Mrs. Hale's wish to "properly receive" her son was never to be realized. It was not very long before she was confined to her bed, barely able to lift her head from her pillow. Dixon kept a constant vigil at her side, ready to fulfill her every request, should she have any. Margaret was often there, as well, but Dixon's fierce and unshakable devotion to her mistress made it so that Margaret had to attend to other duties, overseeing Martha and seeing to her father's comfort. She tried not to blame Dixon for her nearly permanent position, knowing how little time they all had left. It would not be long before her mother joined Bessy in heaven, and she despaired of Frederick's arriving in time.

She was sitting quietly with her father in the drawing room one morning when Dixon entered. "Mistress would like to see you, Miss. You'd better come quickly."

Margaret was swift to obey, knowing her mother's periods of lucidity were becoming erratic and less frequent. If she wished to see her, she must be quick before this moment passed. When she entered the room, a grave and quiet chill went through her, one that was present every time she looked upon her mother's ghostly pallor. Her eyes were shut, and Margaret was unsure if she had noticed her. As she sat, however, her mother said, "Please leave us, Dixon." Margaret turned to see Dixon, who had evidently been intent on remaining, hesitate and tremble before leaving the room again.

She turned back to see her mother's eyes open, looking straight at her. She leaned in closer, taking a limp hand in hers, and asked, "What do you wish, Mama? What may I do for you?"

Mrs. Hale swallowed painfully, her shallow breath barely enough to support her voice. But now that her daughter was before her, she was determined to say all she wished to, no matter what the effort cost her.

"Margaret . . . there is so little I can do for you now. And soon I will be unable to do anything for you." Margaret little expected this morbid kind of conversation, and only wanted to silence Mrs. Hale if she wanted to continue in this dreary vein.

"Mama, please –"

"No, Margaret, you must listen to me. I want to give you what little counsel I can . . . I will not live to see you follow it, but I can hope you will remember it."

"Of course." It was only now that Margaret was hit by the realization that Mrs. Hale was desirous of speaking her last words. Oh, how could she bear that knowledge, that she might never speak to her mother again?

"I want you to think about your future. Consider it carefully. You will be in Milton for a long time, and you must give thought to how you will live your life here."

Her words came slowly, but Margaret could see that her mother had given much thought beforehand to what she would say. She was surprised that her mother would think of her future in Milton as so certain.

"A mother . . . has many wishes for her children, Margaret. She wants to see them grow and learn and one day have a family of their own. I have seen so little of your life, and I am sorry for it, to have sent you away. I would never have done so if I had known I would not see you as a woman. I will not see you settled with children of your own."

"Mama, please, you must not blame yourself. None of us could have known what would happen."

"Enough, Margaret!" She spoke still weakly, but with such an attempt at vehemence that Margaret was effectively quieted. "Please do not stop me, Margaret. I have my regrets, and I must be allowed to speak of them. I am sorry. I wanted to see you live your life."

Margaret's eyes filled with tears and she bowed her head, but she said nothing in reply, not wanting to frustrate her mother any more.

"A mother wants to see her daughter well-settled, to know she will live comfortably. But more than that, she wants her daughter to be happy. Your Aunt Shaw chose a life that guaranteed she would be well-off and comfortable. I chose a life with a man who made me happy, whom I loved." She paused. "I trust that you will not need to choose between those two options."

Margaret raised her head in some confusion. What did she mean?

"Mr. Thornton is a good man, Margaret."

Her eyes widened and she gasped. Her mother's simple declaration implied so much in relation to her previous words. "What do you mean, Mama?"

Mrs. Hale smiled sadly. "Just that. He is a good man. I would not see it at first. I was wrong. But he has been very good to our family. He has been good to you, too."

"Mama, how could . . . I don't understand," Margaret stammered in embarrassment and bewilderment. How blatant had she been?

"Illness and death make one selfish, Margaret, but not blind. How could I not see you change toward him? And it is clear that he loves you. I could not ignore that."

Margaret blushed. She had wondered about her father seeing through their behavior, but she had never imagined her mother to do so! She was too frail, too ill, to notice her conduct around Mr. Thornton. To have her knowledge revealed after all this time astounded Margaret. She had never breathed a word!

"I did what little I could for you to help him along. I am sorry I could not do more."

"Mama!" she exclaimed in some shock.

"Well, do you think I would have asked any man to dance with you?" she asked in a chiding tone. Margaret blushed again at the memory, taking a whole new viewpoint of her mother's purpose.

"Does Father know, do you think?"

"No. He has the luxury of time to still think of you as a small girl. I have been forced into seeing you as the young woman you are. A young woman who has clearly given her heart away."

"Is that what you see, Mama?" she asked quietly.

"Margaret, you have always known your own mind, and I'm sure you know your own heart. You love Mr. Thornton, do you not?" Mrs. Hale responded just as softly, her tired face somber.

She hesitated. "I . . . I don't know, Mama."

"Yes, you do."

There was silence as her mother searched her face, as Margaret now searched within her heart. Did she truly love him? Had sincere affection and love taken its place alongside the passion and desire he aroused in her? It did not take her long to find her answer. "Yes. I do love him, Mama." Even in the midst of her sorrow, her heart bounded as she admitted it out loud. Her mother only smiled weakly.

