第71章 CHAPTER XXI THE DARK NIGHT (3)
\"What can we do to spare mamma such another night?\" asked Margareton the third day.
\"It is, to a certain degree, the reaction after the powerful opiates I havebeen obliged to use. It is more painful for you to see than for her tobear, I believe. But, I think, if we could get a water-bed it might be agood thing. Not but what she will be better to-morrow; pretty much likeherself as she was before this attack. Still, I should like her to have awater-bed. Mrs. Thornton has one, I know. I\"ll try and call there thisafternoon. Stay,\" said he, his eye catching on Margaret\"s face, blanched
with watching in a sick room, \"I\"m not sure whether I can go; I\"ve a longround to take. It would do you no harm to have a brisk walk toMarlborough Street, and ask Mrs. Thornton if she can spare it.\"
\"Certainly,\" said Margaret. \"I could go while mamma is asleep thisafternoon. I\"m sure Mrs. Thornton would lend it to us.\"
Dr. Donaldson\"s experience told them rightly. Mrs. Hale seemed toshake off the consequences of her attack, and looked brighter and betterthis afternoon than Margaret had ever hoped to see her again. Herdaughter left her after dinner, sitting in her easy chair, with her handlying in her husband\"s, who looked more worn and suffering than she byfar. Still, he could smile now-rather slowly, rather faintly, it is true; buta day or two before, Margaret never thought to see him smile again.
It was about two miles from their house in Crampton Crescent toMarlborough Street. It was too hot to walk very quickly. An August sunbeat straight down into the street at three o\"clock in the afternoon.
Margaret went along, without noticing anything very different fromusual in the first mile and a half of her journey; she was absorbed in herown thoughts, and had learnt by this time to thread her way through theirregular stream of human beings that flowed through Milton streets.
But, by and by, she was struck with an unusual heaving among the massof people in the crowded road on which she was entering. They did notappear to be moving on, so much as talking, and listening, and buzzingwith excitement, without much stirring from the spot where they mighthappen to be. Still, as they made way for her, and, wrapt up in thepurpose of her errand, and the necessities that suggested it, she was lessquick of observation than she might have been, if her mind had been atease, she had got into Marlborough Street before the full convictionforced itself upon her, that there was a restless, oppressive sense ofirritation abroad among the people; a thunderous atmosphere, morallyas well as physically, around her. From every narrow lane opening outon Marlborough Street came up a low distant roar, as of myriads offierce indignant voices. The inhabitants of each poor squalid dwellingwere gathered round the doors and windows, if indeed they were notactually standing in the middle of the narrow ways--all with looks intenttowards one point. Marlborough Street itself was the focus of all thosehuman eyes, that betrayed intensest interest of various kinds; somefierce with anger, some lowering with relentless threats, some dilatedwith fear, or imploring entreaty; and, as Margaret reached the small side-entrance by the folding doors, in the great dead wall of Marlboroughmill-yard and waited the porter\"s answer to the bell, she looked roundand heard the first long far-off roll of the tempest;--saw the first slow-surging wave of the dark crowd come, with its threatening crest, tumbleover, and retreat, at the far end of the street, which a moment ago,
seemed so full of repressed noise, but which now was ominously still;all these circumstances forced themselves on Margaret\"s notice, but didnot sink down into her pre-occupied heart. She did not know what theymeant--what was their deep significance; while she did know, did feelthe keen sharp pressure of the knife that was soon to stab her throughand through by leaving her motherless. She was trying to realise that, inorder that, when it came, she might be ready to comfort her father.
The porter opened the door cautiously, not nearly wide enough to admither.
\"It\"s you, is it, ma\"am?\" said he, drawing a long breath, and widening theentrance, but still not opening it fully. Margaret went in. He hastilybolted it behind her.
\"Th\" folk are all coming up here I reckon?\" asked he.
\"I don\"t know. Something unusual seemed going on; but this street isquite empty, I think.\"
She went across the yard and up the steps to the house door. There wasno near sound,--no steam-engine at work with beat and pant,--no clickof machinery, or mingling and clashing of many sharp voices; but faraway, the ominous gathering roar, deep-clamouring.