Bell, Margaret?' 'No; I never saw him, I think. But I know who he is. Frederick's godfather--your old tutor at Oxford, don't you mean?' 'Yes. He is a Fellow of Plymouth College there. He is a native of Milton-Northern, I believe. At any rate, he has property there, which has very much increased in value since Milton has become such a large manufacturing town. Well, I had reason to suspect--to imagine--I had better say nothing about it, however. But I felt sure of sympathy from Mr. Bell. I don't know that he gave me much strength. He has lived an easy life in his college all his days. But he has been as kind as can be. And it is owing to him we are going to Milton.' 'How?' said Margaret. 'Why he has tenants, and houses, and mills there; so, though he dislikes the place--too bustling for one of his habits--he is obliged to keep up some sort of connection; and he tells me that he hears there is a good opening for a private tutor there.' 'A private tutor!' said Margaret, looking scornful: 'What in the world do manufacturers want with the classics, or literature, or the accomplishments of a gentleman?' 'Oh,' said her father, 'some of them really seem to be fine fellows, conscious of their own deficiencies, which is more than many a man at Oxford is.
Some want resolutely to learn, though they have come to man's estate. Some want their children to be better instructed than they themselves have been.
At any rate, there is an opening, as I have said, for a private tutor.
Mr. Bell has recommended me to a Mr. Thornton, a tenant of his, and a very intelligent man, as far as I can judge from his letters. And in Milton, Margaret, I shall find a busy life, if not a happy one, and people and scenes so different that I shall never be reminded of Helstone.' There was the secret motive, as Margaret knew from her own feelings. It would be different. Discordant as it was--with almost a detestation for all she had ever heard of the North of England, the manufacturers, the people, the wild and bleak country--there was this one recommendation--it would be different from Helstone, and could never remind them of that beloved place. 'When do we go?' asked Margaret, after a short silence. 'I do not know exactly. I wanted to talk it over with you. You see, your mother knows nothing about it yet: but I think, in a fortnight;--after my deed of resignation is sent in, I shall have no right to remain. Margaret was almost stunned. 'In a fortnight!' 'No--no, not exactly to a day. Nothing is fixed,' said her father, with anxious hesitation, as he noticed the filmy sorrow that came over her eyes, and the sudden change in her complexion. But she recovered herself immediately. 'Yes, papa, it had better be fixed soon and decidedly, as you say. Only mamma to know nothing about it! It is that that is the great perplexity.' 'Poor Maria!' replied Mr. Hale, tenderly. 'Poor, poor Maria! Oh, if I were not married--if I were but myself in the world, how easy it would be! As it is--Margaret, I dare not tell her!' 'No,' said Margaret, sadly, 'I will do it. Give me till to-morrow evening to choose my time Oh, papa,' cried she, with sudden passionate entreaty, 'say--tell me it is a night-mare--a horrid dream--not the real waking truth!
You cannot mean that you are really going to leave the Church--to give up Helstone--to be for ever separate from me, from mamma--led away by some delusion--some temptation! You do not really mean it!' Mr. Hale sat in rigid stillness while she spoke. Then he looked her in the face, and said in a slow, hoarse, measured way--'Ido mean it, Margaret. You must not deceive yourself into doubting the reality of my words--my fixed intention and resolve.' He looked at her in the same steady, stony manner, for some moments after he had done speaking. She, too, gazed back with pleading eyes before she would believe that it was irrevocable. Then she arose and went, without another word or look, towards the door. As her fingers were on the handle he called her back. He was standing by the fireplace, shrunk and stooping; but as she came near he drew himself up to his full height, and, placing his hands on her head, he said, solemnly: 'The blessing of God be upon thee, my child!' 'And may He restore you to His Church,' responded she, out of the fulness of her heart. The next moment she feared lest this answer to his blessing might be irreverent, wrong--might hurt him as coming from his daughter, and she threw her arms round his neck. He held her to him for a minute or two. She heard him murmur to himself, 'The martyrs and confessors had even more pain to bear--I will not shrink.' They were startled by hearing Mrs. Hale inquiring for her daughter. They started asunder in the full consciousness of all that was before them.
Mr. Hale hurriedly said--'Go, Margaret, go. I shall be out all to-morrow.
Before night you will have told your mother.' 'Yes,' she replied, and she returned to the drawing-room in a stunned and dizzy state.
