'The meanest thing to which we bid adieu,
Loses its meanness in the parting hour.'
ELLIOTT.
Mrs. Shaw took as vehement a dislike as it was possible for one
of her gentle nature to do, against Milton. It was noisy, and
smoky, and the poor people whom she saw in the streets were
dirty, and the rich ladies over-dressed, and not a man that she
saw, high or low, had his clothes made to fit him. She was sure
Margaret would never regain her lost strength while she stayed in
Milton; and she herself was afraid of one of her old attacks of
the nerves. Margaret must return with her, and that quickly.
This, if not the exact force of her words, was at any rate the
spirit of what she urged on Margaret, till the latter, weak,
weary, and broken-spirited, yielded a reluctant promise that, as
soon as Wednesday was over she would prepare to accompany her
aunt back to town, leaving Dixon in charge of all the
arrangements for paying bills, disposing of furniture, and
shutting up the house. Before that Wednesday--that mournful
Wednesday, when Mr. Hale was to be interred, far away from either
of the homes he had known in life, and far away from the wife who
lay lonely among strangers (and this last was Margaret's great
trouble, for she thought that if she had not given way to that
overwhelming stupor during the first sad days, she could have
arranged things otherwise)--before that Wednesday, Margaret
received a letter from Mr. Bell.
'MY DEAR MARGARET:--I did mean to have returned to Milton on
Thursday, but unluckily it turns out to be one of the rare
occasions when we, Plymouth Fellows, are called upon to perform
any kind of duty, and I must not be absent from my post. Captain
Lennox and Mr. Thornton are here. The former seems a smart,
well-meaning man; and has proposed to go over to Milton, and
assist you in any search for the will; of course there is none,
or you would have found it by this time, if you followed my
directions. Then the Captain declares he must take you and his
mother-in-law home; and, in his wife's present state, I don't see
how you can expect him to remain away longer than Friday.
However, that Dixon of yours is trusty; and can hold her, or your
own, till I come. I will put matters into the hands of my Milton
attorney if there is no will; for I doubt this smart captain is
no great man of business. Nevertheless, his moustachios are
splendid. There will have to be a sale, so select what things you
wish reserved. Or you can send a list afterwards. Now two things
more, and I have done. You know, or if you don't, your poor
father did, that you are to have my money and goods when I die.
Not that I mean to die yet; but I name this lust to explain what
is coming. These Lennoxes seem very fond of you now; and perhaps
may continue to be; perhaps not. So it is best to start with a
formal agreement; namely, that you are to pay them two hundred
and fifty pounds a year, as long as you and they find it pleasant
to live together. (This, of course, includes Dixon; mind you
don't be cajoled into paying any more for her.) Then you won't be
thrown adrift, if some day the captain wishes to have his house
to himself, but you can carry yourself and your two hundred and
fifty pounds off somewhere else; if, indeed, I have not claimed
you to come and keep house for me first. Then as to dress, and
Dixon, and personal expenses, and confectionery (all young ladies
eat confectionery till wisdom comes by age), I shall consult some
lady of my acquaintance, and see how much you will have from your
father before fixing this. Now, Margaret, have you flown out
before you have read this far, and wondered what right the old
man has to settle your affairs for you so cavalierly? I make no
doubt you have. Yet the old man has a right. He has loved your
father for five and thirty years; he stood beside him on his
wedding-day; he closed his eyes in death. Moreover, he is your
godfather; and as he cannot do you much good spiritually, having
a hidden consciousness of your superiority in such things, he
would fain do you the poor good of endowing you materially. And
the old man has not a known relation on earth; "who is there to
mourn for Adam Bell?" and his whole heart is set and bent upon
this one thing, and Margaret Hale is not the girl to say him nay.
Write by return, if only two lines, to tell me your answer. But
no thanks .'