North and South
troublesome stage which intervenes between childhood and manhood, in the
life of the multitude as well as that of the individual. Now, the error
which many parents commit in the treatment of the individual at this
time is, insisting on the same unreasoning obedience as when all he had
to do in the way of duty was, to obey the simple laws of ‘Come when
you’re called,’ and ‘Do as you’re bid!’ But a wise parent humours the
desire for independent action, so as to become the friend and adviser
when his absolute rule shall cease. If I get wrong in my reasoning,
recollect, it is you who adopted the analogy.”
“Very lately,” said Margaret, “I heard a story of what happened in
Nuremberg only three or four years ago. A rich man there lived alone in
one of the immense mansions which were formerly both dwellings and
warehouses. It was reported that he had a child, but no one knew of it
for certain. For forty years this rumour kept rising and falling—never
utterly dying away. After his death it was found to be true. He had a
son—an overgrown man, with the unexercised intellect of a child, whom
he had kept up in that strange way, in order to save him from temptation
and error. But, of course, when this great old child was turned loose in
the world, every bad counsellor had power over him. He did not know good
from evil. His father had made the blunder of bringing him up in
ignorance and taking it for innocence; and after fourteen months of
riotous living, the city authorities had to take charge of him, in order
to save him from starvation. He could not even use words effectively
enough to be a successful beggar.”
“I used the comparison (suggested by Miss Hale) of the position of the
master to that of a parent, so I ought not to complain of your turning
the simile into a weapon against me. But, Mr. Hale, when you were
setting up a wise parent as a model for us, you said he humoured his
children in their desire for independent action. Now certainly, the time
is not come for the hands to have any independent action during business
hours; I hardly know what you would mean by it then. And I say, that the
masters would be trenching on the independence of their hands, in a way
that I, for one, should not feel justified in doing, if we interfered
too much with the life they lead out of the mills. Because they labour
ten hours a-day for us, I do not see that we have any right to impose
leading-strings upon them for the rest of their time. I value my own
independence so highly that I can fancy no degradation greater than that
of having another man perpetually directing and advising and lecturing
me, or even planning too closely in any way about my actions. He might
be the wisest of men or the most powerful—I should equally rebel and
resent his interference. I imagine this is a stronger feeling in the
North of England than in the South.”
“I beg your pardon, but is not that because there has been none of the
equality of friendship between the adviser and advised classes? Because
every man has had to stand in an unchristian and isolated position,
apart from and jealous of his brother-man: constantly afraid of his
rights being trenched upon?”
“I only state the fact. I am sorry to say, I have an appointment at
eight o’clock, and I must just take facts as I find them to-night,
without trying to account for them; which, indeed, would make no
difference in determining how to act as things stand—the facts must be
granted.”
“But,” said Margaret in a low voice, “it seems to me that it makes all
the difference in the world—.” Her father made a sign to her to be
silent, and allow Mr. Thornton to finish what he had to say. He was
already standing up and preparing to go.
“You must grant me this one point. Given a strong feeling of
independence in every Darkshire man, have I any right to obtrude my
views, of the manner in which he shall act, upon another (hating it as
I should do most vehemently myself), merely because he has labour to
sell and I capital to buy?”
“Not in the least,” said Margaret, determined to say just this one
thing; “not in the least because of your labour and capital positions,
whatever they are, but because you are a man, dealing with a set of men
over whom you have, whether you reject the use of it or not, immense
power, just because your lives and your welfare are so constantly and
intimately interwoven. God has made us so that we must be mutually
dependent. We may ignore our own dependence, or refuse to acknowledge
that others depend upon us in more respects than the payment of weekly
wages; but the thing must be, nevertheless. Neither you nor any other
master can help yourselves. The most proudly independent man depends on
those around him for their insensible influence on his character—his
life. And the most isolated of all your Darkshire Egos has dependants
clinging to him on all sides; he cannot shake them off, any more than
the great rock he resembles can shake off—”
“Pray don’t go into similes, Margaret; you have led us off once
already,” said her father, smiling, yet uneasy at the thought that they
were detaining Mr. Thornton against his will, which was a mistake; for
he rather liked it, as long as Margaret would talk, although what she
said only irritated him.
“Just tell me, Miss Hale, are you yourself ever influenced—no, that is
not a fair way of putting it;—but if you are ever conscious of being
influenced by others, and not by circumstances, have those others been
working directly or indirectly? Have they been labouring to exhort, to
enjoin, to act rightly for the sake of example, or have they been
simple, true men, taking up their duty, and doing it unflinchingly,
without a thought of how their actions were to make this man
industrious, that man saving? Why, if I were a workman, I should be
twenty times more impressed by the knowledge that my master was honest,
punctual, quick, resolute in all his doings (and hands are keener spies
even than valets), than by any amount of interference, however kindly
meant, with my ways of going on out of work-hours. I do not choose to
think too closely on what I am myself; but, I believe, I rely on the
straightforward honesty of my hands, and the open nature of their
opposition, in contra-distinction to the way in which the turn-out will
be managed in some mills, just because they know I scorn to take a
single dishonourable advantage, or do an underhand thing myself. It goes
farther than a whole course of lectures on ‘Honesty is the Best
Policy’—life diluted into words. No, no! What the master is, that will
the men be, without over-much taking thought on his part.”
