第7章 CHAPTER II ROSES AND THORNS (3)
When Margaret had been here before, she had brought down with her agreat box of books, recommended by masters or governess, and hadfound the summer\"s day all too short to get through the reading she hadto do before her return to town. Now there were only the well-boundlittle-read English Classics, which were weeded out of her father\"slibrary to fill up the small book-shelves in the drawing-room.
Thomson\"s Seasons, Hayley\"s Cowper, Middleton\"s Cicero, were by farthe lightest, newest, and most amusing. The book-shelves did not affordmuch resource. Margaret told her mother every particular of her Londonlife, to all of which Mrs. Hale listened with interest, sometimes amusedand questioning, at others a little inclined to compare her sister\"scircumstances of ease and comfort with the narrower means at Helstonevicarage. On such evenings Margaret was apt to stop talking ratherabruptly, and listen to the drip-drip of the rain upon the leads of thelittle bow-window. Once or twice Margaret found herself mechanicallycounting the repetition of the monotonous sound, while she wondered ifshe might venture to put a question on a subject very near to her heart,and ask where Frederick was now; what he was doing; how long it wassince they had heard from him. But a consciousness that her mother\"sdelicate health, and positive dislike to Helstone, all dated from the timeof the mutiny in which Frederick had been engaged,--the full account ofwhich Margaret had never heard, and which now seemed doomed to beburied in sad oblivion,--made her pause and turn away from the subjecteach time she approached it. When she was with her mother, her fatherseemed the best person to apply to for information; and when with him,
she thought that she could speak more easily to her mother. Probablythere was nothing much to be heard that was new. In one of the lettersshe had received before leaving Harley Street, her father had told herthat they had heard from Frederick; he was still at Rio, and very well inhealth, and sent his best love to her; which was dry bones, but not theliving intelligence she longed for. Frederick was always spoken of, inthe rare times when his name was mentioned, as \"Poor Frederick.\" Hisroom was kept exactly as he had left it; and was regularly dusted, andput into order by Dixon, Mrs. Hale\"s maid, who touched no other part ofthe household work, but always remembered the day when she had beenengaged by Lady Beresford as ladies\" maid to Sir John\"s wards, thepretty Miss Beresfords, the belles of Rutlandshire. Dixon had alwaysconsidered Mr. Hale as the blight which had fallen upon her younglady\"s prospects in life. If Miss Beresford had not been in such a hurryto marry a poor country clergyman, there was no knowing what shemight not have become. But Dixon was too loyal to desert her in heraffliction and downfall (alias her married life). She remained with her,and was devoted to her interests; always considering herself as the goodand protecting fairy, whose duty it was to baffle the malignant giant,Mr. Hale. Master Frederick had been her favorite and pride; and it waswith a little softening of her dignified look and manner, that she went inweekly to arrange the chamber as carefully as if he might be cominghome that very evening.
Margaret could not help believing that there had been some lateintelligence of Frederick, unknown to her mother, which was makingher father anxious and uneasy. Mrs. Hale did not seem to perceive anyalteration in her husband\"s looks or ways. His spirits were always tenderand gentle, readily affected by any small piece of intelligenceconcerning the welfare of others. He would be depressed for many daysafter witnessing a death-bed, or hearing of any crime. But now Margaretnoticed an absence of mind, as if his thoughts were pre-occupied bysome subject, the oppression of which could not be relieved by anydaily action, such as comforting the survivors, or teaching at the schoolin hope of lessening the evils in the generation to come. Mr. Hale didnot go out among his parishioners as much as usual; he was more shutup in his study; was anxious for the village postman, whose summonsto the house-hold was a rap on the back-kitchen window-shutter--asignal which at one time had often to be repeated before any one wassufficiently alive to the hour of the day to understand what it was, andattend to him. Now Mr. Hale loitered about the garden if the morningwas fine, and if not, stood dreamily by the study window until thepostman had called, or gone down the lane, giving a half-respectful,half-confidential shake of the head to the parson, who watched him
away beyond the sweet-briar hedge, and past the great arbutus, beforehe turned into the room to begin his day\"s work, with all the signs of aheavy heart and an occupied mind.
But Margaret was at an age when any apprehension, not absolutelybased on a knowledge of facts, is easily banished for a time by a brightsunny day, or some happy outward circumstance. And when thebrilliant fourteen fine days of October came on, her cares were allblown away as lightly as thistledown, and she thought of nothing butthe glories of the forest. The fern-harvest was over, and now that therain was gone, many a deep glade was accessible, into which Margarethad only peeped in July and August weather. She had learnt drawingwith Edith; and she had sufficiently regretted, during the gloom of thebad weather, her idle revelling in the beauty of the woodlands while ithad yet been fine, to make her determined to sketch what she couldbefore winter fairly set in. Accordingly, she was busy preparing herboard one morning, when Sarah, the housemaid, threw wide open thedrawing-room door and announced, \"Mr. Henry Lennox.\"