But now had come one of those periods of bad trade, when the market falling brought down the value of all large stocks; Mr. Thornton’s fell to nearly half.  No orders were coming in; so he lost the interest of the capital he had locked up in machinery; indeed, it was difficult to get payment for the orders completed; yet there was the constant drain of expenses for working the business.  Then the bills became due for the cotton he had purchased; and money being scarce, he could only borrow at exorbitant interest, and yet he could not realise any of his property.  But he did not despair; he exerted himself day and night to foresee and to provide for all emergencies; he was as calm and gentle to the women in his home as ever; to the workmen in his mill he spoke not many words, but they knew him by this time; and many a curt, decided answer was received by them rather with sympathy for the care they saw pressing upon him, than with the suppressed antagonism which had formerly been smouldering, and ready for hard words and hard judgments on all occasions.  ‘Th’ measter’s a deal to potter him,’ said Higgins, one day, as he heard Mr. Thornton’s short, sharp inquiry, why such a command had not been obeyed; and caught the sound of the suppressed sigh which he heaved in going past the room where some of the men were working.  Higgins and another man stopped over-hours that night, unknown to any one, to get the neglected piece of work done; and Mr. Thornton never knew but that the overlooker, to whom he had given the command in the first instance, had done it himself

‘Eh!  I reckon I know who’d ha’ been sorry for to see our measter sitting so like a piece o’ grey calico!  Th’ ou’d parson would ha’ fretted his woman’s heart out, if he’d seen the woeful looks I have seen on our measter’s face,’ thought Higgins, one day, as he was approaching Mr. Thornton in Marlborough Street.

‘Measter,’ said he, stopping his employer in his quick resolved walk, and causing that gentleman to look up with a sudden annoyed start, as if his thoughts had been far away.

‘Have yo’ heerd aught of Miss Marget lately?’

‘Miss—­who?’ replied Mr. Thornton.

‘Miss Marget—­Miss Hale—­th’ oud parson’s daughter—­yo known who I mean well enough, if yo’ll only think a bit—­’ (there was nothing disrespectful in the tone in which this was said).

‘Oh yes!’ and suddenly, the wintry frost-bound look of care had left Mr. Thornton’s face, as if some soft summer gale had blown all anxiety away from his mind; and though his mouth was as much compressed as before, his eyes smiled out benignly on his questioner.

’She’s my landlord now, you know, Higgins.  I hear of her through her agent here, every now and then.  She’s well and among friends—­thank you, Higgins.’  That ‘thank you’ that lingered after the other words, and yet came with so much warmth of feeling, let in a new light to the acute Higgins.  It might be but a will-o’-th’-wisp, but he thought he would follow it and ascertain whither it would lead him.