'Come; if you look so pale as this, I must rouge you up a little.

Take care of yourself, child, or you'll be wanting the doctor

next.' But he could not settle to anything that evening. He was

continually going backwards and forwards, on laborious tiptoe, to

see if his wife was still asleep. Margaret's heart ached at his

restlessness--his trying to stifle and strangle the hideous fear

that was looming out of the dark places of his heart. He came

back at last, somewhat comforted.

'She's awake now, Margaret. She quite smiled as she saw me

standing by her. Just her old smile. And she says she feels

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refreshed, and ready for tea. Where's the note for her? She wants

to see it. I'll read it to her while you make tea.' The note proved to be a formal invitation from Mrs. Thornton, to

Mr., Mrs., and Miss Hale to dinner, on the twenty-first instant.

Margaret was surprised to find an acceptance contemplated, after

all she had learnt of sad probabilities during the day. But so it

was. The idea of her husband's and daughter's going to this

dinner had quite captivated Mrs. Hale's fancy, even before

Margaret had heard the contents of the note. It was an event to

diversify the monotony of the invalid's life; and she clung to

the idea of their going, with even fretful pertinacity when

Margaret objected.

'Nay, Margaret? if she wishes it, I'm sure we'll both go

willingly. She never would wish it unless she felt herself really

stronger--really better than we thought she was, eh, Margaret?'

said Mr. Hale, anxiously, as she prepared to write the note of

acceptance, the next day.

'Eh! Margaret?' questioned he, with a nervous motion of his

hands. It seemed cruel to refuse him the comfort he craved for.

And besides, his passionate refusal to admit the existence of

fear, almost inspired Margaret herself with hope.

'I do think she is better since last night,' said she. 'Her eyes

look brighter, and her complexion clearer.' 'God bless you,' said her father, earnestly. 'But is it true?

Yesterday was so sultry every one felt ill. It was a most unlucky

day for Mr. Donaldson to see her on.' So he went away to his day's duties, now increased by the

preparation of some lectures he had promised to deliver to the

working people at a neighbouring Lyceum. He had chosen

Ecclesiastical Architecture as his subject, rather more in

accordance with his own taste and knowledge than as falling in

with the character of the place or the desire for particular

kinds of information among those to whom he was to lecture. And

the institution itself, being in debt, was only too glad to get a

gratis course from an educated and accomplished man like Mr.

Hale, let the subject be what it might.




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