"Look back. Look back at me," John Thornton murmered, his deep voice full of anguish and desperation.
Just one glance, one glance, and I'll know.
So he studied the coach,waiting for that one look. He waited as the carriage disappeared down the street and out the gates, his heart going with it, leaving his chest as barren and icy as the mill itself. He waited as night began to fall, and his hopes with it. As the snow piled, the distraught man simply stood as memories and words came flashing back to him, and one instance in particular.
Ghost hands released their protective grip from behind his head and arms vanished as Hannah Thornton interrupted his reverie.
"John, you must come inside," she said softly, but with a certain amount of hardness. This is Miss Hale's fault. If he catches a sickness, it will be her I blame.
John finally turned away from the gate and faced his mother, but he was really looking past her with irridescent blue-green eyes full of grief.
Mr. Thornton, saying nothing to the woman in front of him, unwillingly retreated into his home, where he wasn't heard from for the remainder of the evening.
As Margaret stepped into the carriage and seated herself, she was faced with the familiar itch to look back at the man behind her.
No Margaret. You've seen the back of his head enough. It's time to look forward now.
Although she still had to fight the impulse that had become habit. Margaret had to convince herself that there was nothing to be gained from it, that he had undoubtedly withdrawn into his home, away from the bitter snows. Margaret's final words to Mr. Thornton echoed in her ears-along with his responding silence.
"I wish you well, Mr. Thornton." The emotion in his eyes still haunting and perplexing her. The urge to sneak a peek behind her increased. Just keep strong. You only need to keep strong until you're past the gate. But past the gate became past the street, past the neighborhood, and eventually past the train station.
Little does he know that this was the one time I didn't look back.
Her aunt was prattling on relentlessly about how good it will be for Margaret to leave Milton behind, and everyone in it, therefore misinterpreting her neice's mournful sigh.