Margaret of the North Read Online Free Page B

time.
    John laid his cheek on her hair
and clasped her close.  "If I had known then what I know now, do you think
I would have let you go to London?"
    Reluctant as Margaret was to
leave that exquisite niche she just discovered in the hollow of his neck, she
raised her head and gazed into his eyes for a long moment.  Then, she said
frankly but regrettably, "I would have gratefully accepted your proposal
had you renewed it then and things had been different.  But the truth is I was
incapable of any feeling but grief when I left Milton."
    The anguish Margaret suffered all
those months past came flooding back, taking her by surprise.  She thought that
she had been mostly in control of it and had tucked it away where she could
regard it with proper detachment.  But face-to-face with John, the weariness
and sorrow she felt was nearly as vivid as it had been when she bade him
farewell nearly a year ago.
    "I saw such suffering as I
had never seen in my sheltered life in the south, lost so many people I cared
about in a rather short period.  I was drained, apathetic, my reserves of
energy and compassion depleted.  I needed time to mourn, to put into
perspective all that I had been through, to recover my strength."  The
quiver in her voice grew as she spoke and she sucked her breath in a few times
to hold back tears.
    He held her closer, "Oh my
love, I am so sorry that you had to endure such sorrow when you first came to
Milton.  But I would have patiently waited for as long as you needed to arrive
at this moment."
    She laid her face on his shoulder
and clung to him once again, trying to suppress another sob, but he felt a few
tears dampen his neck.  After a few minutes, she whispered tremulously,
"Maybe, your mother is right that I do not deserve you but my heart is
yours fully and for as long as I live."
    "My mother thought me too
good for you but I did not think I was good enough and yet, what does it
matter?  You are finally home, my love—with me."  He lifted her face to
kiss her.
     
     

II. Uneasy Rapprochement
     
    Mrs. Thornton was pacing
restlessly in the drawing room.  Once in a while, she walked towards the window
and looked down at the empty courtyard.  She had not seen her son for two days
and she was getting increasingly worried.  He had not left any note nor said
anything that gave her some inkling of where he might have gone.  When she last
talked to him, her heart ached painfully at seeing how broken his spirits had
seemed, how profound his misery.  She raged at the injustice of a world that
seemed to have punished him, he who was all that was good in a man.  The loss
of the mill weighed on him deeply, she was certain of that.  But she was also
sadly aware that, since Margaret Hale left Milton, he had become
uncharacteristically somber, more withdrawn, less communicative.  She suspected
that, were it not for that unfortunate matter with Miss Hale, the loss of the
mill would not have plunged him into such deep despair.
    Mrs. Thornton had never liked
Miss Hale and, when she rejected John, that relatively passive dislike had
turned into an active hatred.  So when she saw her that morning at the Mill,
her rage at the world found its outlet.  She accused Miss Hale of coming back
to mock John for the misfortune that had befallen him.  But Miss Hale disarmed
her when, with guileless candor, she conceded that Mrs. Thornton was right,
that she had not really known John when she rejected him.  Then, with a gentle
reproach for misjudging her and with sorrow in her eyes and her voice, Miss
Hale lamented the fate of the unfortunate mill.  Still, Miss Hale was the woman
who had dared to reject her son and caused him deep unhappiness.  While Mrs.
Thornton mellowed a little towards her, she found it difficult to forgive her.
    Mrs. Thornton was roused from her
musings by the unexpected sound of a carriage.  Rather odd, she thought,
because since the mill closed, no vehicle or horses entered the