Chapter 25 - Page 2

gibbering, with fixed ghastly eyes, in some corner of the
chamber, listening to hear whether we dare to breathe of its
presence to any one. And we dare not; poor cowards that we are!

And so she shuddered away from the threat of his enduring love.
What did he mean? Had she not the power to daunt him? She would
see. It was more daring than became a man to threaten her so. Did
he ground it upon the miserable yesterday? If need were, she
would do the same to-morrow,--by a crippled beggar, willingly and
gladly,--but by him, she would do it, just as bravely, in spite
of his deductions, and the cold slime of women's impertinence.
She did it because it was right, and simple, and true to save
where she could save; even to try to save. 'Fais ce que dois,
advienne que pourra.'

Hitherto she had not stirred from where he had left her; no
outward circumstances had roused her out of the trance of thought
in which she had been plunged by his last words, and by the look
of his deep intent passionate eyes, as their flames had made her
own fall before them. She went to the window, and threw it open,
to dispel the oppression which hung around her. Then she went and
opened the door, with a sort of impetuous wish to shake off the
recollection of the past hour in the company of others, or in
active exertion. But all was profoundly hushed in the noonday
stillness of a house, where an invalid catches the unrefreshing
sleep that is denied to the night-hours. Margaret would not be
alone. What should she do? 'Go and see Bessy Higgins, of course,'
thought she, as the recollection of the message sent the night
before flashed into her mind.

And away she went.

When she got there, she found Bessy lying on the settle, moved
close to the fire, though the day was sultry and oppressive. She
was laid down quite flat, as if resting languidly after some
paroxysm of pain. Margaret felt sure she ought to have the
greater freedom of breathing which a more sitting posture would
procure; and, without a word, she raised her up, and so arranged
the pillows, that Bessy was more at ease, though very languid.

'I thought I should na' ha' seen yo' again,' said she, at last,
looking wistfully in Margaret's face.

'I'm afraid you're much worse. But I could not have come
yesterday, my mother was so ill--for many reasons,' said
Margaret, colouring.

'Yo'd m'appen think I went beyond my place in sending Mary for
yo'. But the wranglin' and the loud voices had just torn me to
pieces, and I thought when father left, oh! if I could just hear
her voice, reading me some words o' peace and promise, I could
die away into the silence and rest o' God, lust as a babby is
hushed up to sleep by its mother's lullaby.'