not so much unjust as unfeeling; clear in
judgment, standing upon his 'rights' as no
human being ought to stand, considering
what we and all our petty rights are in the
sight of the Almighty. I am glad you think
he looks anxious. When I remember Boucher's
half-mad words and ways, I cannot bear to
think how coolly Mr. Thornton spoke."

"In the first place, I am not so convinced
as you are about that man Boucher's utter
distress; for the moment he was badly off, I
don't doubt. But there is always a mysterious
supply of money from these Unions; and
from what you said, it was evident the man
was of a passionate, demonstrative nature,
and gave strong expression to all he felt."

"Oh, papa!"

"Well! I only want you to do justice to
Mr. Thornton, who is, I suspect, of an exactly
opposite nature,—a man who is far too proud
to show his feelings. Just the character I
should have thought beforehand you would
have admired, Margaret."

"So I do,—so I should; but I don't feel
quite so sure as you do of the existence of
those feelings. He is a man of great strength
of character,—of unusual intellect, considering
the few advantages he has had."

'Not so few. He has led a practical life
from a very early age; has been called upon
to exercise judgment and self-control. All
that developes one part of the intellect. To
be sure, he needs some of the knowledge of
the past, which gives the truest basis for
conjecture as to the future; but he knows
this need,—he perceives it, and that is
something. You are quite prejudiced against Mr.
Thornton, Margaret."

"He is the first specimen of a manufacturer
—of a person engaged in trade—that I
had ever the opportunity of studying, papa.
He is my first olive: let me make a face
while I swallow it. I know he is good of his
kind, and by and by I shall like the kind. I
rather think I am already beginning to do so.
I was very much interested by what the
gentlemen were talking about, although I did
not understand half of it. I was quite sorry
when Miss Thornton came to take me to the
other end of the room, saying she was sure I
should be uncomfortable at being the only
lady among so many gentlemen. I had never
thought about it, I was so busy listening;
and the ladies were so dull, papa—oh, so
dull! Yet I think it was clever too. It
reminded me of our old game of having
each so many nouns to introduce into a
sentence."

"What do you mean, child?" asked Mr.
Hale.

"Why, they took nouns that were signs of
things which gave evidence of wealth,—
housekeepers, under-gardeners, extent of
glass, valuable lace, diamonds, and all such
things; and each one formed her speech so
as to bring them all in, in the prettiest
accidental manner possible."

"You will be as proud of your one
servant when you get her, if all is true about
her that Mrs. Thornton says."

"To be sure, I shall. I felt like a great
hypocrite to-night, sitting there in my white
silk gown, with my idle hands before me,
when I remembered all the good, thorough,
house-work they had done to-day. They
took me for a fine lady, I'm sure.''

''Even I was mistaken enough to think
you looked like a lady, my dear," said Mr.
Hale, quietly smiling.

But smiles were changed to white and
trembling looks when they saw Dixon's face,
as she opened the door.

"Oh, master!—Oh. Miss Margaret! Thank
God, you are come! Dr. Donaldson is here.
The servant next door went for him, for the
charwoman is gone home. She's better
now; but, oh sir! I thought she'd have died
an hour ago."

Mr. Hale caught Margaret's arm to steady
himself from falling. He looked at her face,
and saw an expression upon it of surprise
and extremest sorrow, but not the agony of
terror that contracted his own unprepared
heart. She knew more than he did, and yet
she listened with that hopeless expression of
awed apprehension.

"Oh! I should not have left her—wicked
daughter that I am! " moaned forth
Margaret, as she supported her trembling father's
hasty steps up-stairs. Dr. Donaldson met
them on the landing.

"She is better now," he whispered. "The
opiate has taken effect. The spasms were
very bad: no wonder they frightened yonr
maid; but she'll rally this time."

"This time! Let me go to her! " Half
an hour ago, Mr. Hale was a middle-aged
man; now his sight was dim, his senses
wavering, his walk tottering, as if he were
seventy years of age.

Dr. Donaldson took his arm, and led him
into the bedroom. Margaret followed close.
There lay her mother, with an unmistakeable
look on her face. She might be better now;
she was sleeping, but Death had signed her
for his own, and it was clear that ere long he
would return to take possession. Mr. Hale
looked at her for some time without a word.
Then he began to shake all over, and, turning
away from Dr. Donaldson's anxious care, he
groped to find the door; he could not see it,
although several candles, brought in their
sudden affright, were burning and flaring
there. He staggered into the drawing-room,
and felt about for a chair. Dr. Donaldson
wheeled one to him, and placed him in it.
He felt his pulse.

"Speak to him, Miss Hale. We must
rouse him."

"Papa! " said Margaret, with a crying
voice that was wild with pain. " Papa!
Speak to me!" The speculation came
again into his eyes, and he made a great
effort.