“And they are quite welcome, I am sure, my dear, as long as they do not meddle with my master’s name. That is, as he says, all over now. After this, however, the people in Deerbrook will be more ready to trust in my master’s skill and kindness than in Sir William Hunter’s grandeur and money, which can do little to save them in time of need.”
Margaret explained how ignorantly the poor in the neighbourhood had relied on the fortune-tellers, who had only duped them; how that which would have been religion in them if they had been early taught, and which would have enabled them to rely on the only power which really can save, had been degraded by ignorance into a foolish and pernicious superstition. Morris hoped that this also was over now. She had met some of these conjurors on the Blickley road; and seen others breaking up their establishment in the lanes, and turning their backs upon Deerbrook. Whether they were scared away by the mortality of the place, or had found the tide of fortune-telling beginning to turn, mattered nothing as long as they were gone.
The tea-table was cleared, and Morris and Margaret were admiring the baby as he slept, when Hester and her husband returned. Mrs Howell was very unwell, and likely to be worse. All attempts to bring Miss Miskin to reason, and induce her to enter her friend’s room, were in vain. She bestowed abundance of tears, tremors, and foreboding on Mrs Howell’s state and prospects, but shut herself up in a fumigated apartment, where she promised to pray for a good result, and to await it. The maid was a hearty lass, who would sit up willingly, under Hester’s promise that she should be relieved in the morning. The girl’s fear was of not being able to satisfy her mistress, whom it was not so easy to nurse as it might have been, from her insisting on having everything arranged precisely as it was in her poor dear Howell’s last illness. As Miss Miskin had refused to enter the chamber, Hester had been obliged to search a chest of drawers for Mr Howell’s last dressing-gown, which Miss Miskin had promised should be mended and aired, and ready for wear by the morning.
“Margaret!” cried Hester, as her sister was lighting her candle. The exclamation made Edward turn round, and brought back Morris into the parlour after saying ‘Good-night.’ “Margaret! your ring?”
There was as much joy as shame in Margaret’s crimson blush. She let her sister examine the turquoise, and said:
“Yes, this is the boon of to-day.”
“Edward’s hundred pounds has come,” said Hester: “but that is nothing to this.”
Margaret’s eyes thanked her. She just explained that poor Platt had been the thief, and had restored it to her before he died, and that she could get no explanation, no tidings of Hester’s watch; and she was gone.
“Dr Levitt’s early stir about this ring prevented its being disposed of, I have no doubt,” said Edward. “If so, it is yet possible that we may recover your watch. I will speak to Dr Levitt in the morning.”
“Dear Margaret!” said Hester. “She is now drinking in the hue of that turquoise, and blessing it for being unchanged. She regards this recovery of it as a good omen, I see; and far be it from us to mock at such a superstition!”