Mrs. Thornton left the room.  Her servants wondered at her directions, usually so sharply-cut and decided, now confused and uncertain.  Mr. Thornton remained in the dining-room, trying to think of the business he had to do at the police-office, and in reality thinking of Margaret.  Everything seemed dim and vague beyond—­behind—­besides the touch of her arms round his neck—­the soft clinging which made the dark colour come and go in his cheek as he thought of it.

The tea would have been very silent, but for Fanny’s perpetual description of her own feelings; how she had been alarmed—­and then thought they were gone—­and then felt sick and faint and trembling in every limb.

‘There, that’s enough,’ said her brother, rising from the table.  ‘The reality was enough for me.’  He was going to leave the room, when his mother stopped him with her hand upon his arm.

‘You will come back here before you go to the Hales’, said she, in a low, anxious voice.

‘I know what I know,’ said Fanny to herself.

‘Why?  Will it be too late to disturb them?’

’John, come back to me for this one evening.  It will be late for Mrs. Hale.  But that is not it.  To-morrow, you will——­Come back to-night, John!’ She had seldom pleaded with her son at all—­she was too proud for that:  but she had never pleaded in vain.

’I will return straight here after I have done my business You will be sure to inquire after them?—­after her?’

Mrs. Thornton was by no means a talkative companion to Fanny, nor yet a good listener while her son was absent.  But on his return, her eyes and ears were keen to see and to listen to all the details which he could give, as to the steps he had taken to secure himself, and those whom he chose to employ, from any repetition of the day’s outrages.  He clearly saw his object.  Punishment and suffering, were the natural consequences to those who had taken part in the riot.  All that was necessary, in order that property should be protected, and that the will of the proprietor might cut to his end, clean and sharp as a sword.

’Mother!  You know what I have got to say to Miss Hale, to-morrow?’ The question came upon her suddenly, during a pause in which she, at least, had forgotten Margaret.

She looked up at him.

‘Yes!  I do.  You can hardly do otherwise.’

‘Do otherwise!  I don’t understand you.’

’I mean that, after allowing her feelings so to overcome her, I consider you bound in honour—­’

‘Bound in honour,’ said he, scornfully.  ’I’m afraid honour has nothing to do with it.  “Her feelings overcome her!” What feelings do you mean?’

’Nay, John, there is no need to be angry.  Did she not rush down, and cling to you to save you from danger?’

‘She did!’ said he.  ‘But, mother,’ continued he, stopping short in his walk right in front of her, ’I dare not hope.  I never was fainthearted before; but I cannot believe such a creature cares for me.’