“What made you go down at all? It was putting your head into the lion’s mouth!”
He glanced sharply at her; saw that she did not know what had passed between him and Margaret in the drawing-room: and replied by another question:
“Shall you be afraid to be left without me, until I can get some of the police; or had we better send Williams for them now, and they could be here by the time we have done tea? There’s no time to be lost. I must be off in a quarter of an hour.”
Mrs. Thornton left the room. Her servants wondered at her directions, usually so sharply-cut and decided, now confused and uncertain. Mr. Thornton remained in the dining-room, trying to think of the business he had to do at the police-office, and in reality thinking of Margaret. Everything seemed dim and vague beyond—behind—besides the touch of her arms round his neck—the soft clinging which made the dark colour come and go in his cheek as he thought of it.
The tea would have been very silent, but for Fanny’s perpetual description of her own feelings; how she had been alarmed—and then thought they were gone—and then felt sick and faint and trembling in every limb.
“There, that’s enough,” said her brother, rising from the table. “The reality was enough for me.” He was going to leave the room, when his mother stopped him with her hand upon his arm.
“You will come back here before you go to the Hales’,” said she, in a low, anxious voice.
“I know what I know,” said Fanny to herself.
“Why? Will it be too late to disturb them?”
“John, come back to me for this one evening. It will be late for Mrs. Hale. But that is not it. To-morrow, you will—— Come back to-night, John!” She had seldom pleaded with her son at all—she was too proud for that; but she had never pleaded in vain.