'You know, we have very little society here, mamma. The Gormans,

who are our nearest neighbours (to call society--and we hardly

ever see them), have been in trade just as much as these

Milton-Northern people.' 'Yes,' said Mrs. Hale, almost indignantly, 'but, at any rate, the

Gormans made carriages for half the gentry of the county, and

were brought into some kind of intercourse with them; but these

factory people, who on earth wears cotton that can afford linen?' 'Well, mamma, I give up the cotton-spinners; I am not standing up

for them, any more than for any other trades-people. Only we

shall have little enough to do with them.' 'Why on earth has your father fixed on Milton-Northern to live

in?' 'Partly,' said Margaret, sighing, 'because it is so very

different from Helstone--partly because Mr. Bell says there is an

opening there for a private tutor.' 'Private tutor in Milton! Why can't he go to Oxford, and be a

tutor to gentlemen?' 'You forget, mamma! He is leaving the Church on account of his

opinions--his doubts would do him no good at Oxford.' Mrs. Hale was silent for some time, quietly crying. At last she

said:-'And the furniture--How in the world are we to manage the

removal? I never removed in my life, and only a fortnight to

think about it!' Margaret was inexpressibly relieved to find that her mother's

anxiety and distress was lowered to this point, so insignificant

to herself, and on which she could do so much to help. She

planned and promised, and led her mother on to arrange fully as

much as could be fixed before they knew somewhat more

definitively what Mr. Hale intended to do. Throughout the day

Margaret never left her mother; bending her whole soul to

sympathise in all the various turns her feelings took; towards

evening especially, as she became more and more anxious that her

father should find a soothing welcome home awaiting him, after

his return from his day of fatigue and distress. She dwelt upon

what he must have borne in secret for long; her mother only

replied coldly that he ought to have told her, and that then at

any rate he would have had an adviser to give him counsel; and

Margaret turned faint at heart when she heard her father's step

in the hall. She dared not go to meet him, and tell him what she

had done all day, for fear of her mother's jealous annoyance. She

heard him linger, as if awaiting her, or some sign of her; and

she dared not stir; she saw by her mother's twitching lips, and

changing colour, that she too was aware that her husband had

returned. Presently he opened the room-door, and stood there

uncertain whether to come in. His face was gray and pale; he had

a timid, fearful look in his eyes; something almost pitiful to

see in a man's face; but that look of despondent uncertainty, of

mental and bodily languor, touched his wife's heart. She went to

him, and threw herself on his breast, crying out-'Oh! Richard, Richard, you should have told me sooner!' And then, in tears, Margaret left her, as she rushed up-stairs to

throw herself on her bed, and hide her face in the pillows to

stifle the hysteric sobs that would force their way at last,

after the rigid self-control of the whole day. How long she lay

thus she could not tell. She heard no noise, though the housemaid

came in to arrange the room. The affrighted girl stole out again

on tip-toe, and went and told Mrs. Dixon that Miss Hale was

crying as if her heart would break: she was sure she would make

herself deadly ill if she went on at that rate. In consequence of

this, Margaret felt herself touched, and started up into a

sitting posture; she saw the accustomed room, the figure of Dixon

in shadow, as the latter stood holding the candle a little behind

her, for fear of the effect on Miss Hale's startled eyes, swollen

and blinded as they were.




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