North and South | Page 8

some individual friend--man, woman, or child--in some
cottage in the green shade of the forest. Her out-of-doors life was
perfect. Her in-doors life had its drawbacks. With the healthy shame of
a child, she blamed herself for her keenness of sight, in perceiving that
all was not as it should be there. Her mother--her mother always so
kind and tender towards her--seemed now and then so much
discontented with their situation; thought that the bishop strangely
neglected his episcopal duties, in not giving Mr. Hale a better living;
and almost reproached her husband because he could not bring himself
to say that he wished to leave the parish, and undertake the charge of a
larger. He would sigh aloud as he answered, that if he could do what he
ought in little Helstone, he should be thankful; but every day he was
more overpowered; the world became more bewildering. At each
repeated urgency of his wife, that he would put himself in the way of

seeking some preferment, Margaret saw that her father shrank more and
more; and she strove at such times to reconcile her mother to Helstone.
Mrs. Hale said that the near neighbourhood of so many trees affected
her health; and Margaret would try to tempt her forth on to the
beautiful, broad, upland, sun-streaked, cloud-shadowed common; for
she was sure that her mother had accustomed herself too much to an
in-doors life, seldom extending her walks beyond the church, the
school, and the neighbouring cottages. This did good for a time; but
when the autumn drew on, and the weather became more changeable,
her mother's idea of the unhealthiness of the place increased; and she
repined even more frequently that her husband, who was more learned
than Mr. Hume, a better parish priest than Mr. Houldsworth, should not
have met with the preferment that these two former neighbours of theirs
had done.
This marring of the peace of home, by long hours of discontent, was
what Margaret was unprepared for. She knew, and had rather revelled
in the idea, that she should have to give up many luxuries, which had
only been troubles and trammels to her freedom in Harley Street. Her
keen enjoyment of every sensuous pleasure, was balanced finely, if not
overbalanced, by her conscious pride in being able to do without them
all, if need were. But the cloud never comes in that quarter of the
horizon from which we watch for it. There had been slight complaints
and passing regrets on her mother's part, over some trifle connected
with Helstone, and her father's position there, when Margaret had been
spending her holidays at home before; but in the general happiness of
the recollection of those times, she had forgotten the small details
which were not so pleasant. In the latter half of September, the
autumnal rains and storms came on, and Margaret was obliged to
remain more in the house than she had hitherto done. Helstone was at
some distance from any neighbours of their own standard of
cultivation.
'It is undoubtedly one of the most out-of-the-way places in England,'
said Mrs. Hale, in one of her plaintive moods. 'I can't help regretting
constantly that papa has really no one to associate with here; he is so
thrown away; seeing no one but farmers and labourers from week's end

to week's end. If we only lived at the other side of the parish, it would
be something; there we should be almost within walking distance of the
Stansfields; certainly the Gormans would be within a walk.'
'Gormans,' said Margaret. 'Are those the Gormans who made their
fortunes in trade at Southampton? Oh! I'm glad we don't visit them. I
don't like shoppy people. I think we are far better off, knowing only
cottagers and labourers, and people without pretence.'
'You must not be so fastidious, Margaret, dear!' said her mother,
secretly thinking of a young and handsome Mr. Gorman whom she had
once met at Mr. Hume's.
'No! I call mine a very comprehensive taste; I like all people whose
occupations have to do with land; I like soldiers and sailors, and the
three learned professions, as they call them. I'm sure you don't want me
to admire butchers and bakers, and candlestick-makers, do you,
mamma?'
'But the Gormans were neither butchers nor bakers, but very
respectable coach-builders.'
'Very well. Coach-building is a trade all the same, and I think a much
more useless one than that of butchers or bakers. Oh! how tired I used
to be of the drives every day in Aunt Shaw's carriage, and how I longed
to walk!'
And walk Margaret did, in spite of the weather. She was so happy out
of doors, at her father's side, that she almost danced; and with the soft
violence of the