“Would I did not!”
“O Margaret!—but you are sick; you are very feverish. Your eyeballs glare like coals of fire; your face seems charged with blood. I am afraid you are going to have another attack, like the last.”
“Be not afraid. I have no such fear.”
“I will sit with you, at least,” said the kind-hearted woman.
“Nay, that I must positively forbid, Mrs. Thackeray; I will not suffer it. I will not sit with YOU. Go you to church. You will be late. Do not waste your time on me. I mean to ramble among the hills this morning. THAT, I think, will do me more good than anything else. There, I am sure—there only—I will find peace.”
The worthy widow shook her head doubtfully.
“But I am sure of it,” said Margaret. “You will see. Peace, peace—the repose of the heart—the slumber of the brain!—I shall find all there!”
Mrs. Thackeray, finding her inflexible, rose to depart, but with some irresoluteness.
“If you would let me walk with you, Margaret—”
“No! no!—dear Mrs. Thackeray—I thank you very much; but, with a mood such as mine, I shall be much better alone.”