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Turn Of The Tide, The

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<h2>261CHAPTER XXXV</h2> When Margaret and Patty went home three days later they were accompanied by a beautiful girl, whose dark eyes carried a peculiar appeal in their velvety depths. Some of the passengers in the car that day wondered at such an expression on the face of one so young and so lovely, but when the girl rose and moved down the aisle, they wondered no longer. She was lame, and in every movement her slender form seemed to shrink from curious eyes. Margaret had found her little friend far from strong. Arabella had been taxing her strength to the utmost, assisting the missionary through the day, and attending night school in the evening. She had worked and studied hard, and the strain was telling on her already frail constitution. All this Margaret saw at once and declared that Arabella must come home with them to the Mill House. “But I couldn’t,” the girl had objected. “I couldn’t be a burden to you and Patty.” 262 “Oh, but you won’t be,” Margaret had returned promptly. “You’re going to be a help to Patty and me. The Mill House needs you. The work is increasing, and we haven’t teachers enough.” “Oh, then I’ll come,” the girl had sighed contentedly—nor did she know that before night Margaret had found and engaged still another teacher, lest Arabella, when she joined the Mill House family, should find too much to do. Almost the first piece of news that Margaret heard upon her return was that the family were back at Hilcrest, and that Mrs. Merideth had already driven down to the Mill House three times in hopes to get tidings of Margaret’s coming. When Mrs. Merideth drove down the fourth time Margaret herself was there, and went back with her to Hilcrest. “My dear child, how dreadfully you look!” Mrs. Merideth had exclaimed. “You are worn out, and no wonder. You must come straight home with me and rest.” And because Mrs. Merideth had been tactful enough to say “rest” and not “stay,” Margaret had gone, willingly and thankfully. She was tired, and she did need a rest: but she was not a little concerned to find how 263 really hungry she was for the cool quiet of the west veranda, and how eagerly she listened to the low, sweet voices of her friends in pleasant chat—it had been so long since she had heard low sweet voices in pleasant chat! The thin cheeks and hollow eyes of Frank Spencer shocked her greatly. She had not supposed a few short months could so change a strong man into the mere shadow of his former self. There was a look, too, in his eyes that stirred her curiously; and, true to her usual sympathetic response to trouble wherever she found it, she set herself now to the task of driving that look away. To this end, in spite of her own weariness, she played and sang and devoted herself untiringly to the amusement of the man who was not yet strong enough to go down to the mills. It had been planned that immediately upon Frank Spencer’s return, McGinnis should go to him with the story of his love for Margaret. This plan was abandoned, however, when Margaret saw how weak and ill her guardian was. “We must wait until he is better,” she said to Bobby when he called, as had been arranged, on 264 the second evening after her arrival. “He may not be quite pleased—at first, you know,” she went on frankly; “and I don’t want to cause him sorrow just now.” “Then ’twill be better if I don’t come up—again—just yet,” stammered Bobby, miserably, his longing eyes on her face. “Yes. I’ll let you know when he’s well enough to see you,” returned Margaret; and she smiled brightly. Nor did it occur to her that for a young woman who has but recently become engaged, she was accepting with extraordinary equanimity the fact that she should not see her lover again for some days. It did occur to Bobby, however, and his eyes were troubled. They were still troubled as he sat up far into the night, thinking, in the shabby little room he called home. One by one the days passed. At Hilcrest Margaret was fast regaining her old buoyant health, and was beginning to talk of taking up her “work” again, much to the distress of the family. Frank Spencer, too, was better, though in spite of Margaret’s earnest efforts the curiously somber look was not gone from his eyes. It even seemed 265 deeper and more noticeable than ever sometimes, Margaret thought. Never before had Margaret known quite so well the man who had so carefully guarded her since childhood. She suddenly began to appreciate what he had done for her all those years. She realized, too, with almost the shock of a surprise, how young he had been when the charge was intrusted to him, and what it must have meant to a youth of twenty to have a strange, hysterical little girl ten years old thrust upon him so unceremoniously. She realized it all the more fully now that the pleasant intercourse of the last two weeks had seemed to strip from him the ten years’ difference in their ages. They were good friends, comrades. Day after day they had read, and sung and walked together; and she knew that he had exerted every effort to make her happy. More keenly than ever now she regretted that she must bring sorrow to him in acknowledging her engagement to Bobby. She knew very well that he would not approve of the marriage. Had he not already pleaded with her to stay there at Hilcrest as Ned’s wife? And had he not always disapproved of her having much to say to 266 McGinnis? It was hard, indeed, in the face of all this, to tell him. But it must be done. In two days now he was going back to the mills. There was really no excuse for any further delay. She must send for Bobby. There was a thunder-storm on the night Bobby McGinnis came to Hilcrest. The young man arrived just before the storm broke, and was ushered at once by Margaret herself to the little den where Frank Spencer sat alone. Mrs. Merideth had gone to bed with a headache, and Ned was out of town, so Margaret had the house to herself. For a time she wandered aimlessly about the living-room and the great drawing-room; then she sat down in a shadowy corner which commanded a view of the library and of the door of the den. She shivered at every clap of thunder, and sent a furtive glance toward that close-shut door, wondering if the storm outside were typical of the one which even then might be breaking over Bobby’s head. It was very late when McGinnis came out of the den and closed the door behind him—so late that he could stop for only a few words with the girl who hurried across the room to meet him. His 267 face was gray-white, and his whole appearance showed the strain he had been under for the last two hours. “Mr. Spencer was very kind,” he said huskily in response to the question in Margaret’s eyes. “At first, of course, he—but never mind that part.... He has been very kind; but I—I can’t tell you now—all that he said to me. Perhaps—some other time.” McGinnis was plainly very much moved. His words came brokenly and with long pauses. For some time after her lover had gone Margaret waited for Frank Spencer to come out and speak to her. But the door of the den remained fast shut, and she finally went up-stairs without seeing him. The next few days at Hilcrest were hard for all concerned. Before Margaret had come down stairs on the morning following McGinnis’s call, Frank Spencer had told his sister of the engagement; and after the first shock of the news was over, he had said constrainedly, and with averted eyes: “There is just one thing for us to do, Della—or rather, for us not to do. We must not drive Margaret 268 away from us. She has full right to marry the man she loves, of course, and if—if we are too censorious, it will result only in our losing her altogether. It isn’t what we want to do, but what we must do. We must accept him—or lose her. I—I’m afraid I forgot myself at first, last night,” went on Frank, hurriedly, “and said some pretty harsh things. I didn’t realize what I was saying until I saw the look on his face. McGinnis is a straightforward, manly young fellow—we must not forget that, Della.” “But think of his po-position,” moaned Mrs. Merideth. Frank winced. “I know,” he said. “But we must do our best to remedy that. I shall advance him and increase his pay at once, of course, and eventually he will become one of the firm, if Margaret—marries him.” Mrs. Merideth burst into tears. “How can you take it so calmly, Frank,” she sobbed. “You don’t seem to care at all!” Frank Spencer’s lips parted, then closed again. Perhaps it was just as well, after all, that she should not know just how much he did—care. 269 “It may not be myself I’m thinking of,” he said at last, quietly. “I want Margaret—happy.” And he turned away. Margaret was not happy, however, as the days passed. In spite of everybody’s effort to act as if everything was as usual, nobody succeeded in doing it; and at last Margaret announced her determination to go back to the Mill House. She agreed, however, to call it a “visit,” for Mrs. Merideth had cried tragically: “But, Margaret, dear, if we are going to lose you altogether by and by, surely you will give us all your time now that you can!” <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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