It has come upon me little by little, and I don't know where it began.
Now I won't give way.
I shall find it difficult to behave in the same way to him, with this miserable consciousness upon me; but I will be very calm and very quiet, and say very little.
But, to be sure, I may not see him; he keeps out of our way evidently.
That would be worse than all.
And yet no wonder that he avoids me, believing what he must about me.'
She went out, going rapidly towards the country, and trying to drown reflection by swiftness of motion.
As she stood on the door-step, at her return, her father came up:
'Good girl!' said he.
'You've been to Mrs. Boucher's.
I was just meaning to go there, if I had time, before dinner.'
'No, papa; I have not,' said Margaret, reddening.
'I never thought about her.
But I will go directly after dinner; I will go while you are taking your nap.
Accordingly Margaret went.
Mrs. Boucher was very ill; really ill—not merely ailing.
The kind and sensible neighbour, who had come in the other day, seemed to have taken charge of everything.
Some of the children were gone to the neighbours.
Mary Higgins had come for the three youngest at dinner-time; and since then Nicholas had gone for the doctor.
He had not come as yet; Mrs. Boucher was dying; and there was nothing to do but to wait.
Margaret thought that she should like to know his opinion, and that she could not do better than go and see the Higginses in the meantime.
She might then possibly hear whether Nicholas had been able to make his application to Mr. Thornton.
She found Nicholas busily engaged in making a penny spin on the dresser, for the amusement of three little children, who were clinging to him in a fearless manner.
He, as well as they, was smiling at a good long spin; and Margaret thought, that the happy look of interest in his occupation was a good sign.
When the penny stopped spinning, 'lile Johnnie' began to cry.
'Come to me,' said Margaret, taking him off the dresser, and holding him in her arms; she held her watch to his ear, while she asked Nicholas if he had seen Mr. Thornton.
The look on his face changed instantly.
'Ay!' said he.
'I've seen and heerd too much on him.'
'He refused you, then?' said Margaret, sorrowfully.
'To be sure.
I knew he'd do it all long.
It's no good expecting marcy at the hands o' them measters.
Yo're a stranger and a foreigner, and aren't likely to know their ways; but I knowed it.'
'I am sorry I asked you.
Was he angry?
He did not speak to you as Hamper did, did he?'
'He weren't o'er-civil!' said Nicholas, spinning the penny again, as much for his own amusement as for that of the children.
'Never yo' fret, I'm only where I was.
I'll go on tramp to-morrow.
I gave him as good as I got.
I telled him, I'd not that good opinion on him that I'd ha' come a second time of mysel'; but yo'd advised me for to come, and I were beholden to yo'.'
'You told him I sent you?'
'I dunno' if I ca'd yo' by your name.
I dunnot think I did.
I said, a woman who knew no better had advised me for to come and see if there was a soft place in his heart.'
'And he—?' asked Margaret.
'Said I were to tell yo' to mind yo'r own business.—That's the longest spin yet, my lads.—And them's civil words to what he used to me.
But ne'er mind.
We're but where we was; and I'll break stones on th' road afore I let these little uns clem.'