It roused Mr. Thorpe, who had paid little attention to any one or anything of late; it filled Tom with illogical compunction. The woman who cared so for her father couldn't be "light" after all, he said to himself. But Barnabas drew his fair eyebrows together, frowning as if in pain.
"She's pining after her own people, an' she'll go back to 'em, an' leave you to whistle for her." It had come.
"No, no; ye are mine, not theirs!" he cried. "I'll not let ye go." And there was in his voice the defiance of a man who strives against a closing fate.
"Shame on ye, Barnabas!" said Mr. Thorpe; and with that he put his arm round Margaret. "She's in th' right. If her father's ill, it's a sin to keep her back. Ye'll have to let her go."
"I'll not have any man," said Barnabas, "interfere atwixt me an' her. Not you or any man. Do 'ee think my maid needs you to stand up for her? Margaret!"
Meg drew herself up and put her hands to her eyes, as if their vision were still a little misty.
"I am sorry I made such a fuss," she said. "I—I was taken by surprise—I didn't know that father was ill. I should like to think over the news by myself. No, don't come, please!" And she went out of the room, shutting the door softly after her.
"Well! we all seem to ha' got very put about!" Tom said ruefully; but Mr. Thorpe looked at his younger son with a fiery indignation that, somehow, brought out an odd likeness between the two men who were usually so dissimilar.
"Ye are just mad wi' jealousy o' the poor little lady's own father," he said. "Ye did her a cruel wrong by marrying her, an' now ye add to it! Ye were wrong-headed an' obstinate from a lad, Barnabas! I pity the lass wi' all my heart. She's like a caged bird here, wi' never a chance o' being set free."
"There's only one thing 'ud do that," said Barnabas. "The fever might ha' led to it—but it didn't; it wasn't my fault it didn't. A man hasn't leave to open that door himsel', but I ha' never ta'en over much care o' my life." He turned away heavily; his anger, which, after all, was made up of pain and love, had died as suddenly as it had risen; but he went out with a sore heart.