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ought to be tried. I have arrived at the conviction that no mere institutions, however wise, and however much thought may have been required to organise and arrange them, can attach class to class as they should be attached, unless the working out of such institutions bring the individuals of the different classes into actual personal contact. Such intercourse is the very breath of life. A working man can hardly be made to feel and know how much his employer may have laboured in his study at plans for the benefit of his workpeople. A complete plan emerges like a piece of machinery, apparently fitted for every emergency. But the hands accept it as they do machinery, without understanding the intense mental labour and forethought required to bring it to such perfection. But I would take an idea, the working out of which would necessitate personal intercourse; it might not go well at first, but at every hitch interest would be felt by an increasing number of men, and at last its success in working come to be desired by all, as all had borne a part in the formation of the plan; and even then I am sure that it would lose its vitality, cease to be living, as soon as it was no longer carried on by that sort of common interest which invariably makes people find means and ways of seeing each other, and becoming acquainted with each others’ characters and persons, and even tricks of temper and modes of speech. We should understand each other better, and I’ll venture to say we should like each other more.’

‘And you think they may prevent the recurrence of strikes?’

‘Not at all. My utmost expectation only goes so far as this—that they may render strikes not the bitter, venomous sources of hatred they have hitherto been. A more hopeful man might imagine that a closer and more genial intercourse between classes might do away with strikes. But I am not a hopeful man.’

Suddenly, as if a new idea had struck him, he crossed over to where Margaret was sitting, and began, without preface, as if he knew she had been listening to all that had passed:

‘Miss Hale, I had a round-robin from some of my men—I suspect in Higgins’ handwriting—stating their wish to work for me, if ever I was in a position to employ men again on my own behalf. That was good, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. Just right. I am glad of it,’ said Margaret, looking up straight into his face with her speaking eyes, and then dropping them under his eloquent glance. He gazed back at her for a minute, as if he did not know exactly what he was about. Then sighed; and saying, ‘I knew you would like it,’ he turned away, and never spoke to her again until he bid her a formal ‘good night.’

As Mr. Lennox took his departure, Margaret said, with a blush that she could not repress, and with some hesitation,

‘Can I speak to you to-morrow? I want your help about—something.’

‘Certainly. I will come at whatever time you name. You cannot give me a greater pleasure than by making me of any use. At eleven? Very well.’

His eye brightened with exultation. How she was learning to depend upon him! It seemed as if any day now might give him the certainty, without having which he had determined never to offer to her again.

CHAPTER LII

‘PACK CLOUDS AWAY’

‘For joy or grief, for hope or fear, For all hereafter, as for here, In peace or strife, in storm or shine.’ ANON.

Edith went about on tip-toe, and checked Sholto in all loud speaking that next morning, as if any sudden noise would interrupt the conference that was taking place in the drawing-room. Two o’clock came; and they still sate there with closed doors. Then there was a man’s footstep running down stairs; and Edith peeped out of the drawing-room.

‘Well, Henry?’ said she, with a look of interrogation.

‘Well!’ said he, rather shortly.

‘Come in to lunch!’

‘No, thank you, I can’t. I’ve lost too much time here already.’

‘Then it’s not all settled,’ said Edith despondingly.

‘No! not at all. It never will be settled, if the “it” is what I conjecture you mean. That will never be, Edith, so give up thinking about it.’

‘But it would be so nice for us all,’ pleaded Edith. ‘I should always feel comfortable about the children, if I had Margaret settled down near me. As it is, I am always afraid of her going off to Cadiz.’

‘I will try, when I marry, to look out for a young lady who has a knowledge of the management of children. That is all I can do. Miss Hale would not have me. And I shall not ask her.’

‘Then, what have you been talking about?’

‘A thousand things you would not understand: investments, and leases, and value of land.’

‘Oh, go away if that’s all. You and she will be unbearably stupid, if you’ve been talking all this time about such weary things.’

‘Very well. I’m coming again to-morrow, and bringing Mr. Thornton with me, to have some more talk with Miss Hale.’

‘Mr. Thornton! What has he to do with it?’

‘He is Miss Hale’s tenant,’ said Mr. Lennox, turning away. ‘And he wishes to give up his lease.’

‘Oh! very well. I can’t understand details, so don’t give them me.’

‘The only detail I want you to understand is, to let us have the back drawing-room undisturbed, as it was to-day. In general, the children and servants are so in and out, that I can never get any business satisfactorily explained; and the arrangements we have to make to-morrow are of importance.’

