Thornton, and because they walked away he did so too. It was too much trouble to apologise and explain so he mounted upon it, and was borne away,-past long rows of houses-then past detached villas with trim gardens, till they came to real country hedge-rows, and, by-and-by, to a small country town.
There was an omnibus passing-going into the country the conductor thought he was wishing for a place, and stopped near the pavement. He stood still for a moment, to make this resolution firm and clear. He loved her, and would love her and defy her, and this miserable bodily pain. His greatest comfort was in hugging his torment and in feeling, as he had indeed said to her, that though she might despise him, contemn him, treat him with her proud sovereign indifference, he did not change one whit. He said to himself, that he hated Margaret, but a wild, sharp sensation of love cleft his dull, thunderous feeling like lightning, even as he shaped the words expressive of hatred. It would have been a relief to him, if he could have sat down and cried on a door-step by a little child, who was raging and storming, through his passionate tears, at some injury he had received. He called himself a fool for suffering so and yet he could not, at the moment, recollect the cause of his suffering, and whether it was adequate to the consequences it had produced. He could not bear the noise, the garish light, the continued rumble and movement of the street. He had positive bodily pain,-a violent headache, and a throbbing intermittent pulse. He was as dizzy as if Margaret, instead of looking, and speaking, and moving like a tender graceful woman, had been a sturdy fish-wife, and given him a sound blow with her fists. Thornton had left the house that morning he was almost blinded by his baffled passion. 'I have found that holy place of rest Still changeless.' MRS. Union not always StrengthĬHAPTER XXIII. 'Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot?'ĬHAPTER XI.