"But you must not go," said Mrs.
Thornton, impatiently. "You are not fit
to go."

"I must," said Margaret, decidedly. "Think
of mamma. If they should hear—Besides,
I must go," said she, vehemently. "I cannot
stay here. May I ask for a cab?"

"You are quite flushed and feverish,"
observed Mr. Lowe.

"It is only with being here when I do so
want to go. The air—getting away would
do me more good than anything," pleaded
she.

"I really believe it is as she says," Mr.
Lowe replied. "If her mother is so ill as
you told me on the way here, it may be very
serious if she hears of this riot, and does not
see her daughter back at the time she
expects. The injury is not deep. I will
fetch a cab, if your servants are still afraid
to go out."

"Oh, thank you!" said Margaret. " It
will do me more good than anything. It is
the air of this room that makes me feel so
miserable."

She leant back on the sofa, and closed her
eyes. Fanny beckoned her mother out of the
room, and told her something that made her
equally anxious with Margaret for the
departure of the latter. Not that she fully
believed Fanny's statement; but she credited
enough to make her manner to Margaret
appear very much constrained, at wishing her
good-bye.

Mr. Lowe returned in the cab.

"If you will allow me, I will see you
home, Miss Hale. The streets are not very
quiet yet."

Margaret's thoughts were quite alive
enough to the present to make her desirous
of getting rid of both Mr. Lowe and the cab
before she reached Crampton Crescent, for
fear of alarming her father and mother.
Beyond that one aim she would not look.
That ugly dream of insolent words spoken
about herself could never be forgotten—but
could be put aside till she was stronger—for,
oh! she was very weak; and her mind
sought for some present fact to steady itself
upon, and keep itself from utterly losing
consciousness in another hideous, sickly
swoon.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD.

MARGARET had not been gone five minutes
when Mr. Thornton came in, his face all
a-glow. .

"I could not come sooner: the s
uper-intendent would—Where is she?" He
looked around the dining-room, and then
almost fiercely at his mother, who was
quietly re-arranging the disturbed furniture,
and did not instantly reply. "Where is
Miss Hale? " asked he again.

"Gone home," said she, rather shortly.

"Gone home!"

"Yes. She was a great deal better.
Indeed, I don't believe it was so very much of
a hurt; only some people faint at the least
thing."

"I am sorry she is gone home," said he,
walking uneasily about. " She could not
have been fit for it."

"She said she was; and Mr. Lowe said
she was. I went for him myself."

"Thank you, mother." He stopped, and
partly held out his hand to give her a grateful
shake. But she did not notice the movement.

"What have you done with your Irish
people?"

"Sent to the Dragon for a good meal for
them, poor wretches. And then, luckily, I
caught Father Grady, and I've asked him in
to speak to them, and dissuade them from
going off in a body. How did Miss Hale go
home? I'm sure she could not walk."

"She had a cab. Everything was done
properly, even to the paying. Let us talk of
something else. She has caused disturbance
enough."

"I don't know where I should have been
but for her."

"Are you become so helpless as to have to
be defended by a girl?" asked Mrs. Thornton
scornfully.

He reddened. "Not many girls would
have taken the blows on herself which were
meant for me. Meant with right down goodwill,
too."

"A girl in love will do a good deal,"
replied Mrs. Thornton, shortly.

"Mother! " He made a step forwards;
stood still; heaved with passion.

She was a little startled at the evident
force he used to keep himself calm. She was
not sure of the nature of the emotions she
had provoked. It was only their violence
that was clear. Was it anger? His eyes
glowed, his figure was dilated, his breath
came thick and fast. It was a mixture of
joy, of anger, of pride, of glad surprise, of
panting doubt; but she could not read it.
Still it made her uneasy, as the presence of
all strong feeling, of which the cause is not
fully understood or sympathised in, always
does. She went to the sideboard, opened a
drawer, and took out a duster which she
kept there for any occasional purpose. She
had seen a drop of eau de Cologne on the
polished arm of the sofa, and instinctively
sought to wipe it off. But she kept her back
turned to her son much longer than was
necessary; and when she spoke her voice
seemed unusual and constrained,

"You have taken some steps about the
rioters, I suppose? You don't apprehend
any move violence, do you? Where were
the police? Never at hand when they're
wanted!"

"On the contrary, I saw three or four
of them, when the gates gave way, struggling
and beating about in fine fashion; and more
came running up just when the yard was