I met Dr. Donaldson, ma\"am, and as he said fruit would be good foryou, I have taken the liberty--the great liberty of bringing you some thatseemed to me fine.\" Mrs. Hale was excessively surprised; excessivelypleased; quite in a tremble of eagerness. Mr. Hale with fewer wordsexpressed a deeper gratitude.
\"Fetch a plate, Margaret--a basket--anything.\" Margaret stood up by thetable, half afraid of moving or making any noise to arouse Mr. Thorntoninto a consciousness of her being in the room. She thought it would beawkward for both to be brought into conscious collision; and fanciedthat, from her being on a low seat at first, and now standing behind herfather, he had overlooked her in his haste. As if he did not feel theconsciousness of her presence all over, though his eyes had never restedon her!
\"I must go,\" said he, \"I cannot stay. If you will forgive this liberty,--myrough ways,--too abrupt, I fear--but I will be more gentle next time.
You will allow me the pleasure of bringing you some fruit again, if Ishould see any that is tempting. Good afternoon, Mr. Hale. Good-bye,ma\"am.\"
He was gone. Not one word: not one look to Margaret. She believedthat he had not seen her. She went for a plate in silence, and lifted thefruit out tenderly, with the points of her delicate taper fingers. It wasgood of him to bring it; and after yesterday too!
\"Oh! it is so delicious!\" said Mrs. Hale, in a feeble voice. \"How kind of
him to think of me! Margaret love, only taste these grapes! Was it notgood of him?\"
\"Yes!\" said Margaret, quietly.
\"Margaret!\" said Mrs. Hale, rather querulously, \"you won\"t like anythingMr. Thornton does. I never saw anybody so prejudiced.\"
Mr. Hale had been peeling a peach for his wife; and, cutting off a smallpiece for himself, he said:
\"If I had any prejudices, the gift of such delicious fruit as this wouldmelt them all away. I have not tasted such fruit--no! not even inHampshire--since I was a boy; and to boys, I fancy, all fruit is good. Iremember eating sloes and crabs with a relish. Do you remember thematted-up currant bushes, Margaret, at the corner of the west-wall in thegarden at home?\"
Did she not? Did she not remember every weather-stain on the old stonewall; the gray and yellow lichens that marked it like a map; the littlecrane\"s-bill that grew in the crevices? She had been shaken by theevents of the last two days; her whole life just now was a strain uponher fortitude; and, somehow, these careless words of her father\"s,touching on the remembrance of the sunny times of old, made her startup, and, dropping her sewing on the ground, she went hastily out of theroom into her own little chamber. She had hardly given way to the firstchoking sob, when she became aware of Dixon standing at her drawers,and evidently searching for something.
\"Bless me, miss! How you startled me! Missus is not worse, is she? Isanything the matter?\"
\"No, nothing. Only I\"m silly, Dixon, and want a glass of water. What areyou looking for? I keep my muslins in that drawer.\"
Dixon did not speak, but went on rummaging. The scent of lavendercame out and perfumed the room.
At last Dixon found what she wanted; what it was Margaret could notsee. Dixon faced round, and spoke to her:
\"Now I don\"t like telling you what I wanted, because you\"ve frettingenough to go through, and I know you\"ll fret about this. I meant to havekept it from you till night, may be, or such times as that.\"
\"What is the matter? Pray, tell me, Dixon, at once.\"
\"That young woman you go to see--Higgins, I mean.\"
\"Well?\"
\"Well! she died this morning, and her sister is here--come to beg astrange thing. It seems, the young woman who died had a fancy forbeing buried in something of yours, and so the sister\"s come to ask forit,--and I was looking for a night-cap that wasn\"t too good to give away.\"
\"Oh! let me find one,\" said Margaret, in the midst of her tears. \"PoorBessy! I never thought I should not see her again.\"
\"Why, that\"s another thing. This girl down-stairs wanted me to ask you,if you would like to see her.\"
\"But she\"s dead!\" said Margaret, turning a little pale. \"I never saw a deadperson. No! I would rather not.\"
\"I should never have asked you, if you hadn\"t come in. I told her youwouldn\"t.\"
\"I will go down and speak to her,\" said Margaret, afraid lest Dixon\"sharshness of manner might wound the poor girl. So, taking the cap inher hand, she went to the kitchen. Mary\"s face was all swollen withcrying, and she burst out afresh when she saw Margaret.
\"Oh, ma\"am, she loved yo\", she loved yo\", she did indeed!\" And for a longtime, Margaret could not get her to say anything more than this. At last,her sympathy, and Dixon\"s scolding, forced out a few facts. NicholasHiggins had gone out in the morning, leaving Bessy as well as on theday before. But in an hour she was taken worse; some neighbour ran tothe room where Mary was working; they did not know where to findher father; Mary had only come in a few minutes before she died.
\"It were a day or two ago she axed to be buried in somewhat o\" yourn.
She were never tired o\" talking o\" yo\". She used to say yo\" were theprettiest thing she\"d ever clapped eyes on. She loved yo\" dearly Her lastwords were, \"Give her my affectionate respects; and keep father fro\"
drink.\" Yo\"ll come and see her, ma\"am. She would ha\" thought it a greatcompliment, I know.\"
Margaret shrank a little from answering.
\"Yes, perhaps I may. Yes, I will. I\"ll come before tea. But where\"s yourfather, Mary?\"
Mary shook her head, and stood up to be going.
\"Miss Hale,\" said Dixon, in a low voice, \"where\"s the use o\" your going tosee the poor thing laid out? I\"d never say a word against it, if it could dothe girl any good; and I wouldn\"t mind a bit going myself, if that wouldsatisfy her. They\"ve just a notion, these common folks, of its being arespect to the departed. Here,\" said she, turning sharply round, \"I\"ll comeand see your sister. Miss Hale is busy, and she can\"t come, or else shewould.\"
The girl looked wistfully at Margaret. Dixon\"s coming might be acompliment, but it was not the same thing to the poor sister, who hadhad her little pangs of jealousy, during Bessy\"s lifetime, at the intimacybetween her and the young lady.
\"No, Dixon!\" said Margaret with decision. \"I will go. Mary, you shall seeme this afternoon.\" And for fear of her own cowardice, she went away,in order to take from herself any chance of changing her determination.