Margaret's feelings, as she fled from the mill, could scarcely be defined. Shame, horror, disappointment, all plagued her.

Margaret tried desperately to call to mind the convictions that had led to her arrival at Marlborough Mill this morning. Had she truly expected him to renew his offer? Did she really believe that by simply retracting her vigorous rejection of him that day at Crampton, that Mr Thornton would fall at her feet?

With shame and mortification Margaret was forced to allow that she had been confident he would.

Yet now as she recalled his severe words: how hurt and affronted he had been by her presumptions; she was aghast at her own arrogance and immaturity. She had cast Mr Thornton as the villain of the story only to be revealed as the fiend herself.

'…your actions today are not those of a lady.' Margaret would never forget his words. Their truth was what injured her the most. In her desperation to save her mother Margaret had forgotten herself and behaved abominably toward Mr Thornton. She could see that now. Indeed by rejecting her, Mr Thornton had most likely saved her from actions she would have regretted for the rest of her life.

Hadn't he?

Pondering on this last point, Margaret was surprised by her confessions today. To have declared to Mr Thornton so candidly something that she had not yet admitted to herself, was out of character. Yet she knew she had been earnest in her words to him. She did believe – with as much impartiality as the situation would allow her - that an alliance between them could have proved successful. Whilst Margaret would of course prefer to marry for love, she did not rule out that affection may have developed over time.

Her father had always told her that a mark of a man was his actions, not his words. Margaret half smiled to herself. Mr Thornton, whilst not always eloquent, had exhibited integrity and honour. Even his behaviour today must be counted in his favour. He was a man of principle. And though Margaret did not always agree with his opinions, she admired the steadiness of his character. He was someone people looked up to and admired. He was someone whose good opinion mattered - even to her she realised.

Oh what a lesson she had learnt - and too late! How was she to tell her father that she had returned home empty handed? And more importantly how did she own up to her failure to gain Mr Thornton's assistance without her father thinking ill of him?

Margaret walked quickly, desiring yet dreading the sanctuary of her parent's home. Making her way through the crowded street, now bustling with workers making their way to factories and shops, Margaret gasped when a hand reached out to touch her arm.

'Miss Margaret!'

Margaret roused herself from her thoughts to focus on the friendly face in front of her. 'Nicholas. Hello.'

'Are you all right Miss Margaret? You're as pale as a sheet? Are you unwell?'

Margaret attempted to smile at her friend but her heart wasn't quite in it. 'Yes I am well Nicholas. My mind was just a long way away just now.'

'I could see Miss.' Nicholas smiled kindly. 'We haven't seen much of you lately? Bess is eager for your company.'

Margaret gathered herself. 'Yes, I'm sorry Nicholas. My mother, you see, has been terribly ill. I am just heading back home to her after running some errands.' Margaret considered him for a moment and then added 'I understand the strike is at an end…have you found new work?'

Nicholas shook his head. 'No Miss.

You'll get work, shan't you?' asked Margaret. 'You're a famous workman, are not you?'

'Hamper'll let me work at his mill, when he cuts off his right hand —not before, and not after,' said Nicholas, quietly. And as for the others, let's just say that '..good words is scarce, and bad words is plentiful.'

Margaret looked on with sympathy.

'No one will touch me Miss. I am off to try at Watson's today. But it is a lost cause I think. I am sick of Milton and Milton is sick of me. If Bess were stronger I would consider taking the girls south before the winter.'

'You must not go to the South,' said Margaret, 'for all that. You could not stand it. You would have to be out all weathers. It would kill you with rheumatism. The mere bodily work at your time of life would break you down. The fare is far different to what you have been accustomed to.'

Then Margaret added, 'Higgins, have you been to Marlborough Mill to ask for work?'

'Thornton's?' asked he. 'Ay, I've been at Thornton's.' 'And what did he say?' 'Such a chap as me is not like to see the measter. Th' o'erlooker bid me go and be d—d.

' 'But I wish you had seen Mr. Thornton,' repeated Margaret. 'Would you go again—it's a good deal to ask, I know—but would you go to-morrow and try him? I should be so glad if you would. He is fair and just I think.

