North and South Page #12

North and South is a social novel published in 1854 by English writer Elizabeth Gaskell. With Wives and Daughters and Cranford, it is one of her best-known novels and was adapted for television three times. The 2004 version renewed interest in the novel and attracted a wider readership.

• Novel

								

very much, Margaret?”

Margaret did dislike it, did shrink from it more than from anything she
had ever had to do in her life before. She could not speak, all at once.
Her father said, “You dislike it very much don’t you, Margaret?” Then
she conquered herself, and said, with a bright strong look on her face:

“It is a painful thing, but it must be done, and I will do it as well as
ever I can. You must have many painful things to do.”

Mr. Hale shook his head despondingly: he pressed her hand in token of
gratitude. Margaret was nearly upset again into a burst of crying. To
turn her thoughts, she said: “Now tell me, papa, what our plans are.
You and mamma have some money, independent of the income from the
living, have you not? Aunt Shaw has, I know.”

“Yes. I suppose we have about a hundred and twenty pounds a year of our
own. Seventy of that has always gone to Frederick, since he has been
abroad. I don’t know if he wants it all,” he continued in a hesitating
manner. “He must have some pay for serving with the Spanish army.”

“Frederick must not suffer,” said Margaret, decidedly; “in a foreign
country; so unjustly treated by his own. A hundred is left. Could not
you, and I, and mamma live on a hundred a year in some very cheap--very
quiet part of England? Oh! I think we could.”

“No!” said Mr. Hale. “That would not answer. I must do something! I must
make myself busy, to keep off morbid thoughts. Besides, in a country
parish I should be so painfully reminded of Helstone, and my duties
here. I could not bear it, Margaret. And a hundred a year would go a
very little way, after the necessary wants of housekeeping are met,
towards providing your mother with all the comforts she has been
accustomed to, and ought to have. No: we must go to Milton. That is
settled. I can always decide better by myself, and not influenced by
those whom I love,” said he, as a half apology for having arranged so
much before he had told any one of his family of his intentions. “I
cannot stand objections. They make me so undecided.”

Margaret resolved to keep silence. After all, what did it signify where
they went, compared to the one terrible change?

Mr. Hale continued: “A few months ago, when my misery of doubt became
more than I could bear without speaking, I wrote to Mr. Bell--you
remember Mr. Bell, Margaret?”

“No; I never saw him, I think. But I know who he is. Frederick’s
godfather--your old tutor at Oxford, don’t you mean?”

“Yes. He is a Fellow of Plymouth College there. He is a native of
Milton-Northern, I believe. At any rate he has property there, which has
very much increased in value since Milton has become such a large
manufacturing town. Well; I had reason to suspect--to imagine--I had
better say nothing about it, however. But I felt sure of sympathy from
Mr. Bell. I don’t know that he gave me much strength. He has lived an
easy life in his college all his days. But he has been as kind as can
be. And it is owing to him we are going to Milton.”

“How?” said Margaret.

“Why he has tenants, and houses, and mills there; so, though he dislikes
the place--too bustling for one of his habits--he is obliged to keep up
some sort of connection; and he tells me that he hears there is a good
opening for a private tutor there.”

“A private tutor!” said Margaret, looking scornful: “What in the world
do manufacturers want with the classics, or literature, or the
accomplishments of a gentleman?”

“Oh,” said her father, “some of them really seem to be fine fellows,
conscious of their own deficiencies, which is more than many a man at
Oxford is. Some want resolutely to learn, though they have come to man’s
estate. Some want their children to be better instructed than they
themselves have been. At any rate, there is an opening, as I have said,
for a private tutor. Mr. Bell has recommended me to a Mr. Thornton, a
tenant of his, and a very intelligent man, as far as I can judge from
his letters. And in Milton, Margaret, I shall find a busy life, if not a
happy one, and people and scenes so different that I shall never be
reminded of Helstone.”

There was the secret motive, as Margaret knew from her own feelings. It
would be different. Discordant as it was--with almost a detestation for
all she had ever heard of the North of England, the manufacturers,
the people, the wild and bleak country--there was this one
recommendation--it would be different to Helstone, and could never
remind them of that beloved place.

“When do we go?” asked Margaret, after a short silence.

“I do not know exactly. I wanted to talk it over with you. You see, your
mother knows nothing about it yet: but I think, in a fortnight;--after
my deed of resignation is sent in, I shall have no right to remain.”

Margaret was almost stunned.

“In a fortnight!”

“No--no, not exactly to a day. Nothing is fixed,” said her father, with
anxious hesitation, as he noticed the filmy sorrow that came over her
eyes, and the sudden change in her complexion. But she recovered herself
immediately.

“Yes, papa, it had better be fixed soon and decidedly, as you say. Only
mamma to know nothing about it! It is that that is the great
perplexity.”

“Poor Maria!” replied Mr. Hale tenderly. “Poor, poor Maria! Oh, if I
were not married--if I were but myself in the world, how easy it would
be! As it is--Margaret, I dare not tell her!”

“No,” said Margaret, sadly, “I will do it. Give me till to-morrow
evening to choose my time. Oh, papa,” cried she with sudden passionate
entreaty, “say--tell me it is a nightmare--a horrid dream--not the real
waking truth! You cannot mean that you are really going to leave the
Church--to give up Helstone--to be for ever separate from me, from
mamma--led away by some delusion--some temptation! You do not really
mean it!”

Mr. Hale sat in rigid stillness while she spoke.

Then he looked her in the face, and said in a slow, hoarse, measured
way--“I do mean it, Margaret. You must not deceive yourself in doubting
the reality of my words--my fixed intention and resolve.” He looked at
her in the same steady, stony manner, for some moments after he had done
speaking. She, too, gazed back with pleading eyes before she would
believe it was irrevocable. Then she arose and went, without another
word or look, towards the door. As her fingers were on the handle he
called her back. He was standing by the fireplace, shrunk and stooping;
but as she came near he drew himself up to his full height, and, placing
his hands on her head, he said, solemnly:

“The blessing of God be upon thee, my child!”

“And may He restore you to His Church,” responded she, out of the
fulness of her heart. The next moment she feared lest this answer to his
blessing might be irreverent, wrong--might hurt him as coming from his
daughter, and she threw her arms round his neck. He held her to him for
a minute or two. She heard him murmur to himself, “The martyrs and
confessors had even more pain to bear--I will not shrink.”

They were startled by hearing Mrs. Hale inquiring for her daughter. They
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