"I am sorry I asked you to go to Mr. Thornton"s. I am disappointed inhim."
There was a slight noise behind her. Both she and Nicholas turnedround at the same moment, and there stood Mr. Thornton, with a lookof displeased surprise upon his face. Obeying her swift impulse,Margaret passed out before him, saying not a word, only bowing low tohide the sudden paleness that she felt had come over her face. He bentequally low in return, and then closed the door after her. As she hurriedto Mrs. Boucher"s, she heard the clang, and it seemed to fill up themeasure of her mortification. He too was annoyed to find her there. Hehad tenderness in his heart--"a soft place," as Nicholas Higgins called it;but he had some pride in concealing it; he kept it very sacred and safe,and was jealous of every circumstance that tried to gain admission. Butif he dreaded exposure of his tenderness, he was equally desirous thatall men should recognise his justice; and he felt that he had been unjust,in giving so scornful a hearing to any one who had waited, with humblepatience, for five hours, to speak to him. That the man had spokensaucily to him when he had the opportunity, was nothing to Mr.
Thornton. He rather liked him for it; and he was conscious of his ownirritability of temper at the time, which probably made them both quits.
It was the five hours of waiting that struck Mr. Thornton. He had notfive hours to spare himself; but one hour--two hours, of his hardpenetrating intellectual, as well as bodily labour, did he give up to goingabout collecting evidence as to the truth of Higgins"s story, the nature ofhis character, the tenor of his life. He tried not to be, but was convincedthat all that Higgins had said. was true. And then the conviction went in,as if by some spell, and touched the latent tenderness of his heart; thepatience of the man, the simple generosity of the motive (for he hadlearnt about the quarrel between Boucher and Higgins), made himforget entirely the mere reasonings of justice, and overleap them by adiviner instinct. He came to tell Higgins he would give him work; andhe was more annoyed to find Margaret there than by hearing her lastwords, for then he understood that she was the woman who had urgedHiggins to come to him; and he dreaded the admission of any thoughtof her, as a motive to what he was doing solely because it was right.
"So that was the lady you spoke of as a woman?" said he indignantly toHiggins. "You might have told me who she was.
"And then, maybe, yo"d ha" spoken of her more civil than yo" did; yo"dgetten a mother who might ha" kept yo"r tongue in check when yo" weretalking o" women being at the root o" all the plagues."
"Of course you told that to Miss Hale?"
"In coorse I did. Leastways, I reckon I did. I telled her she weren"t tomeddle again in aught that concerned yo"."
"Whose children are those--yours?" Mr. Thornton had a pretty goodnotion whose they were, from what he had heard; but he felt awkwardin turning the conversation round from this unpromising beginning.
"They"re not mine, and they are mine."
"They are the children you spoke of to me this morning?"
"When yo" said," replied Higgins, turning round, with ill-smotheredfierceness, "that my story might be true or might not, bur it were a veryunlikely one. Measter, I"ve not forgetten."
Mr. Thornton was silent for a moment; then he said: "No more have I. Iremember what I said. I spoke to you about those children in a way Ihad no business to do. I did not believe you. I could not have taken careof another man"s children myself, if he had acted towards me as I hearBoucher did towards you. But I know now that you spoke truth. I begyour pardon."
Higgins did not turn round, or immediately respond to this. But when hedid speak, it was in a softened tone, although the words were gruffenough.
"Yo"ve no business to go prying into what happened between Boucherand me. He"s dead, and I"m sorry. That"s enough."
"So it is. Will you take work with me? That"s what I came to ask."
Higgins"s obstinacy wavered, recovered strength, and stood firm. Hewould not speak. Mr. Thornton would not ask again. Higgins"s eye fellon the children.
"Yo"ve called me impudent, and a liar, and a mischief-maker, and yo"
might ha" said wi" some truth, as I were now and then given to drink.
An" I ha" called you a tyrant, an" an oud bull-dog, and a hard, cruelmaster; that"s where it stands. But for th" childer. Measter, do yo" thinkwe can e"er get on together?"
"Well!" said Mr. Thornton, half-laughing, "it was not my proposal thatwe should go together. But there"s one comfort, on your own showing.
We neither of us can think much worse of the other than we do now."
"That"s true," said Higgins, reflectively. "I"ve been thinking, ever sin" Isaw you, what a marcy it were yo" did na take me on, for that I ne"er sawa man whom I could less abide. But that"s maybe been a hastyjudgment; and work"s work to such as me. So, measter, I"ll come; andwhat"s more, I thank yo"; and that"s a deal fro" me," said he, more frankly,suddenly turning round and facing Mr. Thornton fully for the first time.
"And this is a deal from me," said Mr. Thornton, giving Higgins"s hand agood grip. "Now mind you come sharp to your time," continued he,resuming the master. "I"ll have no laggards at my mill. What fines wehave, we keep pretty sharply. And the first time I catch you makingmischief, off you go. So now you know where you are."
"Yo" spoke of my wisdom this morning. I reckon I may bring it wi" me;or would yo" rayther have me "bout my brains?"
""Bout your brains if you use them for meddling with my business; withyour brains if you can keep them to your own."
"I shall need a deal o" brains to settle where my business ends and yo"rsbegins."
"Your business has not begun yet, and mine stands still for me. So goodafternoon."
Just before Mr. Thornton came up to Mrs. Boucher"s door, Margaretcame out of it. She did not see him; and he followed her for severalyards, admiring her light and easy walk, and her tall and graceful figure.