'But I must.
Mamma won't like it at all.
Come and ask her about it, Margaret.
You don't know where you're going.
I should not mind if he had a house of his own; but in his Fellow's rooms!
Come to mamma, and do ask her before you go.
It will not take a minute.'
Margaret yielded, and lost her train.
In the suddenness of the event, Mrs. Shaw became bewildered and hysterical, and so the precious time slipped by.
But there was another train in a couple of hours; and after various discussions on propriety and impropriety, it was decided that Captain Lennox should accompany Margaret, as the one thing to which she was constant was her resolution to go, alone or otherwise, by the next train, whatever might be said of the propriety or impropriety of the step.
Her father's friend, her own friend, was lying at the point of death; and the thought of this came upon her with such vividness, that she was surprised herself at the firmness with which she asserted something of her right to independence of action; and five minutes before the time for starting, she found herself sitting in a railway-carriage opposite to Captain Lennox.
It was always a comfort to her to think that she had gone, though it was only to hear that he had died in the night.
She saw the rooms that he had occupied, and associated them ever after most fondly in her memory with the idea of her father, and his one cherished and faithful friend.
They had promised Edith before starting, that if all had ended as they feared, they would return to dinner; so that long, lingering look around the room in which her father had died, had to be interrupted, and a quiet farewell taken of the kind old face that had so often come out with pleasant words, and merry quips and cranks.
Captain Lennox fell asleep on their journey home; and Margaret could cry at leisure, and bethink her of this fatal year, and all the woes it had brought to her.
No sooner was she fully aware of one loss than another came—not to supersede her grief for the one before, but to re-open wounds and feelings scarcely healed.
But at the sound of the tender voices of her aunt and Edith, of merry little Sholto's glee at her arrival, and at the sight of the well-lighted rooms, with their mistress pretty in her paleness and her eager sorrowful interest, Margaret roused herself from her heavy trance of almost superstitious hopelessness, and began to feel that even around her joy and gladness might gather.
She had Edith's place on the sofa; Sholto was taught to carry aunt Margaret's cup of tea very carefully to her; and by the time she went up to dress, she could thank God for having spared her dear old friend a long or a painful illness.
But when night came—solemn night, and all the house was quiet, Margaret still sate watching the beauty of a London sky at such an hour, on such a summer evening; the faint pink reflection of earthly lights on the soft clouds that float tranquilly into the white moonlight, out of the warm gloom which lies motionless around the horizon.
Margaret's room had been the day nursery of her childhood, just when it merged into girlhood, and when the feelings and conscience had been first awakened into full activity.
On some such night as this she remembered promising to herself to live as brave and noble a life as any heroine she ever read or heard of in romance, a life sans peur et sans reproche; it had seemed to her then that she had only to will, and such a life would be accomplished.
And now she had learnt that not only to will, but also to pray, was a necessary condition in the truly heroic.
Trusting to herself, she had fallen.
It was a just consequence of her sin, that all excuses for it, all temptation to it, should remain for ever unknown to the person in whose opinion it had sunk her lowest.
She stood face to face at last with her sin.
She knew it for what it was; Mr. Bell's kindly sophistry that nearly all men were guilty of equivocal actions, and that the motive ennobled the evil, had never had much real weight with her.
Her own first thought of how, if she had known all, she might have fearlessly told the truth, seemed low and poor.
Nay, even now, her anxiety to have her character for truth partially excused in Mr. Thornton's eyes, as Mr. Bell had promised to do, was a very small and petty consideration, now that she was afresh taught by death what life should be.
If all the world spoke, acted, or kept silence with intent to deceive,—if dearest interests were at stake, and dearest lives in peril,—if no one should ever know of her truth or her falsehood to measure out their honour or contempt for her by, straight alone where she stood, in the presence of God, she prayed that she might have strength to speak and act the truth for evermore.
Chapter 49 Breathing Tranquility
'And down the sunny beach she paces slowly,
With many doubtful pauses by the way;
Grief hath an influence so hush'd and holy.'
HOOD.
'Is not Margaret the heiress?' whispered Edith to her husband, as they were in their room alone at night after the sad journey to Oxford.
She had pulled his tall head down, and stood upon tiptoe, and implored him not to be shocked, before she had ventured to ask this question.
Captain Lennox was, however, quite in the dark; if he had ever heard, he had forgotten; it could not be much that a Fellow of a small college had to leave; but he had never wanted her to pay for her board; and two hundred and fifty pounds a year was something ridiculous, considering that she did not take wine.
Edith came down upon her feet a little bit sadder; with a romance blown to pieces.
A week afterwards, she came prancing towards her husband, and made him a low curtsey:
'I am right, and you are wrong, most noble Captain.
Margaret has had a lawyer's letter, and she is residuary legatee—the legacies being about two thousand pounds, and the remainder about forty thousand, at the present value of property in Milton.'
'Indeed! and how does she take her good fortune?'
'Oh, it seems she knew she was to have it all along; only she had no idea it was so much.
She looks very white and pale, and says she's afraid of it; but that's nonsense, you know, and will soon go off.
I left mamma pouring congratulations down her throat, and stole away to tell you.'
It seemed to be supposed, by general consent, that the most natural thing was to consider Mr. Lennox henceforward as Margaret's legal adviser.
She was so entirely ignorant of all forms of business that in nearly everything she had to refer to him.
He chose out her attorney; he came to her with papers to be signed.
He was never so happy as when teaching her of what all these mysteries of the law were the signs and types.