'Nineteen, come July.' 'And I too am nineteen.' She thought, more sorrowfully than Bessy

did, of the contrast between them. She could not speak for a

moment or two for the emotion she was trying to keep down.

'About Mary,' said Bessy. 'I wanted to ask yo' to be a friend to

her. She's seventeen, but she's th' last on us. And I don't want

her to go to th' mill, and yet I dunno what she's fit for.' 'She could not do'--Margaret glanced unconsciously at the

uncleaned corners of the room--'She could hardly undertake a

servant's place, could she? We have an old faithful servant,

almost a friend, who wants help, but who is very particular; and

it would not be right to plague her with giving her any

assistance that would really be an annoyance and an irritation.' 'No, I see. I reckon yo're right. Our Mary's a good wench; but

who has she had to teach her what to do about a house? No mother,

and me at the mill till I were good for nothing but scolding her

for doing badly what I didn't know how to do a bit. But I wish

she could ha' lived wi' yo', for all that.' 'But even though she may not be exactly fitted to come and live

with us as a servant--and I don't know about that--I will always

try and be a friend to her for your sake, Bessy. And now I must

go. I will come again as soon as I can; but if it should not be

to-morrow, or the next day, or even a week or a fortnight hence,

don't think I've forgotten you. I may be busy.' 'I'll know yo' won't forget me again. I'll not mistrust yo' no

more. But remember, in a week or a fortnight I may be dead and

buried!' 'I'll come as soon as I can, Bessy,' said Margaret, squeezing her

hand tight.

'But you'll let me know if you are worse.

'Ay, that will I,' said Bessy, returning the pressure.

From that day forwards Mrs. Hale became more and more of a

suffering invalid. It was now drawing near to the anniversary of

Edith's marriage, and looking back upon the year's accumulated

heap of troubles, Margaret wondered how they had been borne. If

she could have anticipated them, how she would have shrunk away

and hid herself from the coming time! And yet day by day had, of

itself, and by itself, been very endurable--small, keen, bright

little spots of positive enjoyment having come sparkling into the

very middle of sorrows. A year ago, or when she first went to

Helstone, and first became silently conscious of the

querulousness in her mother's temper, she would have groaned

bitterly over the idea of a long illness to be borne in a

strange, desolate, noisy, busy place, with diminished comforts on

every side of the home life. But with the increase of serious and

just ground of complaint, a new kind of patience had sprung up in

her mother's mind. She was gentle and quiet in intense bodily

suffering, almost in proportion as she had been restless and

depressed when there had been no real cause for grief. Mr. Hale

was in exactly that stage of apprehension which, in men of his

stamp, takes the shape of wilful blindness. He was more irritated

than Margaret had ever known him at his daughter's expressed

anxiety.




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