'Oh, ma'am, she loved yo', she loved yo', she did indeed!' And
for a long time, Margaret could not get her to say anything more
than this. At last, her sympathy, and Dixon's scolding, forced
out a few facts. Nicholas Higgins had gone out in the morning,
leaving Bessy as well as on the day before. But in an hour she
was taken worse; some neighbour ran to the room where Mary was
working; they did not know where to find her father; Mary had
only come in a few minutes before she died.
'It were a day or two ago she axed to be buried in somewhat o'
yourn. She were never tired o' talking o' yo'. She used to say
yo' were the prettiest thing she'd ever clapped eyes on. She
loved yo' dearly Her last words were, "Give her my affectionate
respects; and keep father fro' drink." Yo'll come and see her,
ma'am. She would ha' thought it a great compliment, I know.' Margaret shrank a little from answering.
'Yes, perhaps I may. Yes, I will. I'll come before tea. But
where's your father, Mary?' Mary shook her head, and stood up to be going.
'Miss Hale,' said Dixon, in a low voice, 'where's the use o' your
going to see the poor thing laid out? I'd never say a word
against it, if it could do the girl any good; and I wouldn't mind
a bit going myself, if that would satisfy her. They've just a
notion, these common folks, of its being a respect to the
departed. Here,' said she, turning sharply round, 'I'll come and
see your sister. Miss Hale is busy, and she can't come, or else
she would.' The girl looked wistfully at Margaret. Dixon's coming might be a
compliment, but it was not the same thing to the poor sister, who
had had her little pangs of jealousy, during Bessy's lifetime, at
the intimacy between her and the young lady.
'No, Dixon!' said Margaret with decision. 'I will go. Mary, you
shall see me this afternoon.' And for fear of her own cowardice,
she went away, in order to take from herself any chance of
changing her determination.