Chapter 26 - Page 2

him, once--if
never again. He only caught glimpses of her; he did not
understand her altogether. At one time she was so brave, and at
another so timid; now so tender, and then so haughty and
regal-proud. And then he thought over every time he had ever seen
her once again, by way of finally forgetting her. He saw her in
every dress, in every mood, and did not know which became her
best. Even this morning, how magnificent she had looked,--her
eyes flashing out upon him at the idea that, because she had
shared his danger yesterday, she had cared for him the least!

If Mr. Thornton was a fool in the morning, as he assured himself
at least twenty times he was, he did not grow much wiser in the
afternoon. All that he gained in return for his sixpenny omnibus
ride, was a more vivid conviction that there never was, never
could be, any one like Margaret; that she did not love him and
never would; but that she--no! nor the whole world--should never
hinder him from loving her. And so he returned to the little
market-place, and remounted the omnibus to return to Milton.

It was late in the afternoon when he was set down, near his
warehouse. The accustomed places brought back the accustomed
habits and trains of thought. He knew how much he had to do--more
than his usual work, owing to the commotion of the day before. He
had to see his brother magistrates; he had to complete the
arrangements, only half made in the morning, for the comfortand
safety of his newly imported Irish hands; he had to secure them
from all chance of communication with the discontented
work-people of Milton. Last of all, he had to go home and
encounter his mother.

Mrs. Thornton had sat in the dining-room all day, every moment
expecting the news of her son's acceptance by Miss Hale. She had
braced herself up many and many a time, at some sudden noise in
the house; had caught up the half-dropped work, and begun to ply
her needle diligently, though through dimmed spectacles, and with
an unsteady hand! and many times had the door opened, and some
indifferent person entered on some insignificant errand. Then her
rigid face unstiffened from its gray frost-bound expression, and
the features dropped into the relaxed look of despondency, so
unusual to their sternness. She wrenched herself away from the
contemplation of all the dreary changes that would be brought
about to herself by her son's marriage; she forced her thoughts
into the accustomed household grooves. The newly-married
couple-to-be would need fresh household stocks of linen; and Mrs.
Thornton had clothes-basket upon clothes-basket, full of
table-cloths and napkins, brought in, and began to reckon up the
store. There was some confusion between what was hers, and