Margaret's hand lay in Frederick's arm. He took hold of it
affectionately.
'Margaret! I am going to consult Mr. Lennox as to the chance of
exculpating myself, so that I may return to England whenever I
choose, more for your sake than for the sake of any one else. I
can't bear to think of your lonely position if anything should
happen to my father. He looks sadly changed--terribly shaken. I
wish you could get him to think of the Cadiz plan, for
many reasons. What could you do if he were taken away? You have
no friend near. We are curiously bare of relations.'
Margaret could hardly keep from crying at the tender anxiety with
which Frederick was bringing before her an event which she
herself felt was not very improbable, so severely had the cares
of the last few months told upon Mr. Hale. But she tried to rally
as she said: 'There have been such strange unexpected changes in my life
during these last two years, that I feel more than ever that it
is not worth while to calculate too closely what I should do if
any future event took place. I try to think only upon the
present.' She paused; they were standing still for a moment,
close on the field side of the stile leading into the road; the
setting sun fell on their faces. Frederick held her hand in his,
and looked with wistful anxiety into her face, reading there more
care and trouble than she would betray by words. She went on: 'We shall write often to one another, and I will promise--for I
see it will set your mind at ease--to tell you every worry I
have. Papa is'--she started a little, a hardly visible start--but
Frederick felt the sudden motion of the hand he held, and turned
his full face to the road, along which a horseman was slowly
riding, just passing the very stile where they stood. Margaret
bowed; her bow was stiffly returned.
'Who is that?' said Frederick, almost before he was out of
hearing. Margaret was a little drooping, a little flushed, as she
replied: 'Mr. Thornton; you saw him before, you know.' 'Only his back. He is an unprepossessing-looking fellow. What a
scowl he has!' 'Something has happened to vex him,' said Margaret,
apologetically. 'You would not have thought him unprepossessing
if you had seen him with mamma.' 'I fancy it must be time to go and take my ticket. If I had known
how dark it would be, we wouldn't have sent back the cab,
Margaret.' 'Oh, don't fidget about that. I can take a cab here, if I like;
or go back by the rail-road, when I should have shops and people
and lamps all the way from the Milton station-house. Don't think
of me; take care of yourself. I am sick with the thought that
Leonards may be in the same train with you. Look well into the
carriage before you get in.' They went back to the station. Margaret insisted upon going into
the full light of the flaring gas inside to take the ticket. Some
idle-looking young men were lounging about with the
stationmaster. Margaret thought she had seen the face of one of
them before, and returned him a proud look of offended dignity
for his somewhat impertinent stare of undisguised admiration. She
went hastily to her brother, who was standing outside, and took
hold of his arm. 'Have you got your bag? Let us walk about here
on the platform,' said she, a little flurried at the idea of so
soon being left alone, and her bravery oozing out rather faster
than she liked to acknowledge even to herself. She heard a step
following them along the flags; it stopped when they stopped,
looking out along the line and hearing the whizz of the coming
train. They did not speak; their hearts were too full. Another
moment, and the train would be here; a minute more, and he would
be gone. Margaret almost repented the urgency with which she had
entreated him to go to London; it was throwing more chances of
detection in his way. If he had sailed for Spain by Liverpool, he
might have been off in two or three hours.