'And this imagination of power, this practical realisation of a
gigantic thought, came out of one man's brain in our good town.
That very man has it within him to mount, step by step, on each
wonder he achieves to higher marvels still. And I'll be bound to
say, we have many among us who, if he were gone, could spring
into the breach and carry on the war which compels, and shall
compel, all material power to yield to science.' 'Your boast reminds me of the old lines--"I've a hundred
captains in England," he said, "As good as ever was he."' At her father's quotation Margaret looked suddenly up, with
inquiring wonder in her eyes. How in the world had they got from
cog-wheels to Chevy Chace?
'It is no boast of mine,' replied Mr. Thornton; 'it is plain
matter-of-fact. I won't deny that I am proud of belonging to a
town--or perhaps I should rather say a district--the necessities
of which give birth to such grandeur of conception. I would
rather be a man toiling, suffering--nay, failing and
successless--here, than lead a dull prosperous life in the old
worn grooves of what you call more aristocratic society down in
the South, with their slow days of careless ease. One may be
clogged with honey and unable to rise and fly.' 'You are mistaken,' said Margaret, roused by the aspersion on her
beloved South to a fond vehemence of defence, that brought the
colour into her cheeks and the angry tears into her eyes. 'You do
not know anything about the South. If there is less adventure or
less progress--I suppose I must not say less excitement--from the
gambling spirit of trade, which seems requisite to force out
these wonderful inventions, there is less suffering also. I see
men h ere going about in the streets who look ground down by some
pinching sorrow or care--who are not only sufferers but haters.
Now, in the South we have our poor, but there is not that
terrible expression in their countenances of a sullen sense of
injustice which I see here. You do not know the South, Mr.
Thornton,' she concluded, collapsing into a determined silence,
and angry with herself for having said so much.
'And may I say you do not know the North?' asked he, with an
inexpressible gentleness in his tone, as he saw that he had
really hurt her. She continued resolutely silent; yearning after
the lovely haunts she had left far away in Hampshire, with a
passionate longing that made her feel her voice would be unsteady
and trembling if she spoke.