She and Dixon held mysterious consultations in her bedroom, fromwhich Dixon would come out crying and cross, as was her custom whenany distress of her mistress called upon her sympathy. Once Margarethad gone into the chamber soon after Dixon left it, and found hermother on her knees, and as Margaret stole out she caught a few words,which were evidently a prayer for strength and patience to enduresevere bodily suffering. Margaret yearned to re-unite the bond ofintimate confidence which had been broken by her long residence at heraunt Shaw"s, and strove by gentle caresses and softened words to creepinto the warmest place in her mother"s heart. But though she receivedcaresses and fond words back again, in such profusion as would havegladdened her formerly, yet she felt that there was a secret withheldfrom her, and she believed it bore serious reference to her mother"shealth. She lay awake very long this night, planning how to lessen theevil influence of their Milton life on her mother. A servant to giveDixon permanent assistance should be got, if she gave up her wholetime to the search; and then, at any rate, her mother might have all thepersonal attention she required, and had been accustomed to her wholelife.
Visiting register offices, seeing all manner of unlikely people, and veryfew in the least likely, absorbed Margaret"s time and thoughts forseveral days. One afternoon she met Bessy Higgins in the street, andstopped to speak to her.
"Well, Bessy, how are you? Better, I hope, now the wind has changed."
"Better and not better, if yo" know what that means."
"Not exactly," replied Margaret, smiling.
"I"m better in not being torn to pieces by coughing o"nights, but I"mweary and tired o" Milton, and longing to get away to the land o"
Beulah; and when I think I"m farther and farther off, my heart sinks, andI"m no better; I"m worse."
Margaret turned round to walk alongside of the girl in her feebleprogress homeward. But for a minute or two she did not speak. At lastshe said in a low voice,"Bessy, do you wish to die?" For she shrank from death herself, with allthe clinging to life so natural to the young and healthy.
Bessy was silent in her turn for a minute or two. Then she replied,"If yo"d led the life I have, and getten as weary of it as I have, andthought at times, "maybe it"ll last for fifty or sixty years--it does wi"
some,"--and got dizzy and dazed, and sick, as each of them sixty yearsseemed to spin about me, and mock me with its length of hours andminutes, and endless bits o" time--oh, wench! I tell thee thou"d been gladenough when th" doctor said he feared thou"d never see another winter."
"Why, Bessy, what kind of a life has yours been?"
"Nought worse than many others, I reckon. Only I fretted again it, andthey didn"t."
"But what was it? You know, I"m a stranger here, so perhaps I"m not soquick at understanding what you mean as if I"d lived all my life atMilton."
"If yo"d ha" come to our house when yo" said yo" would, I could maybeha" told you. But father says yo"re just like th" rest on "em; it"s out o" sightout o" mind wi" you."
"I don"t know who the rest are; and I"ve been very busy; and, to tell thetruth, I had forgotten my promise--"
"Yo" offered it! we asked none of it."
"I had forgotten what I said for the time," continued Margaret quietly. "Ishould have thought of it again when I was less busy. May I go withyou now?"
Bessy gave a quick glance at Margaret"s face, to see if the wishexpressed was really felt. The sharpness in her eye turned to a wistfullonging as she met Margaret"s soft and friendly gaze.
"I ha" none so many to care for me; if yo" care yo" may come.
So they walked on together in silence. As they turned up into a smallcourt, opening out of a squalid street, Bessy said,"Yo"ll not be daunted if father"s at home, and speaks a bit gruffish atfirst. He took a mind to ye, yo" see, and he thought a deal o" yourcoming to see us; and just because he liked yo" he were vexed and putabout."
"Don"t fear, Bessy."
But Nicholas was not at home when they entered. A great slatternly girl,not so old as Bessy, but taller and stronger, was busy at the wash-tub,knocking about the furniture in a rough capable way, but altogethermaking so much noise that Margaret shrunk, out of sympathy with poorBessy, who had sat down on the first chair, as if completely tired outwith her walk. Margaret asked the sister for a cup of water, and whileshe ran to fetch it (knocking down the fire-irons, and tumbling over achair in her way), she unloosed Bessy"s bonnet strings, to relieve hercatching breath.
"Do you think such life as this is worth caring for?" gasped Bessy, atlast. Margaret did not speak, but held the water to her lips. Bessy took along and feverish draught, and then fell back and shut her eyes.
Margaret heard her murmur to herself: "They shall hunger no more,neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor anyheat."
Margaret bent over and said, "Bessy, don"t be impatient with your life,whatever it is--or may have been. Remember who gave it you, andmade it what it is!"
She was startled by hearing Nicholas speak behind her; he had come inwithout her noticing him.