John spent that night, as it was most pleasingly sleepless, and all the next day playing over the scenes in his mind and analyzing what he had learned at the Hale's (and these thoughts had nothing to do with the study of Plato).

The man that Margaret was with at Outwood station, that she had most lovingly embraced before his very own eyes, was in fact her brother. So he was not her lover. Margaret's heart was free!

The lie she told the inspector was not to cover a blatant impropriety. It was made with fiercely loyal devotion to safeguard a beloved brother. It was not a mortal sin that would blacken her soul. It was more akin to martyrdom – a blight on her own character to save her brother.

'But why wouldn't she tell me about her brother?' thought he, 'Did she not trust me?'

What was it she had said? "The secret is another person's and I cannot explain it without doing him harm."

'What harm would come from explaining it to me? I am just a simple manufacturer,' John caught his breath, 'And a Magistrate of the Crown!' He sighed and dropped his head on his hand, rubbing his forehead. 'She was afraid I would report him, turn him in. She must know I wouldn't have done that! No, she wouldn't know that, not for certain. She had rejected me, hurt me. She may, in fact, have feared I would take vengeance on her. Oh, Margaret!'

What about now? Now that he understood, would it be possible to gain her affection after all that has passed between them?

The last words she spoke to him now rang in his head, "I have a better opinion of you than you do of me, at the moment."

'So her opinion of me had improved! Then there was the shy smile, the brush of her finger, and the blush on her cheek last evening. Sure, she left the room as soon as possible, but I had thought she might have been nervous.'

'There was also the warming of my coat and hat. That must have been her! Could she possibly have feelings for me or was she just being kind like she is to everyone?'

'What does she think of me?' he wondered, 'She avoided me in the churchyard and she wasn't there to greet me at the door when I arrived last night. What was the last thing I said to her?'

'I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over. I'm looking to the future.'

'Oh that horrible lie! I am a worse liar than she is. Her lie was meant to help somebody she loves. My lie was meant to hurt somebody I love. And I sat on my high horse scorning her. I must let her know I was wrong. I must beg her forgiveness. Then, only then can I… but no, that will never be.'

….oOo….

John passed another night of restless sleep. However, not as welcome as the previous one. He had weighed himself in the balance and found himself to be wanting.

After eating breakfast with his mother he rose to leave for the mill. Passing the drawing room he noticed Fanny's writing desk and her pretty new papers strewn all over the tea table. He stepped inside to look at them. She had obviously been busy about her plan to write Valentines.

'Fools in love,' John thought to himself, turning to leave. Then he stopped and stepped back to the table. He was such a fool himself, wasn't he? Glancing at the doorway to make sure no one could see him, he quickly slipped one of the papers into the business folder he was carrying to his office. He strode quickly out of the room and down the stairs.

Later that morning, after making sure that all was running smoothly at the mill, John went back to his office to handle some correspondence, or so he told his overseer. It wasn't entirely untrue. However, the correspondence he was going to handle was not business related.

He was aware that those 'fools in love' often resorted to poetry in their Valentine messages. John knew exactly the poem he would quote. One he often turned to as it seemed to address his own plight. He found the correct book on his shelf and opened it to the right page. The book would have fallen open to that page on its own anyway, he read that poem so often. Sitting at his desk, he dipped his quill in the ink and began to copy the lines he thought most suitable, onto the fancy paper he had lifted from his sister's stash:

Ship broken men, whom stormy seas do tosses,

Protests with oaths not to adventure more,

Yet all their perils, promises and losses

They quite forget when they come to the shore:

Even so, fair dame, whilst sadly I deplore

The shipwreck of my wits, procured by you,

Your looks rekindleth love as of before,

And does revive which I did disavow;

So all my former vows I disallow

And buries in oblivion's grave my groans,

Yea, I forgive hereafter even as now

My fears, my tears, my cares, my sobs and moans

In hope, if I again on rocks be driven,

Ye will me endure to anchor in your heaven.

-William Fowler

John did not sign it.

He had not yet decided if he would send the note, but if he did, anonymous it would be. Should he lay his heart at her feet once more? Would she trample on it yet again?

Looking it over once more, he folded and sealed it, locking it in a drawer of his desk.

….oOo….

Margaret had been elated all the next day. John, er, Mr. Thornton, now knew all about Frederick. He would understand who she was with that night and the reason for her falsehood.

Her father had voluntarily told her all about the conversation with his pupil. She admonished him a little for forgetting that John was a Magistrate. He in turn admonished her for dismissing the fact that John was a valued and trusted friend.

Margaret felt a little ashamed at this remark. Had she trusted John sooner maybe this wedge would never have been driven between them and they could have at least been friends. He would never have known of her fall from grace. However, now at least a civil discourse could possibly be established. Maybe friendship in the future. Anything more than that was out of the question. He had already confessed as much to her.

Sad as that prospect may be, she still felt the heaviness lifted from her heart. 'Courage, little heart. We will turn back, and by God's help we may find the lost path.'

The next day Margaret received a letter from Edith. She loved her cousin dearly except for one thing: she still kept trying to match her up with Henry Lennox. Edith explained to Margaret how it had become popular to write love notes and send them to your suitors (or men to their sweethearts) on St. Valentine's Day. She included for Margaret some blank sheets of very pretty Valentine's paper and encouraged her to write to 'a special someone who would greatly appreciate getting a love letter from you.' Margaret cringed knowing that Edith was referring to Henry. However, fingering the papers, Margaret thought maybe she would use them to write to a certain someone who really was special to her.

….oOo….

A/N: The excerpt of poetry was from 'The Tarantula of Love' by William Fowler. Another portion of which was quoted at the beginning of North & South, Chapter 24 – the chapter of the first proposal. The original I found to be in Olde English so I 'translated' it myself to make sense, losing some of the rhyming (I am no Olde English scholar so I just guessed). This is just a portion of the sonnet but much of the rest of the poem also seems appropriate to John's situation.