'Now, if you please,' said she, 'I must go. Mamma will not see
it, I think. It is under the hair, is it not?' 'Quite; no one could tell.' 'But you must not go,' said Mrs. Thornton, impatiently. 'You are
not fit to go.
'I must,' said Margaret, decidedly. 'Think of mamma. If they
should hear----Besides, I must go,' said she, vehemently. 'I
cannot stay here. May I ask for a cab?' 'You are quite flushed and feverish,' observed Mr. Lowe.
'It is only with being here, when I do so want to go. The
air--getting away, would do me more good than anything,' pleaded
she.
'I really believe it is as she says,' Mr. Lowe replied. 'If her
mother is so ill as you told me on the way here, it may be very
serious if she hears of this riot, and does not see her daughter
back at the time she expects. The injury is not deep. I will
fetch a cab, if your servants are still afraid to go out.' 'Oh, thank you!' said Margaret. 'It will do me more good than
anything. It is the air of this room that makes me feel so
miserable.' She leant back on the sofa, and closed her eyes. Fanny beckoned
her mother out of the room, and told her something that made her
equally anxious with Margaret for the departure of the latter.
Not that she fully believed Fanny's statement; but she credited
enough to make her manner to Margaret appear very much
constrained, at wishing her good-bye.
Mr. Lowe returned in the cab.
'If you will allow me, I will see you home, Miss Hale. The
streets are not very quiet yet.' Margaret's thoughts were quite alive enough to the present to
make her desirous of getting rid of both Mr. Lowe and the cab
before she reached Crampton Crescent, for fear of alarming her
father and mother. Beyond that one aim she would not look. That
ugly dream of insolent words spoken about herself, could never be
forgotten--but could be put aside till she was stronger--for, oh!
she was very weak; and her mind sought for some present fact to
steady itself upon, and keep it from utterly losing consciousness
in another hideous, sickly swoon.