\"I, who hate scenes--I, who have despised people for showing emotion-whohave thought them wanting in self-control--I went down and mustneeds throw myself into the melee, like a romantic fool! Did I do anygood? They would have gone away without me I dare say.\" But this wasover-leaping the rational conclusion,--as in an instant her well-poisedjudgment felt. \"No, perhaps they would not. I did some good. But whatpossessed me to defend that man as if he were a helpless child! Ah!\"
said she, clenching her hands together, \"it is no wonder those peoplethought I was in love with him, after disgracing myself in that way. I inlove--and with him too!\" Her pale cheeks suddenly became one flame offire; and she covered her face with her hands. When she took themaway, her palms were wet with scalding tears.
\"Oh how low I am fallen that they should say that of me! I could nothave been so brave for any one else, just because he was so utterlyindifferent to me--if, indeed, I do not positively dislike him. It made methe more anxious that there should be fair play on each side; and I couldsee what fair play was. It was not fair, said she, vehemently, \"that heshould stand there--sheltered, awaiting the soldiers, who might catchthose poor maddened creatures as in a trap--without an effort on hispart, to bring them to reason. And it was worse than unfair for them toset on him as they threatened. I would do it again, let who will say whatthey like of me. If I saved one blow, one cruel, angry action that mightotherwise have been committed, I did a woman\"s work. Let them insultmy maiden pride as they will--I walk pure before God!\"
She looked up, and a noble peace seemed to descend and calm her face,till it was \"stiller than chiselled marble.\"
Dixon came in:
\"If you please, Miss Margaret, here\"s the water-bed from Mrs.
Thornton\"s. It\"s too late for to-night, I\"m afraid, for missus is nearlyasleep: but it will do nicely for to-morrow.\"
\"Very,\" said Margaret. \"You must send our best thanks.\"
Dixon left the room for a moment.
\"If you please, Miss Margaret, he says he\"s to ask particular how youare. I think he must mean missus; but he says his last words were, to askhow Miss Hale was.\"
\"Me!\" said Margaret, drawing herself up. \"I am quite well. Tell him I am
perfectly well.\" But her complexion was as deadly white as herhandkerchief; and her head ached intensely.
Mr. Hale now came in. He had left his sleeping wife; and wanted, asMargaret saw, to be amused and interested by something that she was totell him. With sweet patience did she bear her pain, without a word ofcomplaint; and rummaged up numberless small subjects forconversation--all except the riot, and that she never named once. Itturned her sick to think of it.
\"Good-night, Margaret. I have every chance of a good night myself, andyou are looking very pale with your watching. I shall call Dixon if yourmother needs anything. Do you go to bed and sleep like a top; for I\"msure you need it, poor child!\"
\"Good-night, papa.\"
She let her colour go--the forced smile fade away--the eyes grow dullwith heavy pain. She released her strong will from its laborious task.
Till morning she might feel ill and weary.
She lay down and never stirred. To move hand or foot, or even so muchas one finger, would have been an exertion beyond the powers of eithervolition or motion. She was so tired, so stunned, that she thought shenever slept at all; her feverish thoughts passed and repassed theboundary between sleeping and waking, and kept their own miserableidentity. She could not be alone, prostrate, powerless as she was,--acloud of faces looked up at her, giving her no idea of fierce vivid anger,or of personal danger, but a deep sense of shame that she should thus bethe object of universal regard--a sense of shame so acute that it seemedas if she would fain have burrowed into the earth to hide herself, andyet she could not escape out of that unwinking glare of many eyes.