Hale, Margaret and Dixon were laying their heads together, andconsulting how they should keep Frederick"s coming a profound secretto all out of the house. A letter from him might now be expected anyday; and he would assuredly follow quickly on its heels. Martha mustbe sent away on her holiday; Dixon must keep stern guard on the frontdoor, only admitting the few visitors that ever came to the house intoMr. Hale"s room down-stairs--Mrs. Hale"s extreme illness giving her agood excuse for this. If Mary Higgins was required as a help to Dixonin the kitchen she was to hear and see as little of Frederick as possible;and he was, if necessary to be spoken of to her under the name of Mr.
Dickinson. But. her sluggish and incurious nature was the greatestsafeguard of all.
They resolved that Martha should leave them that very afternoon forthis visit to her mother. Margaret wished that she had been sent away onthe previous day, as she fancied it might be thought strange to give aservant a holiday when her mistress"s state required so much attendance.
Poor Margaret! All that afternoon she had to act the part of a Romandaughter, and give strength out of her own scanty stock to her father.
Mr. hale would hope, would not despair, between the attacks of hiswife"s malady; he buoyed himself up in every respite from her pain, andbelieved that it was the beginning of ultimate recovery. And so, whenthe paroxysms came on, each more severe than the last, they were freshagonies, and greater disappointments to him. This afternoon, he sat inthe drawing-room, unable to bear the solitude of his study, or to employhimself in any way. He buried his head in his arms, which lay folded onthe table. Margaret"s heart ached to see him; yet, as he did not speak,she did not like to volunteer any attempt at comfort. Martha was gone.
Dixon sat with Mrs. Hale while she slept. The house was very still andquiet, and darkness came on, without any movement to procure candles.
Margaret sat at the window, looking out at the lamps and the street, butseeing nothing,--only alive to her father"s heavy sighs. She did not liketo go down for lights, lest the tacit restraint of her presence beingwithdrawn, he might give way to more violent emotion, without herbeing at hand to comfort him. Yet she was just thinking that she oughtto go and see after the well-doing of the kitchen fire, which there wasnobody but herself to attend to when she heard the muffled door-ringwith so violent a pull, that the wires jingled all through the house,though the positive sound was not great. She started up, passed herfather, who had never moved at the veiled, dull sound,--returned, andkissed him tenderly. And still he never moved, nor took any notice ofher fond embrace. Then she went down softly, through the dark, to thedoor. Dixon would have put the chain on before she opened it, butMargaret had not a thought of fear in her pre-occupied mind. A man"stall figure stood between her and the luminous street. He was lookingaway; but at the sound of the latch he turned quickly round.
"Is this Mr. Hale"s?" said he, in a clear, full, delicate voice.
Margaret trembled all over; at first she did not answer. In a moment shesighed out,"Frederick!" and stretched out both her hands to Catch his, and draw himin.
"Oh, Margaret!" said he, holding her off by her shoulders, after they hadkissed each other, as if even in that darkness he could see her face, andread in its expression a quicker answer to his question than words couldgive,-"
My mother! is she alive?"
"Yes, she is alive, dear, dear brother! She--as ill as she can be she is; butalive! She is alive!"
"Thank God!" said he.
"Papa is utterly prostrate with this great grief."
"You expect me, don"t you?"
"No, we have had no letter."
"Then I have come before it. But my mother knows I am coming?"
"Oh! we all knew you would come. But wait a little! Step in here. Giveme your hand. What is this? Oh! your carpet-bag. Dixon has shut theshutters; but this is papa"s study, and I can take you to a chair to restyourself for a few minutes; while I go and tell him."
She groped her way to the taper and the lucifer matches. She suddenlyfelt shy, when the little feeble light made them visible. All she could seewas, that her brother"s face was unusually dark in complexion, and shecaught the stealthy look of a pair of remarkably long-cut blue eyes, thatsuddenly twinkled up with a droll consciousness of their mutualpurpose of inspecting each other. But though the brother and sister hadan instant of sympathy in their reciprocal glances, they did notexchange a word; only, Margaret felt sure that she should like herbrother as a companion as much as she already loved him as a nearrelation. Her heart was wonderfully lighter as she went up-stairs; thesorrow was no less in reality, but it became less oppressive from havingsome one in precisely the same relation to it as that in which she stood.
Not her father"s desponding attitude had power to damp her now. He layacross the table, helpless as ever; but she had the spell by which torouse him. She used it perhaps too violently in her own great relief.
"Papa," said she, throwing her arms fondly round his neck; pulling hisweary head up in fact with her gentle violence, till it rested in her arms,and she could look into his eyes, and let them gain strength andassurance from hers.
"Papa! guess who is here!"
He looked at her; she saw the idea of the truth glimmer into their filmysadness, and be dismissed thence as a wild imagination.
He threw himself forward, and hid his face once more in his stretched-out arms, resting upon the table as heretofore. She heard him whisper;she bent tenderly down to listen. "I don"t know. Don"t tell me it isFrederick--not Frederick. I cannot bear it,--I am too weak. And hismother is dying!"He began to cry and wail like a child. It was sodifferent to all which Margaret had hoped and expected, that she turnedsick with disappointment, and was silent for an instant. Then she spokeagain--very differently--not so exultingly, far more tenderly andcarefully.
"Papa, it is Frederick! Think of mamma, how glad she will be! And oh,for her sake, how glad we ought to be! For his sake, too,--our poor, poorboy!"
Her father did not change his attitude, but he seemed to be trying tounderstand the fact.