"I do not try to escape from anything," said she. "I simply say, that youowe me no gratitude; and I may add, that any expression of it will bepainful to me, because I do not feel that I deserve it. Still, if it willrelieve you from even a fancied obligation, speak on."
"I do not want to be relieved from any obligation," said he, goaded byher calm manner. Fancied, or not fancied--I question not myself toknow which--I choose to believe that I owe my very life to you--ay-smile,and think it an exaggeration if you will. I believe it, because itadds a value to that life to think--oh, Miss Hale!" continued he, loweringhis voice to such a tender intensity of passion that she shivered andtrembled before him, "to think circumstance so wrought, that whenever Iexult in existence henceforward, I may say to myself, "All this gladnessin life, all honest pride in doing my work in the world, all this keensense of being, I owe to her!" And it doubles the gladness, it makes thepride glow, it sharpens the sense of existence till I hardly know if it ispain or pleasure, to think that I owe it to one--nay, you must, you shallhear"--said he, stepping forwards with stern determination--"to onewhom I love, as I do not believe man ever loved woman before." Heheld her hand tight in his. He panted as he listened for what shouldcome. He threw the hand away with indignation, as he heard her icytone; for icy it was, though the words came faltering out, as if she knewnot where to find them.
"Your way of speaking shocks me. It is blasphemous. I cannot help it, ifthat is my first feeling. It might not be so, I dare say, if I understood thekind of feeling you describe. I do not want to vex you; and besides, wemust speak gently, for mamma is asleep; but your whole manneroffends me--"
"How!" exclaimed he. "Offends you! I am indeed most unfortunate."
"Yes!" said she, with recovered dignity. "I do feel offended; and, I think,justly. You seem to fancy that my conduct of yesterday"--again the deepcarnation blush, but this time with eyes kindling with indignation ratherthan shame--"was a personal act between you and me; and that you maycome and thank me for it, instead of perceiving, as a gentleman would-yes!
a gentleman," she repeated, in allusion to their former conversationabout that word, "that any woman, worthy of the name of woman, wouldcome forward to shield, with her reverenced helplessness, a man indanger from the violence of numbers."
"And the gentleman thus rescued is forbidden the relief of thanks!" hebroke in contemptuously. "I am a man. I claim the right of expressingmy feelings."
"And I yielded to the right; simply saying that you gave me pain byinsisting upon it," she replied, proudly. "But you seem to have imagined,that I was not merely guided by womanly instinct, but"--and here thepassionate tears (kept down for long--struggled with vehemently) cameup into her eyes, and choked her voice--"but that I was prompted bysome particular feeling for you--you! Why, there was not a man--not apoor desperate man in all that crowd--for whom I had not moresympathy--for whom I should not have done what little I could moreheartily."
"You may speak on, Miss Hale. I am aware of all these misplacedsympathies of yours. I now believe that it was only your innate sense ofoppression--(yes; I, though a master, may be oppressed)--that made youact so nobly as you did. I know you despise me; allow me to say, it isbecause you do not understand me."
"I do not care to understand," she replied, taking hold of the table tosteady herself; for she thought him cruel--as, indeed, he was--and shewas weak with her indignation.
"No, I see you do not. You are unfair and unjust."
Margaret compressed her lips. She would not speak in answer to suchaccusations. But, for all that--for all his savage words, he could havethrown himself at her feet, and kissed the hem of her wounded pride fellhot and fast. He waited awhile, longing for garment. She did not speak;she did not move. The tears of her to say something, even a taunt, towhich he might reply. But she was silent. He took up his hat.
"One word more. You look as if you thought it tainted you to be lovedby me. You cannot avoid it. Nay, I, if I would, cannot cleanse you fromit. But I would not, if I could. I have never loved any woman before: mylife has been too busy, my thoughts too much absorbed with otherthings. Now I love, and will love. But do not be afraid of too muchexpression on my part."
"I am not afraid," she replied, lifting herself straight up. "No one yet hasever dared to be impertinent to me, and no one ever shall. But, Mr.
Thornton, you have been very kind to my father," said she, changing herwhole tone and bearing to a most womanly softness. "Don"t let us go onmaking each other angry. Pray don"t!" He took no notice of her words:
he occupied himself in smoothing the nap of his hat with his coat-sleeve, for half a minute or so; and then, rejecting her offered hand, andmaking as if he did not see her grave look of regret, he turned abruptlyaway, and left the room. Margaret caught one glance at his face beforehe went.
When he was gone, she thought she had seen the gleam of washed tearsin his eyes; and that turned her proud dislike into something differentand kinder, if nearly as painful--self-reproach for having caused suchmortification to any one.
"But how could I help it?" asked she of herself. "I never liked him. I wascivil; but I took no trouble to conceal my indifference. Indeed, I neverthought about myself or him, so my manners must have shown thetruth. All that yesterday, he might mistake. But that is his fault, notmine. I would do it again, if need were, though it does lead me into allthis shame and trouble."
