As she stood on the door-step, on her
return, her father came up:

"Good girl!" said he. "You've been to
Mrs. Boucher's. I was just meaning to go
there, if I had time, before dinner."

"No, papa; I have not," said Margaret,
reddening. "I never thought about her.
But I will go directly after dinner; I will
go while you are taking your nap."

Accordingly Margaret went. Mrs. Boucher
was very ill; really ill — not merely ailing.
The kind and sensible neighbour, who had
come in the other day, seemed to have taken
charge of everything. Some of the children
were gone to the neighbours. Mary Higgins
had come for the three youngest at dinner
time; and since then Nicholas had gone for
the doctor. He had not come as yet; Mrs.
Boucher was dying; and there was nothing
to do but to wait. Margaret thought that
she should like to know his opinion, and that
she could not do better than go and see the
Higginses in the meantime. She might then
possibly hear if Nicholas had been able to
make his application to Mr. Thornton.

She found Nicholas busily engaged in
making a penny spin on the dresser, for the
amusement of three little children who were
clinging to him in a fearless manner. He, as
well as they, was smiling at a good long
spin; and Margaret thought that the happy
look of interest in his occupation was a good
sign. When the penny stopped spinning,
"lile Johnnie " began to cry.

"Come to me," said Margaret, taking him
off the dresser, and holding him in her arms;
she held her watch to his ear, while she
asked Nicholas if he had seen Mr. Thornton.

The look on his face changed instantly.

"Ay! " said he. " I've seen and heerd
too much on him."

"He refused you, then? " said Margaret,
sorrowfully.

"To be sure. I knew he'd do it all along.
It's no good expecting marcy at the hands o'
them measters. Yo're a stranger and a
foreigner, and are not likely to know their
ways; but I knowed it."

"I am sorry I asked you. Was he angry?
He did not speak to you as Hamper did.
did he?"

"He weren't o'er-civil! " said Nicholas,
spinning the penny again, as much for his
own amusement as for that of the children.
"Never yo fret, I'm only where I was. I'll
go on tramp to-morrow. I gave him as good
as I got. I telled him I'd not that good
opinion on him that I'd ha' come a second
time of mysel; but yo'd advised me for to
come, and I were beholden to yo."

"You told him I sent you ? "

"I dunno if I ca'd yo by your name. I
dunnot think I did. I said, a woman who
knew no better had advised me for to come
and see if there was a soft place in his
heart."

"And he —?" asked Margaret.

"Said I were to tell yo to mind yo'r own
business. That's the longest spin yet, my
lads. And them's civil words to what he
used to me. But ne'er mind. We're but
where we was; and I'll break stones on th'
road afore I let these little uns clem."

Margaret put the struggling Johnnie out
of her arms, back into his former place on the
dresser.

"I am sorry I asked you to go to Mr.
Thornton's. I am disappointed in him."

There was a slight noise behind her. Both
she and Nicholas turned round at the same
moment, and there stood Mr. Thornton, with
a look of displeased surprise upon his face.
Obeying her swift impulse, Margaret passed
out before him, saying not a word, only
bowing low to hide the sudden paleness that
she felt had come over her face. He bent
equally low in return, and then closed the
door after her. As she hurried to Mrs.
Boucher's she heard the clang, and it seemed
to fill up the measure of her mortification.
He too was annoyed to find her there. He
had tenderness in his heart — " a soft place,"
as Nicholas Higgins called it; but he had
some pride in concealing it; he kept it very
sacred and safe, and was jealous of every
circumstance that tried to gain admission. But
if he dreaded exposure of his tenderness, he
was equally desirous that all men should
recognise his justice; and he felt that he had
been unjust, in giving so scornful a hearing
to any one who had waited with humble
patience for five hours to speak to him. That
the man had spoken saucily to him when he
had the opportunity, was nothing to Mr.
Thornton. He rather liked him for it; and
he was conscious of his own irritability of
temper at the time, which probably made
them both quits. It was the five hours of
waiting that struck Mr. Thornton. He had
not five hours to spare himself; but one hour
—two hours, of his hard penetrating
intellectual, as well as bodily labour, did he give
up to going about collecting evidence as to
the truth of Higgins's story, the nature
of his character, the tenor of his life. He
tried not to be, but was convinced that
all that Higgins had said was true. And
then the conviction went in as if by some
spell, and touched the latent tenderness of
his heart; the patience of the man, the
simple generosity of the motive (for he had
learnt about the quarrel between Boucher
and Higgins), made him forget entirely
the mere reasonings of justice, and overleap
them by a diviner instinct. He came to tell
Higgins he would give him work; and he
was more annoyed to find Margaret there
than by hearing her last words; for then he
understood that she was the woman who had
urged Higgins to come to him; and he
dreaded the admission of any thought of her
as a motive to what he was doing solely
because it was right.

"So that was the lady you spoke of as a