If Mr. Thornton was a fool in the morning, as he assured himself

at least twenty times he was, he did not grow much wiser in the

afternoon. All that he gained in return for his sixpenny omnibus

ride, was a more vivid conviction that there never was, never

could be, any one like Margaret; that she did not love him and

never would; but that she--no! nor the whole world--should never

hinder him from loving her. And so he returned to the little

market-place, and remounted the omnibus to return to Milton.

It was late in the afternoon when he was set down, near his

warehouse. The accustomed places brought back the accustomed

habits and trains of thought. He knew how much he had to do--more

than his usual work, owing to the commotion of the day before. He

had to see his brother magistrates; he had to complete the

arrangements, only half made in the morning, for the comfort and

safety of his newly imported Irish hands; he had to secure them

from all chance of communication with the discontented

work-people of Milton. Last of all, he had to go home and

encounter his mother.

Mrs. Thornton had sat in the dining-room all day, every moment

expecting the news of her son's acceptance by Miss Hale. She had

braced herself up many and many a time, at some sudden noise in

the house; had caught up the half-dropped work, and begun to ply

her needle diligently, though through dimmed spectacles, and with

an unsteady hand! and many times had the door opened, and some

indifferent person entered on some insignificant errand. Then her

rigid face unstiffened from its gray frost-bound expression, and

the features dropped into the relaxed look of despondency, so

unusual to their sternness. She wrenched herself away from the

contemplation of all the dreary changes that would be brought

about to herself by her son's marriage; she forced her thoughts

into the accustomed household grooves. The newly-married

couple-to-be would need fresh household stocks of linen; and Mrs.

Thornton had clothes-basket upon clothes-basket, full of

table-cloths and napkins, brought in, and began to reckon up the

store. There was some confusion between what was hers, and

consequently marked G. H. T. (for George and Hannah Thornton),

and what was her son's--bought with his money, marked with his

initials. Some of those marked G. H. T. were Dutch damask of the

old kind, exquisitely fine; none were like them now. Mrs.

Thornton stood looking at them long,--they had been her pride

when she was first married. Then she knit her brows, and pinched

and compressed her lips tight, and carefully unpicked the G. H.

She went so far as to search for the Turkey-red marking-thread to

put in the new initials; but it was all used,--and she had no

heart to send for any more just yet. So she looked fixedly at

vacancy; a series of visions passing before her, in all of which

her son was the principal, the sole object,--her son, her pride,

her property. Still he did not come. Doubtless he was with Miss

Hale. The new love was displacing her already from her place as

first in his heart. A terrible pain--a pang of vain

jealousy--shot through her: she hardly knew whether it was more

physical or mental; but it forced her to sit down. In a moment,

she was up again as straight as ever,--a grim smile upon her face

for the first time that day, ready for the door opening, and the

rejoicing triumphant one, who should never know the sore regret

his mother felt at his marriage. In all this, there was little

thought enough of the future daughter-in-law as an individual.

She was to be John's wife. To take Mrs. Thornton's place as

mistress of the house, was only one of the rich consequences

which decked out the supreme glory; all household plenty and

comfort, all purple and fine linen, honour, love, obedience,

troops of friends, would all come as naturally as jewels on a

king's robe, and be as little thought of for their separate

value. To be chosen by John, would separate a kitchen-wench from

the rest of the world. And Miss Hale was not so bad. If she had

been a Milton lass, Mrs. Thornton would have positively liked

her. She was pungent, and had taste, and spirit, and flavour in

her. True, she was sadly prejudiced, and very ignorant; but that

was to be expected from her southern breeding. A strange sort of

mortified comparison of Fanny with her, went on in Mrs.

Thornton's mind; and for once she spoke harshly to her daughter;

abused her roundly; and then, as if by way of penance, she took

up Henry's Commentaries, and tried to fix her attention on it,

instead of pursuing the employment she took pride and pleasure

in, and continuing her inspection of the table-linen.




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