“One of the earliest things I can remember,” said Margaret, “was your being in some great disgrace, Fred, for stealing apples. We had plenty of our own—trees loaded with them; but someone had told you that stolen fruit tasted sweetest, which you took au pied de la lettre, and off you went a-robbing. You have not changed your feelings much since then.”
“Yes—you must go,” repeated Mr. Hale, answering Margaret’s question, which she had asked some time ago. His thoughts were fixed on one subject, and it was an effort to him to follow the zigzag remarks of his children—an effort which he did not make.
Margaret and Frederick looked at each other. That quick momentary sympathy would be theirs no longer if he went away. So much was understood through eyes that could not be put into words. Both coursed the same thought till it was lost in sadness. Frederick shook it off first:
“Do you know, Margaret, I was very nearly giving both Dixon and myself a good fright this afternoon. I was in my bedroom; I had heard a ring at the front door, but I thought the ringer must have done his business and gone away long ago; so I was on the point of making my appearance in the passage, when, as I opened my room door, I saw Dixon coming downstairs; and she frowned and kicked me into hiding again. I kept the door open, and heard a message given to some man that was in my father’s study, and that then went away. What could it have been? Some of the shopmen?”
“Very likely,” said Margaret indifferently. “There was a little quiet man who came up for orders about two o’clock.”
“But this was not a little man—a great powerful fellow; and it was past four when he was here.”
“It was Mr. Thornton,” said Mr. Hale. They were glad to have drawn him into the conversation.
“Mr. Thornton!” said Margaret, a little surprised. “I thought—”
“Well, little one, what did you think?” asked Frederick, as she did not finish her sentence.
“Oh, only,” said she, reddening and looking straight at him, “I fancied you meant someone of a different class, not a gentleman; somebody come on an errand.”
“He looked like someone of that kind,” said Frederick, carelessly. “I took him for a shopman, and he turns out a manufacturer.”
Margaret was silent. She remembered how at first, before she knew his character, she had spoken and thought of him just as Frederick was doing. It was but a natural impression that was made upon him, and yet she was a little annoyed by it. She was unwilling to speak; she wanted to make Frederick understand what kind of person Mr. Thornton was—but she was tongue-tied.
Mr. Hale went on. “He came to offer any assistance in his power, I believe. But I could not see him. I told Dixon to ask him if he would like to see you—I think I asked her to find you, and you would go to him. I don’t know what I said.”
“He has been a very agreeable acquaintance, has he not?” asked Frederick, throwing the question like a ball for anyone to catch who chose.
“A very kind friend,” said Margaret, when her father did not answer.
Frederick was silent for a time. At last he spoke:
“Margaret, it is painful to think I can never thank those who have shown you kindness. Your acquaintances and mine must be separate. Unless, indeed, I run the chances of a court-martial, or unless you and my father would come to Spain.” He threw out this last suggestion as a kind of feeler; and then suddenly made the plunge. “You don’t know how I wish you would. I have a good position—the chance of a better,” continued he, reddening like a girl. “That Dolores Barbour that I was telling you of, Margaret—I only wish you knew her; I am sure you would like—no, love is the right word, like is so poor—you would love her, father, if you knew her. She is not eighteen; but if she is in the same mind another year, she is to be my wife. Mr. Barbour won’t let us call it an engagement. But if you would come you would find friends everywhere, besides Dolores. Think of it, father. Margaret be on my side.”
“No—no more removals for me,” said Mr. Hale. “One has cost me my wife. No more removals in this life. She will be here; and here will I stay out my appointed time.”
“Oh, Frederick,” said Margaret, “tell us more about her. I never thought of this; but I am so glad. You will have someone to love and care for you out there. Tell us all about it.”
“In the first place, she is a Roman Catholic. That’s the only objection I anticipated. But my father’s change of opinion—nay, Margaret, don’t sigh.”
Margaret had reason to sigh a little more before the conversation ended. Frederick himself was Roman Catholic in fact, though not in profession as yet. This was, then, the reason why his sympathy in her extreme distress at her father’s leaving the church had been so faintly expressed in his letters. She had thought it was the carelessness of a sailor; but the truth was, that even then he was himself inclined to give up the form of religion into which had been baptized, only that his opinions were tending in exactly the opposite direction to those of his father. How much love had to do with this change not even Frederick himself could have told. Margaret gave up talking about this branch of the subject at last; and, returning to the fact of the engagement, she began to consider it in some fresh light.
“But for her sake, Fred, you surely will try and clear yourself
