As Mr. Thornton went down the stairs. He could hear Dixon muttering as she worked in the kitchen below so he knew she was fine. That means - Margaret! Where was she? Mr. Thornton went to the study door. That same room in which he had stood just a few weeks before with his heart in his hand only to have all his precious hopes and dreams dashed. He now had a premonition that pain awaited him on the other side of that door again. However, man of action that he was, he did not hesitate. He pushed open the door.
Margaret lay as still and white as death on the floor! Mr. Thornton rushed to her side.
'Oh, my Margaret-my Margaret!' he cried.
He lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the settee. He laid her on it and knelt beside her. She was no longer 'bearing up better than likely,' as Dixon had told him at the funeral. She had sunk under her burden. It had been heavy in weight and long carried. There was a pitiful contraction of suffering upon her beautiful brows, although there was no other sign of consciousness remaining.
'E par che de la sua labbia si mova Uno spirto soave e pien d'amore, Chi va dicendo a l'anima: sospira!' (and it seems her face releases a pleasing spirit full of love, which goes and tells the soul: Sigh.)
Mr. Thornton's soul did sigh and he realized that now, in this moment, his great love might come in to comfort and console her. He brushed a few wisps of her curly hair away from her brow. Her skin was pale yet soft to his touch. He did not wish to alarm the rest of the household but if she did not revive soon he would be compelled to seek help.
The first symptom of returning life was a quivering about the lips-a little mute soundless attempt at speech; but the eyes were still closed. Then her brow contracted again and she reached her hand up and it grasped Mr. Thornton's arm. With her eyes still closed she spoke with anxiety in a child-like voice, "Edith why do Mama and Papa and Fred have to leave? When will I get to go home with them again?" Her hand dropped away and her quivering sank into stillness and she fell silent.
Mr. Thornton was taken aback. Was Margaret hallucinating or maybe dreaming? He had heard of Edith, she was her cousin in London, but who was this Fred mentioned with her parents?
Then Margaret started to speak again in a plaintive voice, "Oh, Papa, why must Fred leave us and go to sea? We may never see him again."
Next she began to thrash about and it was all Mr. Thornton could do to keep her from falling off the settee and prevent her from hurting herself. 'Run, Fred, run!' gasped Margaret and she pushed against his chest. 'The train is here. It was Leonards, was it? oh, run!"
'Leonards! Wasn't he the porter from Outwood Station who died in the infirmary the other day?' John thought to himself, 'The train! Was this Fred the one who was with her at Outwood Station? But who is he?'
"Who is Fred?" he said aloud to himself.
Margaret began to rouse but she was still a little out of sorts. She heard his question but did not comprehend in her mind who asked it. However, her repentant conscience came forth to answer in an attempt to clear itself in the eyes of whomever might listen. "He is my brother," she said.
As she struggled to sit up her eyes fluttered open and she exclaimed, "Mr. Thornton! What are you doing here?"