第87章 CHAPTER I MOTHER AND SON(2)
Mrs. Thornton\"s place as mistress of the house, was only one of the richconsequences which decked out the supreme glory; all household plentyand comfort, all purple and fine linen, honour, love, obedience, troopsof friends, would all come as naturally as jewels on a king\"s robe, andbe as little thought of for their separate value. To be chosen by John,would separate a kitchen-wench from the rest of the world. And MissHale was not so bad. If she had been a Milton lass, Mrs. Thorntonwould have positively liked her. She was pungent, and had taste, andspirit, and flavour in her. True, she was sadly prejudiced, andveryignorant; but that was to be expected from her southern breeding. Astrange sort of mortified comparison of Fanny with her, went on in Mrs.
Thornton\"s mind; and for once she spoke harshly to her daughter;abused her roundly; and then, as if by way of penance, she took upHenry\"s Commentaries, and tried to fix her attention on it, instead ofpursuing the employment she took pride and pleasure in, and continuingher inspection of the table-linen.
His step at last! She heard him, even while she thought she wasfinishing a sentence; while her eye did pass over it, and her memorycould mechanically have repeated it word for word, she heard him comein at the hall-door. Her quickened sense could interpret every sound ofmotion: now he was at the hat-stand--now at the very room-door. Whydid he pause? Let her know the worst.
Yet her head was down over the book; she did not look up. He cameclose to the table, and stood still there, waiting till she should havefinished the paragraph which apparently absorbed her. By an effort shelooked up. Well, John?\"
He knew what that little speech meant. But he had steeled himself. Helonged to reply with a jest; the bitterness of his heart could have utteredone, but his mother deserved better of him. He came round behind her,so that she could not see his looks, and, bending back her gray, stonyface, he kissed it, murmuring:
\"No one loves me,--no one cares for me, but you, mother.\"
He turned away and stood leaning his head against the mantel-piece,tears forcing themselves into his manly eyes. She stood up,--shetottered. For the first time in her life, the strong woman tottered. She puther hands on his shoulders; she was a tall woman. She looked into hisface; she made him look at her.
\"Mother\"s love is given by God, John. It holds fast for ever and ever. Agirl\"s love is like a puff of smoke,--it changes with every wind. And shewould not have you, my own lad, would not she?\" She set her teeth; sheshowed them like a dog for the whole length of her mouth. He shookhis head.
\"I am not fit for her, mother; I knew I was not.\"
She ground out words between her closed teeth. He could not hear whatshe said; but the look in her eyes interpreted it to be a curse,--if not ascoarsely worded, as fell in intent as ever was uttered. And yet her heartleapt up light, to know he was her own again.
\"Mother!\" said he, hurriedly, \"I cannot hear a word against her. Spare me,-spare me! I am very weak in my sore heart;--I love her yet; I love hermore than ever.\"
\"And I hate her,\" said Mrs. Thornton, in a low fierce voice. \"I tried not tohate her, when she stood between you and me, because,--I said tomyself,--she will make him happy; and I would give my heart\"s blood todo that. But now, I hate her for your misery\"s sake. Yes, John, it\"s no usehiding up your aching heart from me. I am the mother that bore you,and your sorrow is my agony; and if you don\"t hate her, I do.\"
\"Then, mother, you make me love her more. She is unjustly treated byyou, and I must make the balance even. But why do we talk of love orhatred? She does not care for me, and that is enough,--too much. Let usnever name the subject again. It is the only thing you can do for me inthe matter. Let us never name her.\"
\"With all my heart. I only wish that she, and all belonging to her, wereswept back to the place they came from.\"
He stood still, gazing into the fire for a minute or two longer. Her drydim eyes filled with unwonted tears as she looked at him; but sheseemed just as grim and quiet as usual when he next spoke.
\"Warrants are out against three men for conspiracy, mother. The riotyesterday helped to knock up the strike.\"
And Margaret\"s name was no more mentioned between Mrs. Thorntonand her son. They fell back into their usual mode of talk,--about facts,not opinions, far less feelings. Their voices and tones were calm andcold a stranger might have gone away and thought that he had neverseen such frigid indifference of demeanour between such near relations.