“I wonder Mrs. Thornton never calls. She must know I am ill, because of the water-bed.”
“I dare say, she hears how you are from her son.”
“Still, I should like to see her. You have so few friends here, Margaret.”
Margaret felt what was in her mother’s thoughts—a tender craving to bespeak the kindness of some woman towards the daughter that might soon be left motherless. But she could not speak.
“Do you think,” said Mrs. Hale, after a pause, “that you could go and ask Mrs. Thornton to come and see me? Only once—I don’t want to be troublesome.”
“I will do anything, if you wish it, mamma—but if—but when Frederick comes——”
“Ah, to be sure! we must keep our doors shut—we must let no one in. I hardly know whether I dare wish him to come or not. Sometimes I think I would rather not. Sometimes I have such frightful dreams about him.”
“Oh, mamma! we’ll take good care. I will put my arm in the bolt sooner than he should come to the slightest harm. Trust the care of him to me, mamma. I will watch over him like a lioness over her young.”
“When can we hear from him?”
“Not for a week yet, certainly—perhaps more.”