Chapter 18 - Page 2

hot weather, and the difficulty of getting a
servant. A little rest will put her quite to rights--eh,
Margaret?'

'I hope so,' said Margaret,--but so sadly, that her father took
notice of it. He pinched her cheek.

'Come; if you look so pale as this, I must rouge you up a little.
Take care of yourself, child, or you'll be wanting the doctor
next.'

But he could not settle to anything that evening. He was
continually going backwards and forwards, on laborious tiptoe, to
see if his wife was still asleep. Margaret's heart ached at his
restlessness--his trying to stifle and strangle the hideous fear
that was looming out of the dark places of his heart. He came
back at last, somewhat comforted.

'She's awake now, Margaret. She quite smiled as she saw me
standing by her. Just her old smile. And she says she feels
refreshed, and ready for tea. Where's the note for her? She wants
to see it. I'll read it to her while you make tea.'

The note proved to be a formal invitation from Mrs. Thornton, to
Mr., Mrs., and Miss Hale to dinner, on the twenty-first instant.
Margaret was surprised to find an acceptance contemplated, after
all she had learnt of sad probabilities during the day. But so it
was. The idea of her husband's and daughter's going to this
dinner had quite captivated Mrs. Hale's fancy, even before
Margaret had heard the contents of the note. It was an event to
diversify the monotony of the invalid's life; and she clung to
the idea of their going, with even fretful pertinacity when
Margaret objected.

'Nay, Margaret? if she wishes it, I'm sure we'll both go
willingly. She never would wish it unless she felt herself really
stronger--really better than we thought she was, eh, Margaret?'
said Mr. Hale, anxiously, as she prepared to write the note of
acceptance, the next day.

'Eh! Margaret?' questioned he, with a nervous motion of his
hands. It seemed cruel to refuse him the comfort he craved for.
And besides, his passionate refusal to admit the existence of
fear, almost inspired Margaret herself with hope.

'I do think she is better since last night,' said she. 'Her eyes
look brighter, and her complexion clearer.'

'God bless you,' said her father, earnestly. 'But is it true?
Yesterday was so sultry every one felt ill. It was a most unlucky
day for Mr. Donaldson to see her on.'

So he went away to his day's duties, now increased by the
preparation of some lectures he had promised to deliver to the
working people at a neighbouring Lyceum. He had chosen
Ecclesiastical Architecture as his subject, rather more in
accordance with his own taste and knowledge than as falling in
with the character of the place or the desire for particular