'I am very selfish,' said she; 'but it will not be for long.'
Frederick bent down and kissed the feeble hand that imprisoned
his.
This state of tranquillity could not endure for many days, nor
perhaps for many hours; so Dr. Donaldson assured Margaret. After
the kind doctor had gone away, she stole down to Frederick, who,
during the visit, had been adjured to remain quietly concealed in
the back parlour, usually Dixon's bedroom, but now given up to
him.
Margaret told him what Dr. Donaldson said.
'I don't believe it,' he exclaimed. 'She is very ill; she may be
dangerously ill, and in immediate danger, too; but I can't
imagine that she could be as she is, if she were on the point of
death. Margaret! she should have some other advice--some London
doctor. Have you never thought of that?' 'Yes,' said Margaret, 'more than once. But I don't believe it
would do any good. And, you know, we have not the money to bring
any great London surgeon down, and I am sure Dr. Donaldson is
only second in skill to the very best,--if, indeed, he is to
them.' Frederick began to walk up and down the room impatiently.
'I have credit in Cadiz,' said he, 'but none here, owing to this
wretched change of name. Why did my father leave Helstone? That
was the blunder.' 'It was no blunder,' said Margaret gloomily. 'And above all
possible chances, avoid letting papa hear anything like what you
have just been saying. I can see that he is tormenting himself
already with the idea that mamma would never have been ill if we
had stayed at Helstone, and you don't know papa's agonising power
of self-reproach!' Frederick walked away as if he were on the quarter-deck. At last
he stopped right opposite to Margaret, and looked at her drooping
and desponding attitude for an instant.
'My little Margaret!' said he, caressing her. 'Let us hope as
long as we can. Poor little woman! what! is this face all wet
with tears? I will hope. I will, in spite of a thousand doctors.
Bear up, Margaret, and be brave enough to hope!' Margaret choked in trying to speak, and when she did it was very
low.
'I must try to be meek enough to trust. Oh, Frederick! mamma was
getting to love me so! And I was getting to understand her. And
now comes death to snap us asunder!' 'Come, come, come! Let us go up-stairs, and do something, rather
than waste time that may be so precious. Thinking has, many a
time, made me sad, darling; but doing never did in all my life.
My theory is a sort of parody on the maxim of "Get money, my son,
honestly if you can; but get money." My precept is, "Do something,
my sister, do good if you can; but, at any rate, do something."' 'Not excluding mischief,' said Margaret, smiling faintly through
her tears.