"He feels as if he were pulling one way, and father, backed by the world and the devil, I suppose, the other," she said to herself. Well, after this she would merge her interests in his entirely; there should be no more serving two masters. Perhaps, if she saw her father once, only this once more, he would forgive her, and she would be more at peace.
This one day she would be her own self, her father's Meg; and Margaret Thorpe for ever afterwards. "But I hope the 'ever afterwards' won't be very long," she thought.
CHAPTER VII.
And who shall inherit treasure,
If the measure with which we measure
Is meted to us again?
Tom had taught Meg to drive a little; she managed to harness Molly with some difficulty, and started on the long, lonely road across the marshes, without any fears. She was never afraid of bodily danger.
She was not a good driver, her wrists were too weak; they ached painfully before she was a quarter of the way to N——town, and Molly began to feel them "give," and pulled the harder, recognising that the person at the other end of the reins had not so tight a hand as Tom.
Another hour passed; Meg bit her lips hard, and grew rather pale with the effort she was making to remain mistress of the situation. Molly seemed bent on pulling her arms out. The reins cut her fingers; but what did that matter, when every minute was a minute nearer her father? The road was level and unfrequented, which was fortunate, for she could not possibly have managed the mare downhill.
This last reflection had just occurred to her, when the pace decreased, giving her a momentary sense of relief, followed, however, by the horrible discovery that Molly was going very lame.