that made us know the kind of man he was was it not, Margaret? Mrs. Thornton drew herself up and said, My son is not the one to tell of his own doings. May I again ask you, Ms. Hale, from whose account you formed your favorable opinion of him? A mother is curious and greedy of commendation of her children, you know. Margaret replied. It was as much from what Mr. Thornton withheld of that which we have 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. Mr. Bell, what can he know of John? He living a lazy life in a drowsy college. But I'm obliged to you, Ms. 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 and 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. 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 cataclyse. Margaret laughed out right at the notion presented to her, laughed so merrily that it graded on Mrs. Thornton's ear as if the words that called forth that laugh must have been utterly and entirely ludicrous. Margaret stopped her merriment 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 for making any plans on Mr. Thornton's heart. Young ladies have, before now, said Mrs. Thornton stiffly. I hope Mrs. Thornton is well, put in Mr. Hale, desirous of changing the current of the conversation. 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? 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. A strike, asked Margaret. What for? What are they going to strike for? For the master ship 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. They are wanting higher wages, I suppose, asked Mr. Hale. That is the face of the thing. What the truth is, they want to be masters and make the masters into slaves on their own ground. They are always trying at it. They always have it in their minds, and every five or six years there comes a struggle between masters and men. They'll find themselves mistaken this time, I fancy, a little out of their reckoning. If they turn out, they may find it so easy to go in again. I believe the masters have a thing or two in their heads which will teach the men not to strike again in a hurry if they try at this time. Does it not make the town very rough, asked Margaret? Of course it does, but surely you are not a coward, are you? Milton is not the place for cowards. I have known the time when I've had to thread my way through a crowd of white, angry men, all swearing they would have Mackinson's blood as soon as he ventured to show his nose out of his factory. And he, knowing nothing of it, someone had to go and tell him or he was a dead man, and it needed to be a woman so I went. And when I had got in, I could not get out. It was as much as my life was worth. So I went up to the roof where there were stones piled ready to drop on the heads of the crowd if they tried to force the factory doors. And I would have lifted those heavy stones and dropped them with as good a name as the best man there, but that I fainted with the heat I have gone through. If you live in Milton, you must learn to have a brave heart, Miss Hale. I would do my best, said Margaret, rather pale. I do not know whether I am brave or not till I am tried, but I am afraid I should be a coward. South country people are often frightened by what our dark-sher men and women only call living and struggling, but when you have been ten years among a people who are always owing their betters a grudge and only waiting for an opportunity to pay it off, you will know whether you are a coward or not. Take my word for it. Mr. Thornton came that evening to Mr. Hales. He was shown up into the drawing room where Mr. Hale was reading aloud to his wife and daughter. I have come partly to bring you a note from my mother and partly to apologize for not keeping to my time yesterday. The note contains the address you asked for, Dr. Donaldson. Thank you, said Margaret hastily, holding out her hand to take the note, for she did not wish her mother to hear that they had been making any inquiry about a doctor. She was pleased that Mr. Thornton seemed immediately to understand her feeling. He gave her the note without another word of explanation. Mr. Hale began to talk about the strike. Mr. Thornton's face assumed a likeness to his mother's worst expression, which immediately repelled the watching Margaret. Yes, the fools will have a strike. Let them. It suits its well enough. But we gave them a chance. They think trade is flourishing as it was last year. We see the storm on the horizon and draw in our sales. But because we don't explain our reasons, they won't believe we're acting reasonably. We must give them line and letter for the way we choose to spend or save our money. Henderson tried to dodge with his men out at Ashley and failed. He rather wanted a strike. It would have suited his book well enough. So when the men came to ask for the five percent, they are claiming he told them he'd think about it and give them his answer on the payday, knowing all the while what his answer would be, of course, but thinking he'd strengthen their conceit of their own way. However, they were too deep for him and heard something about the bad prospects of trade. So when they came on the Friday and drew back their claim, and now he's obliged to go on working. But we Milton masters