Margaret's fortitude nearly gave way as Dixon, with a slight

motion of her hand, directed her notice to Nicholas Higgins and

his daughter, standing a little aloof, but deeply attentive to

the ceremonial. Nicholas wore his usual fustian clothes, but had

a bit of black stuff sewn round his hat--a mark of mourning which

he had never shown to his daughter Bessy's memory. But Mr. Hale

saw nothing. He went on repeating to himself, mechanically as it

were, all the funeral service as it was read by the officiating

clergyman; he sighed twice or thrice when all was ended; and

then, putting his hand on Margaret's arm, he mutely entreated to

be led away, as if he were blind, and she his faithful guide.

Dixon sobbed aloud; she covered her face with her handkerchief,

and was so absorbed in her own grief, that she did not perceive

that the crowd, attracted on such occasions, was dispersing, till

she was spoken to by some one close at hand. It was Mr. Thornton.

He had been present all the time, standing, with bent head,

behind a group of people, so that, in fact, no one had recognised

him.

'I beg your pardon,--but, can you tell me how Mr. Hale is? And

Miss Hale, too? I should like to know how they both are.' 'Of course, sir. They are much as is to be expected. Master is

terribly broke down. Miss Hale bears up better than likely.' Mr. Thornton would rather have heard that she was suffering the

natural sorrow. In the first place, there was selfishness enough

in him to have taken pleasure in the idea that his great love

might come in to comfort and console her; much the same kind of

strange passionate pleasure which comes stinging through a

mother's heart, when her drooping infant nestles close to her,

and is dependent upon her for everything. But this delicious

vision of what might have been--in which, in spite of all

Margaret's repulse, he would have indulged only a few days

ago--was miserably disturbed by the recollection of what he had

seen near the Outwood station. 'Miserably disturbed!' that is not

strong enough. He was haunted by the remembrance of the handsome

young man, with whom she stood in an attitude of such familiar

confidence; and the remembrance shot through him like an agony,

till it made him clench his hands tight in order to subdue the

pain. At that late hour, so far from home! It took a great moral

effort to galvanise his trust--erewhile so perfect--in Margaret's

pure and exquisite maidenliness, into life; as soon as the effort

ceased, his trust dropped down dead and powerless: and all sorts

of wild fancies chased each other like dreams through his mind.

Here was a little piece of miserable, gnawing confirmation. 'She

bore up better than likely' under this grief. She had then some

hope to look to, so bright that even in her affectionate nature

it could come in to lighten the dark hours of a daughter newly

made motherless. Yes! he knew how she would love. He had not

loved her without gaining that instinctive knowledge of what

capabilities were in her. Her soul would walk in glorious

sunlight if any man was worthy, by his power of loving, to win

back her love. Even in her mourning she would rest with a

peaceful faith upon his sympathy. His sympathy! Whose? That other

man's. And that it was another was enough to make Mr. Thornton's

pale grave face grow doubly wan and stern at Dixon's answer.




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