'And this imagination of power, this practical realisation of a

gigantic thought, came out of one man's brain in our good town.

That very man has it within him to mount, step by step, on each

wonder he achieves to higher marvels still. And I'll be bound to

say, we have many among us who, if he were gone, could spring

into the breach and carry on the war which compels, and shall

compel, all material power to yield to science.' 'Your boast reminds me of the old lines--"I've a hundred

captains in England," he said, "As good as ever was he."' At her father's quotation Margaret looked suddenly up, with

inquiring wonder in her eyes. How in the world had they got from

cog-wheels to Chevy Chace?

'It is no boast of mine,' replied Mr. Thornton; 'it is plain

matter-of-fact. I won't deny that I am proud of belonging to a

town--or perhaps I should rather say a district--the necessities

of which give birth to such grandeur of conception. I would

rather be a man toiling, suffering--nay, failing and

successless--here, than lead a dull prosperous life in the old

worn grooves of what you call more aristocratic society down in

the South, with their slow days of careless ease. One may be

clogged with honey and unable to rise and fly.' 'You are mistaken,' said Margaret, roused by the aspersion on her

beloved South to a fond vehemence of defence, that brought the

colour into her cheeks and the angry tears into her eyes. 'You do

not know anything about the South. If there is less adventure or

less progress--I suppose I must not say less excitement--from the

gambling spirit of trade, which seems requisite to force out

these wonderful inventions, there is less suffering also. I see

men h ere going about in the streets who look ground down by some

pinching sorrow or care--who are not only sufferers but haters.

Now, in the South we have our poor, but there is not that

terrible expression in their countenances of a sullen sense of

injustice which I see here. You do not know the South, Mr.

Thornton,' she concluded, collapsing into a determined silence,

and angry with herself for having said so much.

'And may I say you do not know the North?' asked he, with an

inexpressible gentleness in his tone, as he saw that he had

really hurt her. She continued resolutely silent; yearning after

the lovely haunts she had left far away in Hampshire, with a

passionate longing that made her feel her voice would be unsteady

and trembling if she spoke.




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