'Your beauty was the first that won the place,

And scal'd the walls of my undaunted heart,

Which, captive now, pines in a caitive case,

Unkindly met with rigour for desert;--

Yet not the less your servant shall abide,

In spite of rude repulse or silent pride.'

WILLIAM FOWLER.

The next morning, Margaret dragged herself up, thankful that the

night was over,--unrefreshed, yet rested. All had gone well

through the house; her mother had only wakened once. A little

breeze was stirring in the hot air, and though there were no

trees to show the playful tossing movement caused by the wind

among the leaves, Margaret knew how, somewhere or another, by

way-side, in copses, or in thick green woods, there was a

pleasant, murmuring, dancing sound,--a rushing and falling noise,

the very thought of which was an echo of distant gladness in her

heart.

She sat at her work in Mrs. Hale's room. As soon as that forenoon

slumber was over, she would help her mother to dress after

dinner, she would go and see Bessy Higgins. She would banish all

recollection of the Thornton family,--no need to think of them

till they absolutely stood before her in flesh and blood. But, of

course, the effort not to think of them brought them only the

more strongly before her; and from time to time, the hot flush

came over her pale face sweeping it into colour, as a sunbeam

from between watery clouds comes swiftly moving over the sea.

Dixon opened the door very softly, and stole on tiptoe up to

Margaret, sitting by the shaded window.

'Mr. Thornton, Miss Margaret. He is in the drawing-room.' Margaret dropped her sewing.

'Did he ask for me? Isn't papa come in?'

'He asked for you, miss; and master is out.'

'Very well, I will come,' said Margaret, quietly. But she

lingered strangely. Mr. Thornton stood by one of the windows,

with his back to the door, apparently absorbed in watching

something in the street. But, in truth, he was afraid of himself.

His heart beat thick at the thought of her coming. He could not

forget the touch of her arms around his neck, impatiently felt as

it had been at the time; but now the recollection of her clinging

defence of him, seemed to thrill him through and through,--to

melt away every resolution, all power of self-control, as if it

were wax before a fire. He dreaded lest he should go forwards to

meet her, with his arms held out in mute entreaty that she would

come and nestle there, as she had done, all unheeded, the day

before, but never unheeded again. His heart throbbed loud and

quick Strong man as he was, he trembled at the anticipation of

what he had to say, and how it might be received. She might

droop, and flush, and flutter to his arms, as to her natural home

and resting-place. One moment, he glowed with impatience at the

thought that she might do this, the next, he feared a passionate

rejection, the very idea of which withered up his future with so

deadly a blight that he refused to think of it. He was startled

by the sense of the presence of some one else in the room. He

turned round. She had come in so gently, that he had never heard

her; the street noises had been more distinct to his inattentive

ear than her slow movements, in her soft muslin gown.




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