have today sent in our decision. We won't advance a penny. We tell them we may have to lower wages, but can't afford to raise. So here we stand, waiting for their next attack. And what will that be? asked Mr. Hale. I conjecture a simultaneous strike. You'll see Milton without smoke in a few days, I imagine, Ms. Hale. But why, asked she, could you not explain what good reason you have for expecting a bad trade? I don't know whether I use the right words, but you will understand what I mean. Do you give your servants reasons for your expenditure or your economy in the use of your own money? We, the owners of capital, have a right to choose what we will do with it. A human right, said Margaret very low. I beg your pardon, I did not hear what you said. I would rather not repeat it, said she. It related to a feeling which I do not think you would share. Won't you try me, pleaded he, his thought suddenly bent upon learning what she had said. She was displeased with his pertinacity, but did not choose to affix too much importance to her words. I said you had a human right. I meant that there seemed no reason but religious ones why you should not do what you like with your own. I know we differ in our religious opinions but don't you give me credit for having some though not the same as yours. He was speaking in a subdued voice as if to her alone. She did not wish to be so exclusively addressed. She replied out in her usual tone. I do not think that I have any occasion to consider your special religious opinions in the affair. All I meant to say is that there is no human law to prevent the employers from utterly wasting or throwing away all their money if they choose. But that there are passages in the bible which would rather imply to me at least that they neglected their duty as stewards if they did so. However I know so little about strikes and rate of warages in capital and labor that I'd better not talk to a political economist like you. Nay, the more reason said he eagerly I should only be too glad to explain to you all that may seem anomalous or mysterious to a stranger especially at a time like this when our doings are sure to be canvas by every scribbler who can hold a pen. Thank you, she answered coldly. Of course I shall apply to my father in the first instance for any information he can give me if I get puzzled with living here amongst this strange society. You think it's strange. Why? I don't know. I suppose because on the very face of it I see two classes dependent on each other in every possible way yet each evidently regarding the interest of the other as opposed to their own. I never lived in a place before where there were two sets of people always running each other down. Who have you heard running the masters down? I don't ask who you have heard abusing the men for I see you persist in misunderstanding what I said the other day but who have you heard abusing the masters? Margaret Redden then smiled as she said I am not fond of being cataclyzed. I refuse to answer your question besides it has nothing to do with the fact you must take my word for it that I've heard some people or it may be only someone of the work people speak as though it were the interests of the employers to keep them from acquiring money that it would make them too independent if they had a sum in the savings bank. I dare say it was that man Higgins who told you all this said Mrs. Hale. Mr. Thornton did not appear to hear what Margaret evidently did not wish him to know but he caught it nevertheless. I heard moreover that it was considered to the advantage of the masters to have ignorant workmen not hedge lawyers as Captain Linux used to call those men in his company who questioned and would know the reason for every order. This latter part of her sentence she addressed rather to her father than to Mr. Thornton. Who is Captain Linux? asked Mr. Thornton of himself with a strange kind of displeasure that prevented him for the moment from replying to her. Her father took up the conversation. You never were fond of schools Margaret or you would have seen and known before this how much is being done for education and Milton. No, said she with sudden meekness I know I do not care enough about schools but the knowledge and the ignorance of which I was speaking did not relate to reading and writing, the teaching or information one can give to a child. I am sure that what was meant was ignorance of the wisdom that shall guide men and women. I hardly know what that is but he that is my informant spoke as if the masters would like their hands to be merely tall, large children living in the present moment with a blind unreasoning kind of obedience. In short, Ms. Hale it is very evident that your informant found a pretty ready listener to all the slander he chose to utter against the master, said Mr. Thornton in an offended tone. Margaret did not reply. She was displeased at the personal character Mr. Thornton affixed to what she had said. Mr. Hale spoke next. I must confess that although I have not become so intimately acquainted with any workmen as Margaret has, I am very much struck by the antagonism between the employer and the employed on the very surface of things. I even gather this impression