Mr. Thornton had not gotten twenty steps from the Hale's door when he was assaulted by what appeared to be a group of ruffians – fierce looking men wearing fustian and yelling and cursing angrily. A great commotion ensued and much shouting was heard. Margaret remained in her father's study after Mr. Thornton had left and Mr. Hale had retired upstairs to check on his wife. Dixon was loyally attending to her weakened mistress and, thus, only Margaret perceived the noise which seemed to come from immediately outside their home. Curious, she stood and opened the door. She was stunned to note Mr. Thornton in a pugilist's stance, legs firmly planted and arms up at the ready. There was evidence of a fresh cut on his right cheek and a severe look upon his countenance. Margaret hurried to Mr. Thornton to be of what assistance she may and was shocked that a large crowd of striking workers were gathered warily in a loose circle around the mill owner. Several of the assailants were reaching down for stones or to remove their wooden clogs for throwing at their adversary. As she dashed in front of him to place herself between Mr. Thornton and his aggressors, Margaret was taken aback at the hatred and implacability in the faces surrounding the both of them. The men were startled momentarily by this development but one of the men – Margaret was not sure of his name, she did not recognize him – pulled his arm back preparing to fling his weapon at its target. Fortunately, the fellow's aim was significantly off the mark and Margaret grabbed the opportunity to disburse the group. She had distinguished Boucher and so she cried, 'Boucher! What is this? Do you attack a man for no purpose? He is lately come from our home and reading with my father.'
Boucher was visibly confused but one of the remaining men responded, 'Ay, wench. He's nobbut a measter and them as forced us to strike. Childers are clemming because of him and his like and yo're but a stranger to these parts so I'll thank yo' to leave us.'
This declaration invigorated the men's resolve and Margaret, who had been closely watching their hands, noted a burly fellow about to lob a stone at Mr. Thornton's head. She lunged forward and desperately pushed him out of the way of the rock but it glanced off of her forehead. There was a searing pain, a too bright light and Margaret swooned, senseless. Mr. Thornton caught her in his arms and glared menacingly at the encircling men.
'A nice piece of work you've done yourselves,' he growled, 'All but killing this lady. Let me but see her safe and we can finish what we had started.'
'Th' stone were meant for thee; but thou wert sheltered behind a woman!'
Even with those harsh words, the assailants had already begun to back up, slowly at first, looking frightened and as if they were suddenly not sure why they were standing thus, and then they ran, retreating and disappearing as quickly as they could. Mr. Thornton observed them closely and then gathered Margaret tightly to his chest. He turned and opened the unlatched door of the Hale's residence, not worrying about propriety or permission, and he hurried into Mr. Hale's empty study. Mr. Thornton gently laid Margaret upon a blue settee, carefully positioning a small cushion beneath her head. He felt her hands – they were so cold! – and began to chafe them between his own, larger ones to restore warmth and health. Abruptly, Mr. Thornton put his head down and cried out softly, 'Margaret! You lie there as one dead, white and cold, and none know what you are to me – the only woman I have ever loved!'
He was rocking and quietly whispering to her, trying to force life into her face. Margaret could not move; she felt immobilized and yet, she could hear. Likely she was not hearing correctly, as the words she perceived were astounding. She could not see nor open her eyes for the pain was too great. Mr. Thornton took his pocket handkerchief and dabbed the wound. He looked around anxiously for water or for help to arrive in the person of Mr. Hale or even grouchy Dixon. His quiet ministrations continued until a footstep outside of the study door alerted him to the presence of another; it was Dixon.
'Bless me, sir! What has happened to Miss Margaret?' Dixon looked upon him with considerable suspicion. This large tradesman in their home frequently, she knew it would come to no good. She bustled over to check
Margaret's wound and, with another glance of deep mistrust, hastily left to procure water for cleansing and a vial of smelling salts to awaken Margaret. Once Dixon quit the room, directly Mr. Thornton was back, kneeling by the settee which was supporting his beloved. Margaret moved slightly and carefully opened her eyes. She was not quite sure that she had opened them, as the sight which met her vision was rather fantastic. Mr. Thornton, the proud master and powerful man, was stooping next to her with such a look upon his face that she had never seen – except once, differently, on the face of Henry Lennox immediately before he had proposed to her. She would not think on it now but Margaret was not certain of the emotions he was engendering within her. She struggled to sit up and make light of her weakness but Dixon returned at that moment and would not hear of such nonsense, while Mr. Thornton jumped away rapidly with two large strides to a chair opposite where Margaret was reclining.
'Tut, Miss Margaret. Now how did you get so hurt? Your poor father would worry himself to illness if he saw you in this way, so it is well that he is keeping your mother company.' Dixon compelled Margaret to drink a draught to 'relax her nerves, it is' and to lay back so that Dixon could wash the wound and bind it up.
'Now we have to hide it else your parents will have it out of me how I came upon you and Mr. Thornton alone in the master's study.'
Margaret laughed lightly and replied, 'Now Dixon, you will oblige me by not mentioning this. I heard a loud noise coming from just outside and saw a large group of rough men attacking Mr. Thornton, who had been in this neighborhood only as our guest. Could I do otherwise than to protect him? Otherwise, he would have been your suffering patient but I am not sure this settee would be long enough for him.'
A loud knocking on the Hale's door diverted their attention and Margaret sat up straight and, with a glance at Mr. Thornton, self-consciously smoothed her skirt and hair to receive what visitors Dixon might find calling.