Mrs. Fowler placed the nosegay close to Margaret's hand, and her thin fingers fastened around the stems of the flowers, then her tired eyes closed, and she slept once more.
From that hour, Margaret commenced to recover. For days, she was too weak to move hand or foot—too weak almost to think; but by-and-by, with returning strength, she began to notice more what was going on around her. The tormenting thought that Gerald was dead had left her entirely, and she was conscious that it had been her mother who had nursed her so tenderly all along, and not a figure of her imagination as she had at first thought.
She watched Mrs. Fowler with an inquiring expression which that lady failed to interpret, but which made her both anxious and uneasy. It was as though Margaret wondered at her solicitude, and was trying to find a reason for it. And as the little girl grew better, it was quite apparent that she preferred to have Miss Conway or Ross in attendance upon her to Mrs. Fowler. It was always—"Don't trouble, mother, Ross will do it," or "Miss Conway will read to me, I know." Till, deeply hurt, Mrs. Fowler made up her mind that she had for ever destroyed her little daughter's affection. And once Margaret had loved her so dearly, too!
On the first occasion on which the patient was allowed to sit out in a chair by the fire, Mrs. Fowler wrapped her in a dressing-gown made of quilted silk which she had brought home for her from London. Margaret expressed great pleasure in the pretty garment, and called everyone's attention to it. Her father sat with her for a short while, and Gerald, at his earnest request, was permitted ten minutes of her society.
"How white you look!" the latter exclaimed, regarding her with awe. "And your eyes are so big! But you're heaps better, aren't you, Margaret?"
"Oh, yes!" she answered, smiling brightly.
"That's right. I prayed to God to make you well, and so did everyone, I think."
"That was very kind of everyone," Margaret murmured, much touched.
"Josiah Petherick's drunk nearly every night now," Gerald next informed his sister. "I heard Mr. Amyatt tell father so."
"Oh, dear!" cried Margaret in much distress. "Poor Salome!" At that moment, she caught her mother's eyes, and the sensitive colour flooded her face from chin to brow. Noticing the painful blush, Mrs. Fowler turned away, and walking to the window, gazed out unseeingly, her mind a tumult of conflicting thoughts.