"You have got him talking now," said the grandchild, running off; and presently the owls were heard hooting again.

"Whereabouts was this pool?" asked Margaret.

"It is a deep part of the brook, that in hot summers is left a pond. It is there that the chief of the sliding goes on in winter now, in the meadow. It is meadow now; but then the deer used to come down through the wood to drink at the brook there. That is how the village got its name."

"So you remember the time when the deer came down to drink at the brook!

How many things have happened since then! You have heard a great deal of music since those days."

"Ay, there has been a good deal of fiddling at our weddings since that.

And we have had recruiting parties through in war times."

"And many a mother singing to her baby; and the psalm in the church for so many years! Yes, the place has been full of music for long; but it seems likely to be silent enough now."

"I began to think I should be left the last, as I was the first," said the old man: "but they say the sickness is abating now, and that several are beginning to recover. Pray G.o.d it may be so! First, after the wood was somewhat cleared, there was a labourer's cottage or two--now standing empty, and the folk that lived in them lying yonder. Then there was the farmhouse; and then a carpenter came, and a wheeler. Then there was a shop wanted; and the church was roofed in and used: and some gentry came and sat down by the river side; and the place grew to what it is. They say now, it is not near its end yet: but it is strange to me to see the churchyard the fullest place near, so that I have to come here for company."

And the old man chuckled again. As she rose to go, Margaret asked whether he knew the Platts, who lived in the cottage in the lane.

"I know him to see to. Is he down?"

"He is dead and his child: but his wife is recovering."

"Ay, there's many recovering now, they say."

"Indeed! who?"

"Why, a many. But the fever has got into Rowland's house, they say."

Margaret's heart turned sick at hearing these words, and she hastily pursued her way. It was not Philip, however, who was seized. He was in the churchyard at this moment. She saw him walking quickly along the turnstile path, slackening his pace only for a moment, as he pa.s.sed the funeral group. The light from the torch shone full upon his face--the face settled and composed, as she knew it would not be if he were aware who was within a few paces of him. She felt the strongest impulse to show him her ring--the strongest desire for his sympathy in its recovery: but an instant showed her the absurdity of the thought, and she hung down her blushing head in the darkness.

From Maria she had sympathy, such as it was--sympathy without any faith in Philip. She had from her also good news of the state of the village.

There were recoveries talked of; and there would be more, now that those who were seized would no longer consider death inevitable. Mrs Howell was ill; and poor Miss Nares was down with the fever, which no one could wonder at: but Mr Jones and his son John were both out of danger, and the little Tuckers were likely to do well. Mr James was already talking of sending for his wife and sister-in-law home again, as the worst days of the disease seemed to be past, and so many families had not been attacked at all. It was too true that Matilda Rowland was unwell to-day; but Mr Walcot hoped it was only a slight feverish attack, which would be thought nothing of under any other circ.u.mstances.--On the whole, Maria thought the neighbours she had seen to-day in better spirits than at any time since the fever made its appearance.

Margaret found more good news at home. In the first place, the door was opened to her by Morris. Hester stood behind to witness the meeting.

She had her bonnet on: she was going with her husband to see Mrs Howell, and make some provision for her comfort: but she had waited a little while, in hopes that Margaret would return, and be duly astonished to see Morris.

"You must make tea for each other, and be comfortable while we are away," said Hester. "We will go now directly, that we may be back as early as we can."

"I have several things to tell you," said Margaret, "when you return: and one now, brother, which must not be delayed. Platt and his child are dead, and coffins must be sent. The sooner the better, or we shall lose the poor woman too."

Hope promised to speak to the undertaker as he went by.

"We have become very familiar with death, Morris, since you went away,"

said Margaret, as she obliged her old friend to sit down by the fire, and prepared to make tea for both.

"That is why you see me here, Miss Margaret. Every piece of news I could get of this place was worse than the last; and I could perceive from your last letter, that you had sickness all about you; and I could not persuade myself but that it was my duty to come and be useful, and to take care of you, my dear, if I may say so."

"And now you are here, I trust you may stay--I trust we may be justified in keeping you. We have meat every day now, Morris,--at least when we have time to cook it. Since my brother has been attending so many of Mr Jones's family, we have had meat almost every day."

"Indeed, my dear, I don't know how you could keep up without it, so busy as I find you are among the sick;--busy night and day, my mistress tells me, till the people have got to call you 'the good lady.' You do not look as if you had lost much of your natural rest: but I know how the mind keeps the body up. Yours is an earnest mind, Margaret, that will always keep you up: but, my dear, I do hope it has been an easy mind too. You will excuse my saying so."

Margaret more than excused it, but she could not immediately answer.

The tears trembled in her eyes, and her lip quivered when she would have spoken. Morris stroked her hair, and kissed her forehead, as if she had been still a child, and whispered that all things ended well in G.o.d's own time.

"Oh, yes! I know," said Margaret. "Has Hester told you how prosperous we are growing? I do not mean only about money. We are likely to have enough of that too, for my brother's old patients have almost all sent for him again: but we care the less about that from having discovered that we were as happy with little money as with much. But it is a satisfaction and pleasure to find my brother regarded more and more as he ought to be: and yet greater to see how n.o.bly he deserves the best that can be thought of him."

