At that night, John tried to sleep. He kept himself busy during that gloomy afternoon, running errands, talking to workers, managing his stock. However, while he laid on his bed, her image haunted him. Her smiles and her frowns, her touch and smell, all her self was present in his mind as if she was beside him. The memory of the cold and brisk farewell gave him shivers. He should have said something, he should have been kinder. But now it was too late. She was gone forever.
Margaret spent the afternoon with her aunt, who kept running around the house frenetically. She kept buffing and sighing, cursing Milton and its residents. Despite her efforts, Margaret could not defend Milton and her friends; she had no strength of spirit to say anything, so she remained silent and obedient to her aunt. That night she could not sleep. The way Mr Thornton looked at her, reproved her, and judged her haunted her thoughts. He despised her, and now it was too late. He was gone forever.