from what you yourself have from time to time said. Mr. Thornton paused a while before he spoke. Margaret had just left the room and he was vexed at the state of feeling between himself and her. However, the little annoyance by making him cooler and more thoughtful gave a greater dignity to what he said. My theory is that my interests are identical with those of my workpeople and vice versa. Ms. Hale I know does not like to hear men called hands so I won't use that word though it comes most readily to my lips as the technical term whose origin whatever it was dates before my time. On some future day in some millennium in Utopia this unity may be brought into practice just as I can fancier a republic the most perfect form of government. We will read Plato's Republic as soon as we have finished Homer. Well, in the platonic year it may fall out that we are all men and women and children fit for a republic but give me a constitutional monarchy in our present state of morals and intelligence. In our infancy we require a wise despotism to govern us. Indeed, long past infancy children and young people are the happiest under the unfailing laws of a discreet firm authority. I agree with Ms. Hale so far as to consider our people in the condition of children while I deny that we the masters have anything to do with them making or keeping them so. I maintain that despotism is the best kind of government for them so that in the hours in which I come in contact with them I must necessarily be an autocrat. I will use my best discretion from no humbug or philanthropic feeling of which we have had rather too much in the north to make wise laws and come to just decisions in the conduct of my business. Laws and decisions which work for my own good in the first instance for theirs in the second. But I will neither be forced to give my reasons nor flinch from what I have once declared to be my resolution. Let them turn out. I shall suffer as well as they but at the end they will find I have not baited nor altered one jot. Margaret had re-entered the room and was sitting at her work but she did not speak. Mr. Hale answered. I dare say I am talking great ignorance but from the little I know I should say that the masses were already passing rapidly into the troublesome stage which intervenes between childhood and manhood and the life of the multitude as well as that of the individual. Now the error which many parents commit in the treatment of the individual at this time is insisting on the same unreasoning obedience as when all he had to do in the way of duty was to obey the simple laws of come when you're called and do as your bid. But a wise parent humors the desire for independent action so as to become the friend and advisor when his absolute rule shall cease. If I get wrong in my reasoning recollect is you who adopted the analogy. Very lately said Margaret I heard a story of what happened in Nuremberg only three or four years ago. A rich man there lived alone in one of the immense mansions which were formerly both dwellings and warehouses. It was reported that he had a child but no one knew of it for certain. For forty years this rumor kept rising and falling never utterly dying away. After his death it was found to be true. He had a son an overgrown man with the unexercised intellect of a child whom he had kept up in that strange way in order to save him from temptation and error. But of course when this great old child was turned loose into the world every bad counselor had power over him. He did not know good from evil. His father had made the blunder of bringing him up in ignorance and taking it for innocence. And after fourteen months of riotous living the city authorities had to take charge of him in order to save him from starvation. He could not even use words effectively enough to be a successful beggar. I used the comparison suggested by Miss Hale of the position of the master to that of a parent. So I ought not to complain of your turning this similarly into a weapon against me. But Mr. Hale when you were setting up a wise parent as a model for us you said he humored his children in their desire for independent action. Now certainly the time has not come for the hands to have any independent action during business hours. I hardly know what you would mean by it then. And I say that the masters would be trenching on the independence of their hands in a way that I for one should not feel justified in doing if we interfere too much with the life they lead out of the mills. Because they labor ten hours a day for us I do not see that we have any right to impose leading strings upon them for the rest of their time. I value my own independence so highly that I can fancy no degradation greater than that of having another man perpetually directing and advising and lecturing me or even planning too closely in any way about my actions. He might be the wisest of men or the most powerful. I should equally rebel and resent his interference. I imagine this is a stronger feeling in the north of England than in the south. I beg your pardon but it is not that because there has been none of the equality of friendship between the advisor and advised classes because every man has had to