Too Long; Didn't Read

“My heart revolts within me, and two voicesMake themselves audible within my bosom.”Wallenstein. On Margaret’s return home she found two letters on the table: one was a note for her mother,—the other, which had come by the post, was evidently from her aunt Shaw—covered with foreign post-marks—thin, silvery, and rustling. She took up the other, and was examining it, when her father came in suddenly: “So your mother is tired, and gone to bed early! I’m afraid, such a thundery day was not the best in the world for the doctor to see her. What did he say? Dixon tells me he spoke to you about her.” Margaret hesitated. Her father’s looks became more grave and anxious: “He does not think her seriously ill?” “Not at present; she needs care, he says; he was very kind, and he said he would call again, and see how his medicines worked.” “Only care?—he did not recommend change of air?—he did not say this smoky town was doing her any harm, did he, Margaret?” “No! not a word,” she replied, gravely. “He was anxious, I think.” “Doctors have that anxious manner; its professional,” said he. Margaret saw, in her father’s nervous ways, that the first impression of possible danger was made upon his mind, in spite of all his making light of what she told him. He could not forget the subject,—could not pass from it to other things; he kept recurring to it through the evening, with an unwillingness to receive even the slightest unfavourable idea, which made Margaret inexpressibly sad. “This letter is from Aunt Shaw, papa. She has got to Naples, and finds it too hot, so she has taken apartments at Sorrento. But I don’t think she likes Italy.” “He did not say anything about diet, did he?” “It was to be nourishing, and digestible. Mamma’s appetite is pretty good, I think.” “Yes! and that makes it all the more strange he should have thought of speaking about diet.” “I asked him, papa.” Another pause. Then Margaret went on: “Aunt Shaw says she has sent me some coral ornaments, papa: but,” added Margaret, half smiling, “she’s afraid the Milton dissenters won’t appreciate them. She has got all her ideas of Dissenters from the Quakers, has she not?” “If ever you hear or notice that your mother wishes for anything, be sure you let me know. I am so afraid she does not tell me always what she would like. Pray, see after that girl Mrs. Thornton named. If we had a good, efficient house-servant, Dixon could be constantly with her, and I’d answer for it we’d soon set her up amongst us, if care will do it. She’s been very much tired of late, with the hot weather, and the difficulty of getting a servant. A little rest will put her quite to rights—eh, Margaret?”