No one ever knew why Mr. Lennox did not keep to his appointment on the following day. Mr. Thornton came true to his time; and, after keeping him waiting for nearly an hour, Margaret came in looking very white and anxious.

She began hurriedly:

‘I am so sorry Mr. Lennox is not here,—he could have done it so much better than I can. He is my adviser in this’–-

‘I am sorry that I came, if it troubles you. Shall I go to Mr. Lennox’s chambers and try and find him?’

‘No, thank you. I wanted to tell you, how grieved I was to find that I am to lose you as a tenant. But, Mr. Lennox says, things are sure to brighten’–-

‘Mr. Lennox knows little about it,’ said Mr. Thornton quietly. ‘Happy and fortunate in all a man cares for, he does not understand what it is to find oneself no longer young—yet thrown back to the starting-point which requires the hopeful energy of youth—to feel one half of life gone, and nothing done—nothing remaining of wasted opportunity, but the bitter recollection that it has been. Miss Hale, I would rather not hear Mr. Lennox’s opinion of my affairs. Those who are happy and successful themselves are too apt to make light of the misfortunes of others.’

‘You are unjust,’ said Margaret, gently. ‘Mr. Lennox has only spoken of the great probability which he believes there to be of your redeeming—your more than redeeming what you have lost—don’t speak till I have ended—pray don’t!’ And collecting herself once more, she went on rapidly turning over some law papers, and statements of accounts in a trembling hurried manner. ‘Oh! here it is! and—he drew me out a proposal—I wish he was here to explain it—showing that if you would take some money of mine, eighteen thousand and fifty-seven pounds, lying just at this moment unused in the bank, and bringing me in only two and a half per cent.—you could pay me much better interest, and might go on working Marlborough Mills.’ Her voice had cleared itself and become more steady. Mr. Thornton did not speak, and she went on looking for some paper on which were written down the proposals for security; for she was most anxious to have it all looked upon in the light of a mere business arrangement, in which the principal advantage would be on her side. While she sought for this paper, her very heart-pulse was arrested by the tone in which Mr. Thornton spoke. His voice was hoarse, and trembling with tender passion, as he said:—

‘Margaret!’

For an instant she looked up; and then sought to veil her luminous eyes by dropping her forehead on her hands. Again, stepping nearer, he besought her with another tremulous eager call upon her name.

‘Margaret!’

Still lower went the head; more closely hidden was the face, almost resting on the table before her. He came close to her. He knelt by her side, to bring his face to a level with her ear; and whispered-panted out the words:—

‘Take care.—If you do not speak—I shall claim you as my own in some strange presumptuous way.—Send me away at once, if I must go;—Margaret!—’

At that third call she turned her face, still covered with her small white hands, towards him, and laid it on his shoulder, hiding it even there; and it was too delicious to feel her soft cheek against his, for him to wish to see either deep blushes or loving eyes. He clasped her close. But they both kept silence. At length she murmured in a broken voice:

‘Oh, Mr. Thornton, I am not good enough!’

‘Not good enough! Don’t mock my own deep feeling of unworthiness.’

After a minute or two, he gently disengaged her hands from her face, and laid her arms as they had once before been placed to protect him from the rioters.

‘Do you remember, love?’ he murmured. ‘And how I requited you with my insolence the next day?’

‘I remember how wrongly I spoke to you,—that is all.’

‘Look here! Lift up your head. I have something to show you!’ She slowly faced him, glowing with beautiful shame.

‘Do you know these roses?’ he said, drawing out his pocket-book, in which were treasured up some dead flowers.

‘No!’ she replied, with innocent curiosity. ‘Did I give them to you?’

‘No! Vanity; you did not. You may have worn sister roses very probably.’

She looked at them, wondering for a minute, then she smiled a little as she said—

‘They are from Helstone, are they not? I know the deep indentations round the leaves. Oh! have you been there? When were you there?’

‘I wanted to see the place where Margaret grew to what she is, even at the worst time of all, when I had no hope of ever calling her mine. I went there on my return from Havre.’

‘You must give them to me,’ she said, trying to take them out of his hand with gentle violence.

‘Very well. Only you must pay me for them!’

‘How shall I ever tell Aunt Shaw?’ she whispered, after some time of delicious silence.

‘Let me speak to her.’

‘Oh, no! I owe to her,—but what will she say?’

‘I can guess. Her first exclamation will be, “That man!”’

‘Hush!’ said Margaret, ‘or I shall try and show you your mother’s indignant tones as she says, “That woman!”’

 

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