'Yes, sir, twice over, as distinct as could be. I told her I
should call again, but seeing you just as I was on my way back
from questioning the young man who said it was her, I thought I
would ask your advice, both as the magistrate who saw Leonards on
his death-bed, and as the gentleman who got me my berth in the
force.' 'You were quite right,' said Mr. Thornton. 'Don't take any steps
till you have seen me again.' 'The young lady will expect me to call, from what I said.' 'I only want to delay you an hour. It's now three. Come to my
warehouse at four.' 'Very well, sir!' And they parted company. Mr. Thornton hurried to his warehouse,
and, sternly forbidding his clerks to allow any one to interrupt
him, he went his way to his own private room, and locked the
door. Then he indulged himself in the torture of thinking it all
over, and realising every detail. How could he have lulled
himself into the unsuspicious calm in which her tearful image had
mirrored itself not two hours before, till he had weakly pitied
her and yearned towards her, and forgotten the savage,
distrustful jealousy with which the sight of her--and that
unknown to him--at such an hour--in such a place--had inspired
him! How could one so pure have stooped from her decorous and
noble manner of bearing! But was it decorous--was it? He hated
himself for the idea that forced itself upon him, just for an
instant--no more--and yet, while it was present, thrilled him
with its old potency of attraction towards her image. And then
this falsehood--how terrible must be some dread of shame to be
revealed--for, after all, the provocation given by such a man as
Leonards was, when excited by drinking, might, in all
probability, be more than enough to justify any one who came
forward to state the circumstances openly and without reserve!
How creeping and deadly that fear which could bow down the
truthful Margaret to falsehood! He could almost pity her. What
would be the end of it? She could not have considered all she was
entering upon; if there was an inquest and the young man came
forward. Suddenly he started up. There should be no inquest. He
would save Margaret. He would take the responsibility of
preventing the inquest, the issue of which, from the uncertainty
of the medical testimony (which he had vaguely heard the night
before, from the surgeon in attendance), could be but doubtful;
the doctors had discovered an internal disease far advanced, and
sure to prove fatal; they had stated that death might have been
accelerated by the fall, or by the subsequent drinking and
exposure to cold. If he had but known how Margaret would have
become involved in the affair--if he had but foreseen that she
would have stained her whiteness by a falsehood, he could have
saved her by a word; for the question, of inquest or no inquest,
had hung trembling in the balance only the night before. Miss
Hale might love another--was indifferent and contemptuous to
him--but he would yet do her faithful acts of service of which
she should never know. He might despise her, but the woman whom
he had once loved should be kept from shame; and shame it would
be to pledge herself to a lie in a public court, or otherwise to
stand and acknowledge her reason for desiring darkness rather
than light.