'Thought fights with thought;

out springs a spark of truth

From the collision of the sword and shield.'

W. S. LANDOR.

'Margaret,' said her father, the next day, 'we must return Mrs.

Thornton's call. Your mother is not very well, and thinks she

cannot walk so far; but you and I will go this afternoon.'

As they went, Mr. Hale began about his wife's health, with a kind

of veiled anxiety, which Margaret was glad to see awakened at

last.

'Did you consult the doctor, Margaret? Did you send for him?'

'No, papa, you spoke of his corning to see me. Now I was well.

But if I only knew of some good doctor, I would go this

afternoon, and ask him to come, for I am sure mamma is seriously

indisposed.' She put the truth thus plainly and strongly because her father

had so completely shut his mind against the idea, when she had

last named her fears. But now the case was changed. He answered

in a despondent tone: 'Do you think she has any hidden complaint? Do you think she is

really very ill? Has Dixon said anything? Oh, Margaret! I am

haunted by the fear that our coming to Milton has killed her. My

poor Maria!' 'Oh, papa! don't imagine such things,' said Margaret, shocked.

'She is not well, that is all. Many a one is not well for a time;

and with good advice gets better and stronger than ever.'

'But has Dixon said anything about her?'

'No! You know Dixon enjoys making a mystery out of trifles; and

she has been a little mysterious about mamma's health, which has

alarmed me rather, that is all. Without any reason, I dare say.

You know, papa, you said the other day I was getting fanciful.'

'I hope and trust you are. But don't think of what I said then. I

like you to be fanciful about your mother's health. Don't be

afraid of telling me your fancies. I like to hear them, though, I

dare say, I spoke as if I was annoyed. But we will ask Mrs.

Thornton if she can tell us of a good doctor. We won't throw away

our money on any but some one first-rate. Stay, we turn up this

street.' The street did not look as if it could contain any house

large enough for Mrs. Thornton's habitation. Her son's presence

never gave any impression as to the kind of house he lived in;

but, unconsciously, Margaret had imagined that tall, massive,

handsomely dressed Mrs. Thornton must live in a house of the same

character as herself. Now Marlborough Street consisted of long

rows of small houses, with a blank wall here and there; at least

that was all they could see from the point at which they entered

it.




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