If they had not asked me, I would no more
have intruded on them than I'd have gone to
the mess at the barracks without invitation."

"I should think you were rather a restraint
on your hosts' conversation. They can't abuse
the masters while you're there. I suspect
they take it out on non-hot-pot days"

"Well! hitherto we've steered clear of all
vexed questions. But if any of the old disputes
came up again, I would certainly speak
out my mind next hot-pot day. But you are
hardly acquainted with our Darkshire fellows,
for all you're a Darkshire man yourself.
They have such a sense of humour, and
such a racy mode of expression! I am getting
really to know some of them now, and
they talk pretty freely before me."

"Nothing like the act of eating for equalising
men. Dying is nothing to it. The
philosopher dies sententiously- the pharisee
ostentatiously- the simple-hearted humbly
- the poor idiot blindly as the sparrow falls
to the ground; but philosopher and idiot,
publican and pharisee, all eat after the same
fashion given an equally good digestion.
There's theory for theory for you!"

"Indeed I have no theory; I hate theories."

"I beg your pardon. To show my penitence,
will you accept a ten pound note towards
your marketing, and give the poor
fellows a feast?"

"Thank you; but I'd rather not. They
pay me rent for the oven and cooking-places
at the back of the mill: and will have to pay
more for the new dining-room. I don't want
it to fall into a charity. I don't want donations.
Once let in the principle, and I should
have people going, and talking, and spoiling
the simplicity of the whole thing."

"People will talk about any new plan. You
can't help that."

"My enemies, if I have any, may make a
philanthropic fuss about this dinner-scheme;
but you are a friend, and I expect you will
pay my experiment the respect of silence. It
is but a new broom at present, and sweeps
clean enough. But by-and-by we shall meet
with plenty of stumbling-blocks, no doubt."

CHAPTER THE FORTY-THIRD.

MRS. SHAW took as vehement a dislike as
it was possible for one of her gentle nature to
do, against Milton. It was noisy, and smoky,
and the poor people whom she saw in the
streets were dirty, and the rich ladies over-dressed,
and not a man that she saw, high or
low, had his clothes made to fit him. She
was sure Margaret would never regain her
lost strength while she stayed in Milton; and
she herself was afraid of one of her old attacks
of the nerves. Margaret must return
with her, and that quickly. This, if not the
exact force of her words, was at any rate the
spirit of what she urged on Margaret, till the
latter, weak, weary, and broken-spirited,
yielded a reluctant promise that, as soon as
Wednesday was over, she would prepare to
accompany her aunt back to town, leaving
Dixon in charge of all the arrangements for
paying bills, disposing of furniture, and shutting
up the house. Before that Wednesday-
that mournful Wednesday, when Mr. Hale
was to be interred, far away from either of
the homes he had known in life, and far
away from the wife who lay lonely among
strangers (and this last was Margaret's great
trouble, for she thought that if she had not
given way to that overwhelming stupor during
the first sad days, she could have arranged
things otherwise)- before that Wednesday,
Margaret received a letter from Mr. Bell.

"MY DEAR. MARGARET:-I did mean to have returned
to Milton on Thursday, but unluckily it turns
out to be one of the rare occasions when we, Fellows
of Radcliffe, are called upon to perform any kind of
duty, and I must not be absent from my post. Captain
Lennox and Mr. Thornton are here. The former
seems a smart, well-meaning man; and has proposed to
go over to Milton, and assist you in any search for the
will; of course there is none, or you would have found
it by this time, if you followed my directions. Then
the Captain declares he must take you and his mother-in-law
home; and, in his wife's present state, I don't
see how you can expect him to remain away longer
than Friday. However, that Dixon of yours is trusty;
and can hold her, or your own, till I come. I take
upon myself to administer, if there is no will; for I
doubt this smart captain is no great man of business.
Nevertheless, his moustachios are splendid. There
will have to be a sale; so select what things you wish
reserved. Or you can send a list afterwards. Now
two things more, and I have done. You know, or if
you don't, your poor father did, that you are to have
my money and goods when I die. Not that I mean to
die yet; but I name this just to explain what is coming.
These Lennoxes seem very fond of you now; and
perhaps may continue to be; perhaps not. So it is
best to start with a formal agreement; namely, that
you are to pay them two hundred and fifty pounds a
year, as long as you and they find it pleasant to live together.
(This, of course, includes Dixon; mind you
don't be cajoled into paying any more for her.) Then
you won't be thrown adrift if some day the captain
wishes to have his house to himself, but you can carry
yourself and your two hundred and fifty pounds off
somewhere else; if, indeed, I have not claimed you to
come and keep house for me first. Then as to dress,
and Dixon, and personal expenses, and confectionery
(all young ladies eat confectionery till wisdom comes
by age), I shall consult some lady of my acquaintance,
and see how much you will have from your father, before
this. Now, Margaret, have you flown out
before you have read this far, and wondered what right
the old man has to settle your affairs for you so
cavalierly? I make no doubt you have. Yet the old
man has a right. He has loved your father for five
and thirty years; he stood beside him on his wedding-day;
he closed his eyes in death. Moreover, he is
your godfather: and as he cannot do you much good
spiritually, having a hidden consciousness of your superiority
such things, he would fain do you the poor
good of endowing you materially. And the old man
has not a known relation on earth; 'who is there to
mourn for Abraham Bell?' and his whole heart is set
and bent upon this one thing, and Margaret Hale is not
the girl to say him nay. Write by return, if only two
lines, to tell me your answer. But no thanks."

Margaret took up a pen and scrawled with