“That is a great admission,” said Margaret, laughing. “When I see men
violent and obstinate, in pursuit of their rights, I may safely infer
that the master is the same; that he is a little ignorant of that spirit
which suffereth long, and is kind, and seeketh not her own.”
“You are just like all strangers who don’t understand the working of our
system, Miss Hale,” said he, hastily. “You suppose that our men are
puppets of dough, ready to be moulded into any amiable form we please.
You forget we have only to do with them for less than a third of their
lives; and you seem not to perceive that the duties of a manufacturer
are far larger and wider than those merely of an employer of labour: we
have a wide commercial character to maintain, which makes us into the
great pioneers of civilisation.”
“It strikes me,” said Mr. Hale, smiling, “that you might pioneer a
little at home. They are a rough, heathenish set of fellows, these
Milton men of yours.”
“They are that,” replied Mr. Thornton. “Rose-water surgery won’t do for
them. Cromwell would have made a capital mill-owner, Miss Hale. I wish
we had him to put down this strike for us.”
“Cromwell is no hero of mine,” she said, coldly. “But I am trying to
reconcile your admiration of despotism with your respect for other men’s
independence of character.”
He reddened at her tone. “I choose to be the unquestioned and
irresponsible master of my hands, during the hours they labour for me.
But those hours past, our relation ceases; and then comes in the same
respect for their independence that I myself exact.”
He did not speak again for a minute, he was too much vexed. But he shook
it off, and bade Mr. and Mrs. Hale good night. Then, drawing near to
Margaret, he said in a lower voice—
“I spoke hastily to you once this evening, and I am afraid, rather
rudely. But you know I am but an uncouth Milton manufacturer; will you
forgive me?”
“Certainly,” said she, smiling up in his face, the expression of which
was somewhat anxious and oppressed, and hardly cleared away as he met
her sweet sunny countenance, out of which all the north-wind effect of
their discussion had entirely vanished. But she did not put out her hand
to him, and again he felt the omission, and set it down to pride.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE SHADOW OF DEATH.
“Trust in that veiled hand, which leads
None by the path that he would go;
And always be for change prepared,
For the world’s law is ebb and flow.”
FROM THE ARABIC.
The next afternoon Dr. Donaldson came to pay his first visit to Mrs.
Hale. The mystery that Margaret hoped their late habits of intimacy had
broken through was resumed. She was excluded from the room, while Dixon
was admitted. Margaret was not a ready lover, but where she loved she
loved passionately, and with no small degree of jealousy.
She went into her mother’s bed-room, just behind the drawing-room, and
paced it up and down, while awaiting the doctor’s coming out. Every now
and then she stopped to listen; she fancied she heard a moan. She
clenched her hands tight, and held her breath. She was sure she heard a
moan. Then all was still for a few minutes more; and then there was the
moving of chairs, the raised voices, all the little disturbances of
leave-taking.
When she heard the door open, she went quickly out of the bedroom.
“My father is from home, Dr. Donaldson; he has to attend a pupil at this
hour. May I trouble you to come into his room downstairs?”
She saw, and triumphed over all the obstacles which Dixon threw in her
way; assuming her rightful position as daughter of the house in
something of the spirit of the Elder Brother, which quelled the old
servant’s officiousness very effectually. Margaret’s conscious
assumption of this unusual dignity of demeanour towards Dixon, gave her
an instant’s amusement in the midst of her anxiety. She knew, from the
surprised expression on Dixon’s face, how ridiculously grand she herself
must be looking; and the idea carried her downstairs into the room; it
gave her that length of oblivion from the keen sharpness of the
recollection of the actual business in hand. Now, that came back, and
seemed to take away her breath. It was a moment or two before she could
utter a word.
But she spoke with an air of command, as she asked—
“What is the matter with mamma? You will oblige me by telling the simple
truth.” Then, seeing a slight hesitation on the doctor’s part, she
added—
“I am the only child she has—here, I mean. My father is not
sufficiently alarmed, I fear: and, therefore, if there is any serious
apprehension, it must be broken to him gently. I can do this. I can
nurse my mother. Pray, speak, sir; to see your face, and not be able to
read it, gives me a worse dread than I trust any words of yours will
justify.”
“My dear young lady, your mother seems to have a most attentive and
efficient servant, who is more like her friend——”
“I am her daughter, sir.”
“But when I tell you she expressly desired that you might not be
told——”
“I am not good or patient enough to submit to the prohibition. Besides,