'And it's hame, hame; hame,

Hame fain wad I be.'

It needed the pretty light papering of the rooms to reconcile

them to Milton. It needed more--more that could not be had. The

thick yellow November fogs had come on; and the view of the plain

in the valley, made by the sweeping bend of the river, was all

shut out when Mrs. Hale arrived at her new home.

Margaret and Dixon had been at work for two days, unpacking and

arranging, but everything inside the house still looked in

disorder; and outside a thick fog crept up to the very windows,

and was driven in to every open door in choking white wreaths of

unwholesome mist.

'Oh, Margaret! are we to live here?' asked Mrs. Hale in blank

dismay. Margaret's heart echoed the dreariness of the tone in

which this question was put. She could scarcely command herself

enough to say, 'Oh, the fogs in London are sometimes far worse!'

'But then you knew that London itself, and friends lay behind it.

Here--well! we are desolate. Oh Dixon, what a place this is!'

'Indeed, ma'am, I'm sure it will be your death before long, and

then I know who'll--stay! Miss Hale, that's far too heavy for you

to lift.' 'Not at all, thank you, Dixon,' replied Margaret, coldly. 'The

best thing we can do for mamma is to get her room quite ready for

her to go to bed, while I go and bring her a cup of coffee.' Mr. Hale was equally out of spirits, and equally came upon

Margaret for sympathy.

'Margaret, I do believe this is an unhealthy place. Only suppose

that your mother's health or yours should suffer. I wish I had

gone into some country place in Wales; this is really terrible,'

said he, going up to the window. There was no comfort to be

given. They were settled in Milton, and must endure smoke and

fogs for a season; indeed, all other life seemed shut out from

them by as thick a fog of circumstance. Only the day before, Mr.

Hale had been reckoning up with dismay how much their removal and

fortnight at Heston had cost, and he found it had absorbed nearly

all his little stock of ready money. No! here they were, and here

they must remain.

At night when Margaret realised this, she felt inclined to sit

down in a stupor of despair. The heavy smoky air hung about her

bedroom, which occupied the long narrow projection at the back of

the house. The window, placed at the side of the oblong, looked

to the blank wall of a similar projection, not above ten feet

distant. It loomed through the fog like a great barrier to hope.

Inside the room everything was in confusion. All their efforts

had been directed to make her mother's room comfortable. Margaret

sat down on a box, the direction card upon which struck her as

having been written at Helstone--beautiful, beloved Helstone! She

lost herself in dismal thought: but at last she determined to

take her mind away from the present; and suddenly remembered that

she had a letter from Edith which she had only half read in the

bustle of the morning. It was to tell of their arrival at Corfu;

their voyage along the Mediterranean--their music, and dancing on

board ship; the gay new life opening upon her; her house with its

trellised balcony, and its views over white cliffs and deep blue

sea. Edith wrote fluently and well, if not graphically. She could

not only seize the salient and characteristic points of a scene,

but she could enumerate enough of indiscriminate particulars for

Margaret to make it out for herself Captain Lennox and another

lately married officer shared a villa, high up on the beautiful

precipitous rocks overhanging the sea. Their days, late as it was

in the year, seemed spent in boating or land pic-nics; all

out-of-doors, pleasure-seeking and glad, Edith's life seemed like

the deep vault of blue sky above her, free--utterly free from

fleck or cloud. Her husband had to attend drill, and she, the

most musical officer's wife there, had to copy the new and

popular tunes out of the most recent English music, for the

benefit of the bandmaster; those seemed their most severe and

arduous duties. She expressed an affectionate hope that, if the

regiment stopped another year at Corfu, Margaret might come out

and pay her a long visit. She asked Margaret if she remembered

the day twelve-month on which she, Edith, wrote--how it rained

all day long in Harley Street; and how she would not put on her

new gown to go to a stupid dinner, and get it all wet and

splashed in going to the carriage; and how at that very dinner

they had first met Captain Lennox.




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