'Yes; it is so, indeed. He knows it himself; he has said so many
a time. He would do anything for me; you don't mean he would
refuse me this last wish--prayer, if you will. And, indeed,
Margaret, the longing to see Frederick stands between me and God.
I cannot pray till I have this one thing; indeed, I cannot. Don't
lose time, dear, dear Margaret. Write by this very next post.
Then he may be here--here in twenty-two days! For he is sure to
come. No cords or chains can keep him. In twenty-two days I shall
see my boy.' She fell back, and for a short time she took no
notice of the fact that Margaret sat motionless, her hand shading
her eyes.
'You are not writing!' said her mother at last 'Bring me some
pens and paper; I will try and write myself.' She sat up,
trembling all over with feverish eagerness. Margaret took her
hand down and looked at her mother sadly.
'Only wait till papa comes in. Let us ask him how best to do it.' 'You promised, Margaret, not a quarter of an hour ago;--you said
he should come.' 'And so he shall, mamma; don't cry, my own dear mother. I'll
write here, now,--you shall see me write,--and it shall go by
this very post; and if papa thinks fit, he can write again when
he comes in,--it is only a day's delay. Oh, mamma, don't cry so
pitifully,--it cuts me to the heart.' Mrs. Hale could not stop her tears; they came hysterically; and,
in truth, she made no effort to control them, but rather called
up all the pictures of the happy past, and the probable
future--painting the scene when she should lie a corpse, with the
son she had longed to see in life weeping over her, and she
unconscious of his presence--till she was melted by self-pity
into a state of sobbing and exhaustion that made Margaret's heart
ache. But at last she was calm, and greedily watched her
daughter, as she began her letter; wrote it with swift urgent
entreaty; sealed it up hurriedly, for fear her mother should ask
to see it: and then, to make security most sure, at Mrs. Hale's
own bidding, took it herself to the post-office. She was coming
home when her father overtook her.
'And where have you been, my pretty maid?' asked he.
'To the post-office,--with a letter; a letter to Frederick. Oh,
papa, perhaps I have done wrong: but mamma was seized with such a
passionate yearning to see him--she said it would make her well
again,--and then she said that she must see him before she
died,--I cannot tell you how urgent she was! Did I do wrong?' Mr.
Hale did not reply at first. Then he said: 'You should have waited till I came in, Margaret.' 'I tried to persuade her--' and then she was silent.