the death. But not before he knew what I had said. Oh, Mr. Bell!" She suddenly covered her face with her hands, as if wishing to hide herself from the presence of the recollection.
"Did you have any explanation with him? Did you ever tell him the strong, instinctive motive?"
"The instinctive want of faith, and clutching at a sin to keep myself from sinking," said she bitterly. "No! How could I? He knew nothing of Frederick. To put myself to rights in his good opinion, was I to tell him of the secrets of our family, involving, as they seemed to do, the chances of poor Frederick's entire exculpation? Fred's last words had been to enjoin me to keep his visit a secret from all. You see, papa never told you. No! I could bear the shame—I thought I could at least. I did bear it. Mr. Thornton has never respected me since."
"He respects you, I am sure," said Mr. Bell. "To be sure, it accounts a little for. But he always speaks of you with regard and esteem, though now I understand certain reservations in his manner."
Margaret did not speak; did not attend to what Mr. Bell went on to say; lost all sense of it. By-and-bye she said:
"Will you tell me what you refer to about 'reservations' in his manner of speaking of me?"
"Oh! simply he has annoyed me by not joining in my praises of you. Like an old fool, I thought that every one would have the same opinions as I had; and he evidently could not agree with me. I was puzzled at the time. But he must be perplexed, if the affair has never been in the least explained.