stand in an un-christian and isolated position apart from and jealous of his brother-man constantly afraid of his rights being trenched upon. I only state the fact I am sorry to say I have an appointment at eight o'clock and I must just take facts as I find them tonight without trying to account for them which indeed would make no difference in determining how to act as things stand the facts must be granted. But said Margaret in a low voice it seems to me that it makes all the difference in the world. Her father made a sign to her to be silent and allow Mr. Thornton to finish what he had to say. He was already standing up and preparing to go. You must grant me this one point. Given a strong feeling of independence in every Darkshire man have I any right to obtrude my views of the manner in which he shall act upon another hating it as I should do most vehemently myself merely because he has labor to sell and I capital to buy. Not in the least said Margaret determined just to say this one thing not in the least because of your labor and capital positions whatever they are but because you are a man dealing with a set of men over whom you have whether you reject the use of it or not immense power just because your lives and your welfare are so constantly and intimately interwoven God has made us so that we must be mutually dependent we may ignore our own dependence or refuse to acknowledge that others depend upon us in more respects than the payment of weekly wages but the thing must be nevertheless neither you nor any other master can help yourselves the most proudly independent man depends on those around him for their insensible influence on his character his life and the most isolated of all your Darkshire egos has dependence clinging to him on all sides he cannot shake them off any more than the great rock he resembles can shake off pray don't go into similees Margaret once already said her father smiling yet uneasy at the thought that they were detaining Mr. Thornton against his will which was a mistake for he rather liked it as long as Margaret would talk although what she said only irritated him just tell me Ms. Hale are you yourself ever influenced no that is not a fair way of putting it but if you are ever conscious of being influenced by others and not by circumstances have those others been working directly or indirectly have they been laboring to exhort to enjoying to act rightly for the sake of example or have they been simple true men taking up their duty and doing it unflinchingly without a thought of how their actions were to make this man industrious that man's saving why if I were a workman I should be 20 times more impressed by the knowledge that my master was honest punctual quick resolute in all his doings and hands are keen or spies even in valets then by any amount of interference however kindly meant with my ways of going on out of work hours I do not choose to think too closely on what I am myself but I believe I rely on the straightforward honesty of my hands and the open nature of their opposition and contradistinction to the way in which the turnout will be managed in some mills just because they know I scorn to take a single dishonorable advantage or do an underhand thing myself it goes farther than a whole course of lectures on honesty is the best policy life diluted into words no no what the master is that will the men be without over much taking thought on his part that is a great admission said margaret laughing when I see men violent and obstinate in pursuit of their rights I may safely infer that the master is the same that he is a little ignorant of that spirit which suffereth long and is kind and seeketh not her own you are just like all strangers who don't understand the working of our system mishail said he hastily you suppose that our men are puppets of dough ready to be molded into any amiable form we please you forget we have only to do with them for less than a third of their lives and you seem not to perceive that the duties of a manufacturer are far larger and wider than those merely of an employer of labor we have a wide commercial character to maintain which makes us into the great pioneers of civilization it strikes me said mr. Hale smiling that you might pioneer a little at home they are a rough heathenish set of fellows these Milton men of yours they are that replied mr. Thornton rosewater surgery won't do for them Cromwell would have made a capital mill owner miss Hale I wish we had him to put down this strike for us Cromwell is no hero of mine said she coldly but I am trying to reconcile your admiration of despotism with your respect for other men's independence of character he readened at her tone I choose to be the unquestioned and irresponsible master of my hands during the hours that they labor for me but those hours past our relation ceases and then comes in the same respect for their independence that I myself exact he did not speak again for a minute he was too much vexed but he shook it off and bade Mr. and Mrs. Hale good night then drawing near to Margaret he said in a lower voice I spoke hastily to you once this evening and I am afraid rather rudely but you know I am but an uncouth Milton manufacturer will