'We are the trees whom shaking fastens more.'

GEORGE HERBERT.

Mr. Thornton left the house without coming into the dining-room

again. He was rather late, and walked rapidly out to Crampton. He

was anxious not to slight his new friend by any disrespectful

unpunctuality. The church-clock struck half-past seven as he

stood at the door awaiting Dixon's slow movements; always doubly

tardy when she had to degrade herself by answering the door-bell.

He was ushered into the little drawing-room, and kindly greeted

by Mr. Hale, who led him up to his wife, whose pale face, and

shawl-draped figure made a silent excuse for the cold languor of

her greeting. Margaret was lighting the lamp when he entered, for

the darkness was coming on. The lamp threw a pretty light into

the centre of the dusky room, from which, with country habits,

they did not exclude the night-skies, and the outer darkness of

air. Somehow, that room contrasted itself with the one he had

lately left; handsome, ponderous, with no sign of feminine

habitation, except in the one spot where his mother sate, and no

convenience for any other employment than eating and drinking. To

be sure, it was a dining-room; his mother preferred to sit in it;

and her will was a household law. But the drawing-room was not

like this.

It was twice--twenty times as fine; not one quarter as

comfortable. Here were no mirrors, not even a scrap of glass to

reflect the light, and answer the same purpose as water in a

landscape; no gilding; a warm, sober breadth of colouring, well

relieved by the dear old Helstone chintz-curtains and chair

covers. An open davenport stood in the window opposite the door;

in the other there was a stand, with a tall white china vase,

from which drooped wreaths of English ivy, pale-green birch, and

copper-coloured beech-leaves. Pretty baskets of work stood about

in different places: and books, not cared for on account of their

binding solely, lay on one table, as if recently put down. Behind

the door was another table, decked out for tea, with a white

tablecloth, on which flourished the cocoa-nut cakes, and a basket

piled with oranges and ruddy American apples, heaped on leaves.

It appeared to Mr. Thornton that all these graceful cares were

habitual to the family; and especially of a piece with Margaret.

She stood by the tea-table in a light-coloured muslin gown, which

had a good deal of pink about it. She looked as if she was not

attending to the conversation, but solely busy with the tea-cups,

among which her round ivory hands moved with pretty, noiseless,

daintiness. She had a bracelet on one taper arm, which would fall

down over her round wrist. Mr. Thornton watched the replacing of

this troublesome ornament with far more attention than he

listened to her father. It seemed as if it fascinated him to see

her push it up impatiently, until it tightened her soft flesh;

and then to mark the loosening--the fall. He could almost have

exclaimed--'There it goes, again!' There was so little left to be

done after he arrived at the preparation for tea, that he was

almost sorry the obligation of eating and drinking came so soon

to prevent his watching Margaret. She handed him his cup of tea

with the proud air of an unwilling slave; but her eye caught the

moment when he was ready for another cup; and he almost longed to

ask her to do for him what he saw her compelled to do for her

father, who took her little finger and thumb in his masculine

hand, and made them serve as sugar-tongs. Mr. Thornton saw her

beautiful eyes lifted to her father, full of light, half-laughter

and half-love, as this bit of pantomime went on between the two,

unobserved, as they fancied, by any. Margaret's head still ached,

as the paleness of her complexion, and her silence might have

testified; but she was resolved to throw herself into the breach,

if there was any long untoward pause, rather than that her

father's friend, pupil, and guest should have cause to think

himself in any way neglected. But the conversation went on; and

Margaret drew into a corner, near her mother, with her work,

after the tea-things were taken away; and felt that she might let

her thoughts roam, without fear of being suddenly wanted to fill

up a gap.




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