She set out again upon her travels through the house, turning over articles, known to her from her childhood, with a sort of caressing reluctance to leave them—old-fashioned, worn and shabby, as they might be.
But she hardly spoke again; and Dixon's report to Mrs. Shaw was, that 'she doubted whether Miss Hale heard a word of what she said, though she talked the whole time, in order to divert her attention.'
The consequence of being on her feet all day was excessive bodily weariness in the evening, and a better night's rest than she had had since she had heard of Mr. Hale's death.
At breakfast time the next day, she expressed her wish to go and bid one or two friends good-bye.
Mrs. Shaw objected:
'I am sure, my dear, you can have no friends here with whom you are sufficiently intimate to justify you in calling upon them so soon; before you have been at church.'
'But to-day is my only day; if Captain Lennox comes this afternoon, and if we must—if I must really go to-morrow——'
'Oh, yes; we shall go to-morrow.
I am more and more convinced that this air is bad for you, and makes you look so pale and ill; besides, Edith expects us; and she may be waiting me; and you cannot be left alone, my dear, at your age.
No; if you must pay these calls, I will go with you.
Dixon can get us a coach, I suppose?'
So Mrs. Shaw went to take care of Margaret, and took her maid with her to, take care of the shawls and air-cushions.
Margaret's face was too sad to lighten up into a smile at all this preparation for paying two visits, that she had often made by herself at all hours of the day.
She was half afraid of owning that one place to which she was going was Nicholas Higgins'; all she could do was to hope her aunt would be indisposed to get out of the coach, and walk up the court, and at every breath of wind have her face slapped by wet clothes, hanging out to dry on ropes stretched from house to house.
There was a little battle in Mrs. Shaw's mind between ease and a sense of matronly propriety; but the former gained the day; and with many an injunction to Margaret to be careful of herself, and not to catch any fever, such as was always lurking in such places, her aunt permitted her to go where she had often been before without taking any precaution or requiring any permission.
Nicholas was out; only Mary and one or two of the Boucher children at home.
Margaret was vexed with herself for not having timed her visit better.
Mary had a very blunt intellect, although her feelings were warm and kind; and the instant she understood what Margaret's purpose was in coming to see them, she began to cry and sob with so little restraint that Margaret found it useless to say any of the thousand little things which had suggested themselves to her as she was coming along in the coach.
She could only try to comfort her a little by suggesting the vague chance of their meeting again, at some possible time, in some possible place, and bid her tell her father how much she wished, if he could manage it, that he should come to see her when he had done his work in the evening.
As she was leaving the place, she stopped and looked round; then hesitated a little before she said:
'I should like to have some little thing to remind me of Bessy.'
Instantly Mary's generosity was keenly alive.
What could they give?
And on Margaret's singling out a little common drinking-cup, which she remembered as the one always standing by Bessy's side with drink for her feverish lips, Mary said:
'Oh, take summut better; that only cost fourpence!'
'That will do, thank you,' said Margaret; and she went quickly away, while the light caused by the pleasure of having something to give yet lingered on Mary's face.
'Now to Mrs. Thornton's,' thought she to herself.
'It must be done.' But she looked rather rigid and pale at the thought of it, and had hard work to find the exact words in which to explain to her aunt who Mrs. Thornton was, and why she should go to bid her farewell.
They (for Mrs. Shaw alighted here) were shown into the drawing-room, in which a fire had only just been kindled.
Mrs. Shaw huddled herself up in her shawl, and shivered.
'What an icy room!' she said.
They had to wait for some time before Mrs. Thornton entered.
There was some softening in her heart towards Margaret, now that she was going away out of her sight.
She remembered her spirit, as shown at various times and places even more than the patience with which she had endured long and wearing cares.
Her countenance was blander than usual, as she greeted her; there was even a shade of tenderness in her manner, as she noticed the white, tear-swollen face, and the quiver in the voice which Margaret tried to make so steady.
'Allow me to introduce my aunt, Mrs. Shaw.
I am going away from Milton to-morrow; I do not know if you are aware of it; but I wanted to see you once again, Mrs. Thornton, to—to apologise for my manner the last time I saw you; and to say that I am sure you meant kindly—however much we may have misunderstood each other.'
Mrs. Shaw looked extremely perplexed by what Margaret had said.
Thanks for kindness! and apologies for failure in good manners!
But Mrs. Thornton replied:
'Miss Hale, I am glad you do me justice.
I did no more than I believed to be my duty in remonstrating with you as I did.
I have always desired to act the part of a friend to you.
I am glad you do me justice.'
'And,' said Margaret, blushing excessively as she spoke, 'will you do me justice, and believe that though I cannot—I do not choose—to give explanations of my conduct, I have not acted in the unbecoming way you apprehended?'
Margaret's voice was so soft, and her eyes so pleading, that Mrs. Thornton was for once affected by the charm of manner to which she had hitherto proved herself invulnerable.
'Yes, I do believe you.
Let us say no more about it.
Where are you going to reside, Miss Hale?
I understood from Mr. Bell that you were going to leave Milton.