you forgive me certainly said she smiling up in his face the expression of which was somewhat anxious and oppressed and hardly cleared away as he met her sweet sunny countenance out of which all the north wind effect of their discussion had entirely vanished but she did not put out her hand to him and again he felt the omission and set it down to pride end of chapter 15 recording by Leanne Howlett chapter 16 north and south this is a Librivox recording all Librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit Librivox.org this reading by Lucy Burgoyne north and south by Elizabeth Claighorn Gaskell chapter 16 the shadow of death trust in that veiled hand which leads none by the path that he would go and always be for change prepared for the world's law is ebb and flow from the Arabic the next afternoon Dr. Donaldson came to pay his first visit to Mrs. Hale the mystery that Margaret hoped their laid habits of intimacy had broken through was resumed she was excluded from the room while Dixon was admitted Margaret was not a ready lover but where she loved passionately and with no small degree of jealousy she went into her mother's bedroom just behind the drawing room and pasted up and down while awaiting the doctors coming out every now and then she stopped to listen she fancied she heard a moan she clenched her hands tight and held her breath she was sure she heard a moan then all was still for a few minutes more and then there was the moving of chairs the raised voices all the little disturbances of leave taking when she heard the door open she went quickly out of the bedroom my father is from home Dr. Donaldson he has to attend a pupil of this hour may I trouble you to come into his room downstairs she saw and triumphed over all the obstacles which Dixon threw in her way assuming her rightful position as daughter of the house in something of the spirit of their elder brother which quilled the old servant's officiousness very effectually Margaret's conscience assumption of this unusual dignity of Dominia towards Dixon gave her an instance amusement in the midst of her anxiety she knew from the surprised expression on Dixon's face how ridiculous they grand she herself must be looking and the idea carried her downstairs into the room it gave her that length of oblivion from the keen sharpness of recollection of the actual business in hand now that came back and seemed to take away her breath it was a moment or two before she could utter a word but she spoke with an air of command as she asked what is the matter with mama you will oblige me by telling the simple truth then seeing a slight hesitation on the doctor's part she added I am the only child she has here I mean my father is not sufficiently alarmed I fear and therefore if there is any serious apprehension it must be broken to him gently I can do this I can nurse my mother pray speak sir to see your face and not be able to read it gives me a worse thread than I trust any words of yours will justify my dear young lady your mother seems to have a most attentive and efficient servant who is more like her friend I am her daughter sir but when I tell you she expressly desired that you might not be told I am not good or patient enough to submit to the prohibition besides I am sure you are too wise too experienced to have promise to keep the secret well said he half smiling though sadly enough there you are right I did not promise in fact I fear the secret will be known soon enough without my revealing it he paused Margaret went very white and compressed her lips a little more otherwise not a feature moved with the quick insight into character without which no medical man can rise to the eminence of Dr. Donaldson he saw that she would exact the full truth that she would know if one iota was withheld and that the withholding would be more torture more acute than the knowledge of it he spoke two short sentences in a low voice watching her all the time for the pupils of her eyes dilated into a black horror and the whiteness of her complexion became livid he ceased speaking he waited for that look to go off for her gasking breath to come then she said I thank you most truly sir for your confidence that dread has haunted me for many weeks it is a true real agony my poor poor mother her lips began to quiver and he let her have the relief of tears sure of the power of self-control to check them a few tears those were all she shared before she recollected the many questions she longed to ask will there be much suffering he shook his head that we cannot tell it depends on constitution on a thousand things but the late discoveries of medical science have given us large power of alleviation my father said Margaret trembling all over I do not know Mr. Hale I mean it is difficult to give advice but I should say bear on with the knowledge you have forced me to give you so abruptly till the fact which I could not withhold has become in some degree familiar to you so that you may without too great an effort be able to give what comfort you can to your father before then my visits which of course I shall repeat from time to time although I fear I can do nothing but alleviate a thousand little circumstances will have occurred to awaken