a way that drew the cold creeping shadow over Mrs. Thornton's heart.) "But I know she does not care for me. I shall put myself at her feet—I must. If it were but one chance in a thousand—or a million—I should do it."
"Don't fear!" said his mother, crushing down her own personal mortification at the little notice he had taken of the rare ebullition of her maternal feelings—of the pang of jealousy that betrayed the intensity of her disregarded love. "Don't be afraid," she said, coldly. "As far as love may go she may be worthy of you. It must have taken a good deal to overcome her pride. Don't be afraid, John," said she, kissing him, as she wished him good-night. And she went slowly and majestically out of the room. But when she got into her own, she locked the door, and sate down to cry unwonted tears.
Margaret entered the room (where her father and mother still sat, holding low conversation together), looking very pale and white. She came close up to them before she could trust herself to speak.
"Mrs. Thornton will send the water-bed, mamma."
Dear, how tired you look! Is it very hot, Margaret?"
"Very hot, and the streets are rather rough with the strike."
Margaret's colour came back vivid and bright as ever; but it faded away instantly.
"Here has been a message from Bessy Higgins, asking you to go to her," said Mrs. Hale. "But I'm sure you look too tired."
"Yes!" said Margaret. "I am tired, I cannot go."
