"Truth will fail thee never, never!
Though thy bark be tempest-driven,Though each plank be rent and riven,Truth will bear thee on for ever!"
ANON.
The "bearing up better than likely" was a terrible strain upon Margaret.
Sometimes she thought she must give way, and cry out with pain, as thesudden sharp thought came across her, even during her apparentlycheerful conversations with her father, that she had no longer a mother.
About Frederick, too, there was great uneasiness. The Sunday postintervened, and interfered with their London letters; and on TuesdayMargaret was surprised and disheartened to find that there was still noletter. She was quite in the dark as to his plans, and her father wasmiserable at all this uncertainty. It broke in upon his lately acquiredhabit of sitting still in one easy chair for half a day together. He keptpacing up and down the room; then out of it; and she heard him uponthe landing opening and shutting the bed-room doors, without anyapparent object. She tried to tranquillise him by reading aloud; but itwas evident he could not listen for long together. How thankful she wasthen, that she had kept to herself the additional cause for anxietyproduced by their encounter with Leonards. She was thankful to hearMr. Thornton announced. His visit would force her father"s thoughtsinto another channel.
He came up straight to her father, whose hands he took and wrungwithout a word--holding them in his for a minute or two, during whichtime his face, his eyes, his look, told of more sympathy than could beput into words. Then he turned to Margaret. Not "better than likely" didshe look. Her stately beauty was dimmed with much watching and withmany tears. The expression on her countenance was of gentle patientsadness--nay of positive present suffering. He had not meant to greether otherwise than with his late studied coldness of demeanour; but hecould not help going up to her, as she stood a little aside, rendered timidby the uncertainty of his manner of late, and saying the few necessarycommon-place words in so tender a voice, that her eyes filled withtears, and she turned away to hide her emotion. She took her work andsate down very quiet and silent. Mr. Thornton"s heart beat quick andstrong, and for the time he utterly forgot the Outwood lane. He tried totalk to Mr. Hale: and--his presence always a certain kind of pleasure toMr. Hale, as his power and decision made him, and his opinions, a safe,sure port--was unusually agreeable to her father, as Margaret saw.
Presently Dixon came to the door and said, "Miss Hale, you are wanted."
Dixon"s manner was so flurried that Margaret turned sick at heart.
Something had happened to Fred. She had no doubt of that. It was wellthat her father and Mr. Thornton were so much occupied by theirconversation.
"What is it, Dixon?" asked Margaret, the moment she had shut thedrawing-room door.
"Come this way, miss," said Dixon, opening the door of what had beenMrs. Hale"s bed-chamber, now Margaret"s, for her father refused tosleep there again after his wife"s death. "It"s nothing, miss," said Dixon,choking a little. "Only a police-inspector. He wants to see you, miss. ButI dare say, it"s about nothing at all."
"Did he name--" asked Margaret, almost inaudibly.
"No, miss; he named nothing. He only asked if you lived here, and if hecould speak to you. Martha went to the door, and let him in; she hasshown him into master"s study. I went to him myself, to try if that woulddo; but no--it"s you, miss, he wants."
Margaret did not speak again till her hand was on the lock of the studydoor. Here she turned round and said, "Take care papa does not comedown. Mr. Thornton is with him now."
The inspector was almost daunted by the haughtiness of her manner asshe entered. There was something of indignation expressed in hercountenance, but so kept down and controlled, that it gave her a superbair of disdain. There was no surprise, no curiosity. She stood awaitingthe opening of his business there. Not a question did she ask.
"I beg your pardon, ma"am, but my duty obliges me to ask you a fewplain questions. A man has died at the Infirmary, in consequence of afall, received at Outwood station, between the hours of five and six onThursday evening, the twenty-sixth instant. At the time, this fall did notseem of much consequence; but it was rendered fatal, the doctors say,by the presence of some internal complaint, and the man"s own habit ofdrinking."
The large dark eyes, gazing straight into the inspector"s face, dilated alittle. Otherwise there was no motion perceptible to his experiencedobservation. Her lips swelled out into a richer curve than ordinary,owing to the enforced tension of the muscles, but he did not know whatwas their usual appearance, so as to recognise the unwonted sullendefiance of the firm sweeping lines. She never blenched or trembled.
She fixed him with her eye. Now--as he paused before going on, shesaid, almost as if she would encourage him in telling his tale--"Well--goon!"