his alarm to deepen it so that he will be all the better prepared nay my dear young lady nay my dear I saw Mr. Thornton and I honour your father for the sacrifice he has made however mistaken I may believe him to be well this once if it will please you my dear only remember when I come again I come as a friend and you must learn to look upon me as such because seeing each other getting to know each other at such times as these is worth years of mourning calls Margaret could not speak for crying but she wrung his hand at parting that's what I call a fine girl thought Dr. Donaldson when he was seated in his carriage and had time to examine his ringed hand which had slightly suffered from her pressure who would have thought that little hand could have given such a squeeze but the bones were well put together and that gives immense power what a queen she is with her head thrown back at first to force me into speaking the truth and then bent so eagerly forward to listen poor thing I must see she does not over strain herself though it's astonishing how much those thoroughbred creatures can do and suffer the girls gained to the backbone another who had gone that deadly color could never have come round without either fainting or hysterics but she wouldn't do either not she and the very force of her will brought her round such a girl as that would win my heart if I were 30 years younger it's too late now I here we are at the arches so out he jumped with thought wisdom experience sympathy and ready to attend to the cause made upon them by this family just as if there were none other in the world meanwhile Margaret had returned into her father's study for a moment to recover strength before going upstairs into her mother's presence oh my god my god but this is terrible how shall I bear it such a deadly disease no hope oh mama mama I wish I had never gone to aunt shores and been all those precious years away from you poor mama how much she must have borne oh I pray thee my god that her sufferings may not be too acute too dreadful how shall I bear to see them how can I bear papa's agony he must not be told yet not all at once it would kill him but I won't lose another moment of my dear precious mother she ran upstairs Dixon was not in the room Mrs. Hale laid back in an easy chair with a soft white shawl wrapped around her and the becoming cap put on in expectation of the doctor's visit her face had a little foam color in it and the very exhaustion after the examination gave it a peaceful look Margaret was surprised to see her look so calm why Margaret how strange you look what is the matter and then as the idea stole into her mind of what was indeed the real state of the case she added as if little displeased you have not been seeing Dr. Donaldson and asking him any questions have you child Margaret did not reply only looked wistfully towards her Mrs. Hale became more displeased he would not surely break his word to me and oh yes mama he did I made him it was I blame me she knelt down by her mother's side and caught her hand she would not let it go though Mrs. Hale tried to pull it away she kept kissing it and the hot tears she shed bathed it Margaret it was very wrong of you you knew I did not wish you to know but as if tired with the contest she left her hand in Margaret's clasp and by and by she returned the pressure faintly that encouraged Margaret to speak oh mama let me be your nurse I will learn anything Dixon can teach me but you know I am your child and I do think I have a right to do everything for you you don't know what you are asking said Mrs. Hale with a shudder yes I do I know a great deal more than you are aware of let me be your nurse let me try at any rate no one has ever shall ever try so hard as I will it will be such a comfort mama my poor child well you shall try do you know Margaret Dixon and I thought you would quite shrink from me if you knew Dixon thought said Margaret her lip curling Dixon could not give me credit for enough true love for as much as herself she thought I suppose that I was one of those poor sickly women who like to lie on rose leaves and be fanned all day don't let Dixon's fancies come anymore between you and me mama don't please implored she don't be angry with Dixon said Mrs. Hale anxiously Margaret recovered herself no I won't I will try and be humble and learn her ways if you will only let me do all I can for you let me be in the first place mother I am greedy of that I used to fancy you would forget me while I was away at Aunt Shaw's and cry myself to sleep at night with that notion in my head and I used to think how will Margaret bear our makeshift poverty after the thorough comfort and luxury in Harley Street till I have many a time been more ashamed of your seeing our contrivances at Healthstone than of any stranger finding them out oh mama and I did so enjoy them they were so much more amusing than all the jog trot Harley Street ways the wardrobe shelf with handles that served as a suppertree on grand occasions and the old tea chests stuffed and covered for Ottomans I think what you call the makeshift contrivances at dear Healthstone were a charming part of the life there I shall never see Healthstone again Margaret said