Chapter 16

CHAPTER XVI - THE SHADOW OF DEATH

'Trust in that veiled hand, which leads

None by the path that he would go;

And always be for change prepared,

For the world's law is ebb and flow.'

FROM THE ARABIC.

The next afternoon Dr. Donaldson came to pay his first visit to
Mrs. Hale. The mystery that Margaret hoped their late habits of
intimacy had broken through, was resumed. She was excluded from
the room, while Dixon was admitted. Margaret was not a ready
lover, but where she loved she loved passionately, and with no
small degree of jealousy.

She went into her mother's bed-room, just behind the
drawing-room, and paced it up and down, while awaiting the
doctor's coming out. Every now and then she stopped to listen;
she fancied she heard a moan. She clenched her hands tight, and
held her breath. She was sure she heard a moan. Then all was
still for a few minutes more; and then there was the moving of
chairs, the raised voices, all the little disturbances of
leave-taking.

When she heard the door open, she went quickly out of the
bed-room.

'My father is from home, Dr. Donaldson; he has to attend a pupil
at this hour. May I trouble you to come into his room down
stairs?'

She saw, and triumphed over all the obstacles which Dixon threw
in her way; assuming her rightful position as daughter of the
house in something of the spirit of the Elder Brother, which
quelled the old servant's officiousness very effectually.
Margaret's conscious assumption of this unusual dignity of
demeanour towards Dixon, gave her an instant's amusement in the
midst of her anxiety. She knew, from the surprised expression on
Dixon's face, how ridiculously grand she herself must be looking;
and the idea carried her down stairs into the room; it gave her
that length of oblivion from the keen sharpness of the
recollection of the actual business in hand. Now, that came back,
and seemed to take away her breath. It was a moment or two before
she could utter a word.

But she spoke with an air of command, as she asked:--'

'What is the matter with mamma? You will oblige me by telling the
simple truth.' Then, seeing a slight hesitation on the doctor's
part, she added--

'I am the only child she has--here, I mean. My father is not
sufficiently alarmed, I fear; and, therefore, if there is any
serious apprehension, it must be broken to him gently. I can do
this. I can nurse my mother. Pray, speak, sir; to see your face,
and not be able to read it, gives me a worse dread than I trust
any words of yours will justify.'

'My dear young lady, your mother seems to have a most attentive
and efficient servant, who is more like her friend--'

'I