"My dear! I have really had too much to think about to settle this. What does your mother say? What does she wish? Poor Maria!"
He met with an echo even louder than his sigh. Dixon had just come into the room for another cup of tea for Mrs. Hale, and catching Mr. Hale's last words, and protected by his presence from Margaret's upbraiding eyes, made bold to say, "My poor mistress!"
"You don't think her worse to-day," said Mr. Hale, turning hastily.
"I'm sure I can't say, sir. It's not for me to judge. The illness seems so much more on the mind than on the body."
Mr. Hale looked infinitely distressed.
"You had better take mamma her tea while it is hot, Dixon," said Margaret, in a tone of quiet authority.
"Oh! I beg your pardon, miss! My thoughts was otherwise occupied in thinking of my poor of Mrs. Hale."
"Papa!" said Margaret, "it is this suspense that is bad for you both. Of course, mamma must feel your change of opinions: we can't help that," she continued, softly; "but now the course is clear, at least to a certain point. And I think, papa, that I could get mamma to help me in planning, if you could tell me what to plan for. She has never expressed any wish in any way, and only thinks of what can't be helped. Are we to go straight to Milton? Have you taken a house there?"
“No," he replied. “I suppose we must go into lodgings, and look about for a house."
