North and South

for a thou

nstant wat

glad with jo

pe the we

at leisure

e and sy

AN

and his eyesight worse; there would be no one to go and read to him, and comfort him with little porringers of broth and good red flannel: or if there was, it would be a stranger, and the old man would watch in vain for her. Mary Domville's little crippled boy would crawl in vain to the door and look for her coming thro

he prudential side of the question, only grasping at the idea that the

standing Margaret's hint of the uncertainty of their stay at Helsto

ls of the freshest, purest fragrance, after the smokiness of

ixon for some gruel. I will come and see you as soon as you are in bed. I am

s she kissed her mother, 'I am quite well - d

of the boards reminded her that she must make no noise. She went and curled herself up on the window-seat in the small, deeply-recessed window. That morning when she had looked out, her heart had danced at seeing the bright clear lights on the church tower, which foretold a fine and sunny day. This evening - sixteen hours at most had past by - she sat down, too full of sorrow to cry, but with a dull

as if the earth was more utterly desolate than if girt in by an iron dome, behind which there might be the ineffaceable peace and glory of the Almighty: those never-ending depths of space, in their still serenity, were more mocking to her than any material bounds could be-shutting in the cries of earth's sufferers, which now m

coming in to ask you to pray with me - to say the

er, like a child ashamed of its fault. If the world was full of perplexing problems she would trust, and only ask to see the one step needful for the hour. Mr. Lennox - his visit, his proposal - the remembrance of which had been so rudely pushed aside by the subsequent events of the day - haunted her dreams that night. He was climbing up some tree of fabulous height to

her feverish dreams. It all came back upon her; not merely the sorrow, but the terrible discord in the sorrow. Where, to what distance apart, had h

anning village kindnesses, unheeding the silence of her husband and the monosyllabic answers of Margaret. Be

must be made to her mother. Mr. Hale would have delayed making it till half-past six, but Margaret was of different stuff. She could not bear the impending weight on her mind all the day long: better get the worst over; the day would be too short to comf

is morning; just one turn,' said Margaret

ld not tell what. Her eye caught on a bee entering a deep-belled flower: when that b

rth. 'He's going to leave the Church, and live in Milton

e, in a surprised incredulous voice. 'W

le and consoling, but literally not knowing how. They were c

Either you have made some great mista

and that he must give up Helstone. He has also consulted Mr. Bell - Frederick's godfather, you know, mamma; and it is arranged that we go to live in Milton–Northern.' Mrs.

Mrs. Hale, at length. 'He would surel

n, it was an error in her father to have left her to learn his change of opinion, and his approaching change of life, from her better-informed ch

. Papa felt so acutely - you know you are not strong, and

e tell you,

pted the inquiry. 'Poor papa!'- trying to divert her mother's thoughts into comp

inks differently - that he knows better than the Church.' Margaret shook her head, an

him right?' asked Mrs.

he might answer. It is all settled at any rate. He is going to leave Helstone in a

ling,' said she, beginning to take relief in tears. 'He has doubts, you say, and gives up his living, and all wi

ar to hear it blamed by her mother. She knew that his very reserve had origin

ve Helstone, mamma,' said she, after a pause. '

of factories, and factory people! Though, of course, if your father leaves the Church, we shall not be admitted into society anywhere. It will be such a disgrace to us! Poor dear Sir John! It is well he is not alive

her on the point which must have been so near his heart. Next to the serious vital anxiety as to the n

re our nearest neighbours (to call society - and we hardly ever see th

ges for half the gentry of the county, and were brought into some kind of intercourse

anding up for them, any more than for any other trades-p

father fixed on Milto

ery different from Helstone - partly because Mr. Bell

hy can't he go to Oxford, a

hurch on account of his opinions - his

r some time, quietly cr

to manage the removal? I never removed in my

ous that her father should find a soothing welcome home awaiting him, after his return from his day of fatigue and distress. She dwelt upon what he must have borne in secret for long; her mother only replied coldly that he ought to have told her, and that then at any rate he would have had an adviser to give him counsel; and Margaret turned faint at heart when she heard her father's step in the hall. She dared not go to meet him, and tell him what she had done all day, for fear of her mother's jealous annoyance. She heard him linger,

ard, you should ha

rd no noise, though the housemaid came in to arrange the room. The affrighted girl stole out again on tip-toe, and went and told Mrs. Dixon that Miss Hale was crying as if her heart would break: she was sure she would make herself deadly ill if she went on at that rate. In consequence

ontinued she, lifting herself languidly off the bed, yet letting her feet touch the ground without fairly standing down, as sh

poor thing! And master thinking of turning Dissenter at his time of life, when, if it is not to be said he's done well in the Church, he's not done badly after all. I had a cousin, miss, who turned Methodist preacher after he was fifty years of age, and a tailor all his life; but then he had never been able to make a p

listened to her, or not, as she was in the humour), that she never noticed Margaret's flashi

'Dixon! you forget to whom you are speaking.' She stood upright and firm on her feet now, confronting the waiting-maid, and fixing her with her steady discerning

o cry; either course would have done with her mistress: but, as she said to herself, 'Miss Margaret has a touch of the old gentleman about her, as well as poor Master Frederick; I wonde

your gown, miss,

nceforth Dixon obeyed and admired Margaret. She said it was because she was so like poor Master Frederick; bu

here, to which they could remove the furniture that had of necessity to be taken out of Helstone vicarage. Mrs. Hale, overpowered by all the troubles and necessities for immediate household decisions that seemed to come upon her at once, became really ill, and Margaret almost felt it as a relief when her mother fairly took to her bed, and left the management of affairs to her. Dixon, true to her post of body-guard, attended most faithfully to her mistress, and only emerged from Mrs. Hale's bed-room to shake her head, and murmur to herself in a manner which Margaret did not choose to hear. For, the one thing clear and straight before her, was the necessity for leaving Helstone. Mr. Hale's successor in the living was appointed; and, at any rate, after her father's decision; there must be no lingering now, for hi

ink about to settle this. What does your m

another cup of tea for Mrs. Hale, and catching Mr. Hale's last words, and protected b

orse today,' said Mr.

or me to judge. The illness seems so m

ked infinite

while it is hot, Dixon,' said Mar

oughts was otherwise occupied in th

oftly; 'but now the course is clear, at least to a certain point. And I think, papa, that I could get mamma to help me in planning, if you could tell me what t

e we must go into lodgings,

t it can be left at the railway s

k best. Only remember, we shall

at home. Nor was the household in which she lived one that called for much decision. Except in the one grand case of Captain Lennox's offer, everything went on with the regularity of clockwork. Once a year, there was a long discussion between her aunt and Edith as to whether they should go to the Isle of Wight, ab

took a candle and went into her father's study for a great atlas, and lugging it back into the drawing-room,

ng in the north as such a pleasant little bathing-place. Now, don't you think we could get mamma there with Dixon, while you and I go and look at houses, and get one

?' asked Mr. Hale, in a

quite intends it, and I don't kno

ything is so much dearer in a town. I doubt if Dixon can make herself comfortable.

ve to put up with her airs, which will be worse. But she really loves us all, and would be miserable to leave us, I am

s Heston from Milton? The breadth of one of your fin

se it is thirty mile

d! If you really think it will do yo

uffering in thinking of the pleasure and the delight of going to the sea-side. Her only regret was that Mr. Hale could not be with her all the fortnight she was