Mrs. Hale the tears welling up into her eyes Margaret could not reply Mrs. Hale went on while I was there I was forever wanting to leave it every place seemed pleasanter and now I shall die far away from it I am rightly punished you must not talk so said Margaret impatiently he said you might live for years oh mother we will have you back at Healthstone yet no never that I must take as a just penance but Margaret Frederick at the mention of that one word she suddenly cried out loud as in some sharp agony it seemed as if the thought of him upset all her composure destroyed the calm overcame the exhaustion while passionate cries succeeded to cry Frederick Frederick come to me I am dying little firstborn child come to me once again she was in violent hysterics Margaret went and called Dixon in terror Dixon came in a huff and accused Margaret of having overexcited her mother Margaret bore all meekly only trusting that her father might not return in spite of her alarm which was even greater than the occasion warranted she obeyed all Dixon's directions promptly and well without a word of self-justification by so doing she mullified her accuser they put her mother to bed and Margaret sat by her till she fell asleep and afterwards till Dixon beckoned her out of the room and with a sour face as if doing something against the grain she bade her drink a cup of coffee which she had prepared for her in the drawing room and stood over her in a commanding attitude as she did so you shouldn't have been so curious miss and then you wouldn't have needed to fret before your time it would have come soon enough and now I suppose you'll tell master and a pretty household I shall have a view no Dixon said Margaret sorrowfully I will not tell papa he could not bear it as I can and by way of proving how well she bore it she burst into tears I I knew how it would be now you awaken your mama just after she's gone to sleep so quietly miss Margaret my dear I've had to keep it down this many a week and though I don't pretend I can love her as you do yet I loved her better than any other man woman or child no one but master Frederick ever came near her in my mind ever since lady benefits made first took me in to see her dressed out in white crepe and corn ears and scarlet poppies and I ran a needle down into my finger and broke it in and she tore up her work pocket handkerchief after they cut it out and came in to wet the bandages again with lotion when she returned from the ball where she'd been the prettiest young lady of all I've never loved anyone like her I little thought then that I should live to see her brought so low I don't mean no reproach to nobody many a one calls you pretty and handsome and whatnot even in this smoky place enough to blind one's eyes the elves can see that that you'll never be like your mother for beauty never not if you live to be a hundred mama is very pretty still poor mama now don't you set off again or I shall give way at last whimpering you'll never stand masters coming home and questioning at this rate go out and take a walk and come in something like many's the time I've longed to walk it off the thought of what was the matter with her and how it must all end oh Dixon said Margaret how often I've been crossed with you not knowing what a terrible secret you had to bear bless you child I like to see you showing a bit of a spirit it's the good old bearers for blood why the last so John but too shot he stewed down there where he stood for just telling him that he'd rafed the tenants and he'd rafed the tenants till he could get no more money off them than he could get skin off a flint well Dixon I won't shoot you and I'll try not to be cross again you never have if I've said it at times it has always been to myself just in private by way of making a little agreeable conversation that there's no one here fit to talk to and when you fire up you're the very image of master Frederick I could find in my heart to put you in a passion any day just to see his stormy look coming like a great cloud over your face but now you go out miss I'll watch over misses and as for master his books are company enough for him if he should come in I will go said Margaret she hung about Dixon for a minute or so as if afraid and irresolute then suddenly kissing her she went quickly out of the room bless her said Dixon she's as sweet as a nut there are three people I love it's Mrs master Frederick and her just them three that's all the rest be hanged for I don't know what they're in the world for master was born I suppose for to marry missus if I thought he loved her properly I might get to love him in time but he shouldn't have made a deal more on her and not been always reading reading thinking thinking see what it has brought him many a one who never reads nor thinks either gets to be rector and doing and whatnot and I dare say master might if he just minded missus and let the weary reading and thinking alone there she goes looking out of the window as she heard the front door shut poor young lady her clothes look shabby to what they did when she came to hellstone a year ago then she hadn't so much as a darn stocking or a clean pair of gloves in all the wardrobe and now end of chapter 16