"He forgives his enemies, no doubt, heaping coals of fire on their heads."

"You will witness it Morris. You will see him among them, and it will make your heart glow. Poor creatures! I have heard some of them own to him, from their sick beds, with dread and tears, that they broke his windows, and slandered his name. Then you should see him smile when he tells them that is all over now, and that they will not mistake him so much again."

"No, never. He has shown himself now what he is."

"He sat up two nights with one poor boy who is now likely to get through; and in the middle of the second night, the boy's father got up from his sick bed in the next room, and came to my brother, to say that he felt that ill luck would be upon them all, if he did not confess that he put that very boy behind the hedge, with stones in his hand, to throw at Edward, the day he was mobbed at the almshouses. He was deluded by the neighbours, he said, into thinking that my brother meant ill by the poor."

"They have learned to the contrary now, my dear. And what does Sir William Hunter say of my master, now-a-days? Do you know?"

"There is very little heard of Sir William and Lady Hunter at present-- shut up at home as they are. But Dr Levitt, who loves to make peace, you know, and tell what is pleasant, declares that Sir William Hunter has certainly said that, after all, it does not so much signify which way a man votes at an election, if he shows a kind heart to his neighbours in troublesome times."

"Sir William Hunter has learned his lesson then, it seems, from this affliction. I suppose he sees that one who does his duty as my master does at a season like this, is just the one to vote according to his conscience at an election. But, my dear, what sort of a heart have these Hunters got, that they shut themselves up as you say?"

"They give their money freely: and that is all that we can expect from them. If they have always been brought up and accustomed to fear sickness, and danger, and death, we cannot expect that they should lose their fear at a time like this. We must be thankful for what they give; and their money has been of great service, though there is no doubt that their example would have been of more."

"One would like to look into their minds, and see how they regard my master there."

"They regard him, no doubt, so far rightly as to consider him quite a different sort of person from themselves, and no rule for them. So far they are right. They do not comprehend his satisfactions and ease of mind; and it is very likely that they have pleasures of their own which we do not understand."

"And they are quite welcome, I am sure, my dear, as long as they do not meddle with my master's name. That is, as he says, all over now. After this, however, the people in Deerbrook will be more ready to trust in my master's skill and kindness than in Sir William Hunter's grandeur and money, which can do little to save them in time of need."

Margaret explained how ignorantly the poor in the neighbourhood had relied on the fortune-tellers, who had only duped them; how that which would have been religion in them if they had been early taught, and which would have enabled them to rely on the only power which really can save, had been degraded by ignorance into a foolish and pernicious superst.i.tion. Morris hoped that this also was over now. She had met some of these conjurors on the Blickley road; and seen others breaking up their establishment in the lanes, and turning their backs upon Deerbrook. Whether they were scared away by the mortality of the place, or had found the tide of fortune-telling beginning to turn, mattered nothing as long as they were gone.

The tea-table was cleared, and Morris and Margaret were admiring the baby as he slept, when Hester and her husband returned. Mrs Howell was very unwell, and likely to be worse. All attempts to bring Miss Miskin to reason, and induce her to enter her friend's room, were in vain. She bestowed abundance of tears, tremors, and foreboding on Mrs Howell's state and prospects, but shut herself up in a fumigated apartment, where she promised to pray for a good result, and to await it. The maid was a hearty la.s.s, who would sit up willingly, under Hester's promise that she should be relieved in the morning. The girl's fear was of not being able to satisfy her mistress, whom it was not so easy to nurse as it might have been, from her insisting on having everything arranged precisely as it was in her poor dear Howell's last illness. As Miss Miskin had refused to enter the chamber, Hester had been obliged to search a chest of drawers for Mr Howell's last dressing-gown, which Miss Miskin had promised should be mended and aired, and ready for wear by the morning.

"Margaret!" cried Hester, as her sister was lighting her candle. The exclamation made Edward turn round, and brought back Morris into the parlour after saying 'Good-night.' "Margaret! your ring?"

There was as much joy as shame in Margaret's crimson blush. She let her sister examine the turquoise, and said:

"Yes, this is the boon of to-day."

"Edward's hundred pounds has come," said Hester: "but that is nothing to this."

Margaret's eyes thanked her. She just explained that poor Platt had been the thief, and had restored it to her before he died, and that she could get no explanation, no tidings of Hester's watch; and she was gone.

"Dr Levitt's early stir about this ring prevented its being disposed of, I have no doubt," said Edward. "If so, it is yet possible that we may recover your watch. I will speak to Dr Levitt in the morning."

"Dear Margaret!" said Hester. "She is now drinking in the hue of that turquoise, and blessing it for being unchanged. She regards this recovery of it as a good omen, I see; and far be it from us to mock at such a superst.i.tion!"

As usual, when she was upon this subject, Hester looked up into her husband's face: and as usual, when she spoke on this subject, he made no reply.