'Nineteen, come July.' 'And I too am nineteen.' She thought, more sorrowfully than Bessy
did, of the contrast between them. She could not speak for a
moment or two for the emotion she was trying to keep down.
'About Mary,' said Bessy. 'I wanted to ask yo' to be a friend to
her. She's seventeen, but she's th' last on us. And I don't want
her to go to th' mill, and yet I dunno what she's fit for.' 'She could not do'--Margaret glanced unconsciously at the
uncleaned corners of the room--'She could hardly undertake a
servant's place, could she? We have an old faithful servant,
almost a friend, who wants help, but who is very particular; and
it would not be right to plague her with giving her any
assistance that would really be an annoyance and an irritation.' 'No, I see. I reckon yo're right. Our Mary's a good wench; but
who has she had to teach her what to do about a house? No mother,
and me at the mill till I were good for nothing but scolding her
for doing badly what I didn't know how to do a bit. But I wish
she could ha' lived wi' yo', for all that.' 'But even though she may not be exactly fitted to come and live
with us as a servant--and I don't know about that--I will always
try and be a friend to her for your sake, Bessy. And now I must
go. I will come again as soon as I can; but if it should not be
to-morrow, or the next day, or even a week or a fortnight hence,
don't think I've forgotten you. I may be busy.' 'I'll know yo' won't forget me again. I'll not mistrust yo' no
more. But remember, in a week or a fortnight I may be dead and
buried!' 'I'll come as soon as I can, Bessy,' said Margaret, squeezing her
hand tight.
'But you'll let me know if you are worse.
'Ay, that will I,' said Bessy, returning the pressure.
From that day forwards Mrs. Hale became more and more of a
suffering invalid. It was now drawing near to the anniversary of
Edith's marriage, and looking back upon the year's accumulated
heap of troubles, Margaret wondered how they had been borne. If
she could have anticipated them, how she would have shrunk away
and hid herself from the coming time! And yet day by day had, of
itself, and by itself, been very endurable--small, keen, bright
little spots of positive enjoyment having come sparkling into the
very middle of sorrows. A year ago, or when she first went to
Helstone, and first became silently conscious of the
querulousness in her mother's temper, she would have groaned
bitterly over the idea of a long illness to be borne in a
strange, desolate, noisy, busy place, with diminished comforts on
every side of the home life. But with the increase of serious and
just ground of complaint, a new kind of patience had sprung up in
her mother's mind. She was gentle and quiet in intense bodily
suffering, almost in proportion as she had been restless and
depressed when there had been no real cause for grief. Mr. Hale
was in exactly that stage of apprehension which, in men of his
stamp, takes the shape of wilful blindness. He was more irritated
than Margaret had ever known him at his daughter's expressed
anxiety.