Margaret looked at Higgins for his answer. Those grave soft eyes of hers were difficult to resist. He gave a great sigh. 'It would tax my pride above a bit; if it were for mysel', I could stand a deal o' clemming first; I'd sooner knock him down than ask a favour from him. I'd a deal sooner be flogged mysel'; but yo're not a common wench, axing yo'r pardon, nor yet have yo' common ways about yo'. I'll e'en make a wry face, and go at it to-morrow.

Well I better be getting along.' Nicholas paused. 'Miss, I don't mean to upset you more – what with your Mother and all being as ill as she is – but I 'm not sure how long Bess has for the world. Could you see your way to stopping in to see her this morning? She can barely raise her head from the pillow, so weak is she. A visit from you would be sure to up her spirits.'

'Oh Nicholas, I'm not sure I can…'

'Please Miss, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't so important to her. Please give her a few minutes of your time this morning.'

Margaret silently reproached herself for her own selfishness and nodded. 'Of course Nicholas. I will go there directly.'

'Thank you Miss. You are a true lady.' He tipped his hat and continued on his way, not knowing how those words pained her.

As Margaret entered the dank little house in Frances Street she was not surprised to find Bessy lying languid in the bed. Her pallor reminded Margaret of her mother. A familiar sadness overcame her and Margaret felt the prick of tears. She was determined not to let Bessy see her pity, and hurriedly wiped them away.

Bessie gave a small smile, almost as if she thought the effort of a full one would have finished her off. Slowly and in a faint whisper the girl spoke, 'You're finally here Miss. I thought I would never see you again.'

Margaret walked over to Bessie's bedside and sat beside her. Collecting the girl's cold hand in her own, Margaret said soothingly, 'I am sorry Bessy. My mother has been quite unwell. But I am here now, how should we spend out time together?'

Bessy glanced over towards the bible by the bed.

Margaret reached over to take it in hand. 'Shall I read to you?'

Bessy nodded, closing her eyes, giving way to the weakness that pervaded her fragile body.

It took all her willpower, but Margaret kept her voice steady as she read to her dying friend.

As Margaret returned home to Crampton, her father came out of the room he used as a study to greet her. 'Margaret, you are home. I was worried, your note didn't say where you were going?'

Margaret hung her coat and gloves. 'I'm sorry Papa, I went to see my friend Bessy.'

'Oh yes, the girl from Marlborough Mill - with the lung condition?'

'Yes, that is her Papa. She is very unwell I am afraid. I read to her from Revelations - it seemed to give her comfort.' Margaret followed her father into the sitting room. She noticed a steaming hot teapot and poured herself a cup, refreshing her father's at the same time.

'The holy spirit brings comfort even to those who don't believe. He brings hope even where there is none. You have done a good deed my dear.'

Margaret sensed a cheerfulness in her father's countenance that had not been present for some time. 'You seem in good spirits Papa?'

Mr Hale nodded enthusiastically. 'God has provided Margaret. Just when we had almost lost all hope...'

Margaret looked enquiringly at her father. 'What do you mean Papa?'

Leaning in Mr Hale could hardly contain his joy. 'I mean Dr Donaldson advised me this morning that a silent benefactor has agreed to cover the costs for your mother's treatment.'

With a mix of trepidation and relief Margaret prompted her father. 'Silent benefactor Papa – but who? I mean would Dr Donaldson not say to whom we are indebted?'

Shaking his head Mr Hale could not keep himself from beaming. 'No my dear. All he would say was that the person, on finding out about our troubles yesterday, insisted on settling all accounts on our behalf for so long as your Mama.. ah… has need.' Mr Hale frowned momentarily at his closing thought.

Margaret was silenced.

'My dear, you don't look as happy as I expected you to be? But tell me, did you speak with anyone yesterday about our circumstances? Do you have any idea who might have been so generous to us in our time of need?' Mr Hale seeming to interpret Margaret's stillness as solemn gratitude, continued. 'I had thought that Mr Thornton may have been our savior, but there was no way that he could know about our situation, is there Margaret?'

Margaret did not know how to answer, so instead she shook her head dumbly.

'Well perhaps we shall never know. But we will include this mystery angel of the lord in our prayers, shall we not my dear?'

Margaret felt ill. How could she ever face Mr Thornton again?