"Then do not wait too long for your happiness, Margaret. Think about the future you want, and don't put it off."

Margaret bent her head and kissed her mother's hand reverently, silently promising to remember this final advice. She would never forget it, grateful as she was for her mother's blessing and encouragement.

Mrs. Hale's exhaustion was unmistakable now, but she had another request to make before sending Margaret away. "Margaret, I wish to see Mrs. Thornton. Will you send for her? And quickly?"

Margaret was again surprised, but responded, "Of course, Mama. I will write her this morning."

Mrs. Hale nodded and laid her head back on her pillow. "Thank you, Margaret. Will you send Dixon in now? I'm sure she is on tenterhooks not being here."

Margaret smiled and stood, pausing only to brush her lips on her mother's brow. Sure enough, as she left the room, Dixon was standing just outside the door, fidgeting and pacing. She did not even wait for Margaret to speak before bustling past her. Margaret laughed softly, but sobered quickly in remembrance of the task her mother set her. The note to Mrs. Thornton was soon written and given to Martha to post.

Margaret expected that Mrs. Thornton would come in the next few days, occupied as she must be. To her astonishment, though, that same afternoon brought Mrs. Thornton to their door. Margaret herself answered the firm knocking at the door, and was more than a little awkward as she led her up the stairs. With her recent self-discovery, she was also now realizing that one day she would be very closely connected to this severe, silent woman, and this knowledge made her manner of expression less than tranquil. Dixon met them on the landing and took Mrs. Thornton the rest of the way, leaving Margaret to wonder what on earth her mother would find to talk about with her.

Knowing she would drive herself mad with curiosity if left to her own devices, she sought out her father in his study. He greeted her kindly and invited her to take a chair. Scarcely had she done so when Dixon entered the room, her mouth firmly set and her face full of purpose.

"Forgive my impertinence, master, but there is a matter on which we must speak. We can no longer delay it."

"Of course, Dixon," Mr. Hale removed his spectacles to look at her more closely. "What is it?"

"It is about Master Frederick. We have received no letter from him, but we are all agreed he is coming?"

"Yes, of course. He would not stay away." Mr. Hale now set aside his book, his attention quickly absorbed by Dixon's concern.

"Then we need to decide what we must do to keep his coming a secret. We cannot wait until he gets here to take precautions."

The familiar anxiety had taken its place in the pit of Margaret's stomach, but she knew Dixon was right. Frederick was sure to arrive soon, and she had neglected this subject far too long. "What do you suggest, Dixon?" Surely she had already given the matter some thought.

"Well, Miss, it will not do to have Martha here, poking her nose about. We very well won't be able to hide him from her. But she has been talking of visiting her mother, and I think it's time we gave her a holiday for her to do so. Today. As soon as possible."

"Will she not think it strange to be sent away so abruptly while Mama is so ill?"

"She may, but she'll hardly give it a second thought. She'll be too glad to get away. The only worry I have is how all the work will get done in her absence."

Mr. Hale had no answer to this, but Margaret soon thought of a solution. "If need be, we can call on Mary Higgins. She needs the work, I'm sure, and she is so quiet that it's unlikely she'll speak to anyone about any visitors we have."

"You're sure, Margaret?" her father asked skeptically.

"Yes, and of course we will not call Frederick by his real name to her – he has been writing under the name of Dickinson, after all, and that will do well if he must be spoken of."

"What of any other visitors we receive? We cannot allow them very far in the house."

"We will show them to the study. Mama's illness must be the excuse, and no doubt Dixon will keep the door like a dragon." She glanced to her with a hint of a smile that Dixon herself took up.

"Oh, they'd have to be clever to get past me. You may depend on that, Miss."

"And then we will not speak of him to anyone, will we?" Mr. Hale said with some faint tones of regret. The burden of keeping his son's existence a secret was one that always pained him. To have him in the house and still be unable to talk freely of him would be doubly difficult.

Margaret felt her father's pain and was desirous to relieve it. An idea struck her in the next moment, however. "Well, perhaps it would be helpful to have a friend in the secret, one we can call on if things become too serious." She saw out of the corner of her eye Dixon pursing her lips, but she ignored it. "What would you say to that, Father? Someone we can trust, who would help us?"

"Who are you thinking of, Margaret?" he asked, doubt ringing in his voice that anybody was so trustworthy.

"I think Mr. Thornton would be willing to be of service to us," she replied, forcing her voice to remain calm. In such a serious matter, she had no desire to excite suspicion on another topic by bringing his name up with too much enthusiasm.

Mr. Hale visibly brightened a little at Margaret's suggestion, giving her a moment of hope that he would agree to the idea, but Dixon would have none of it and was unafraid to say so. "Surely not!" she exclaimed. "He would be the last man to confide such a thing in! It would not do at all!" Her forceful outburst quickly dimmed Mr. Hale's eyes and he resumed his mournful expression. But Margaret would not go down so easily.

"He is our friend, Dixon, and has been very good to us," she said firmly.

"He is a magistrate, Miss Margaret," was the indignant response. "If we tell him we've got a known mutineer in our house, what do you think he will do? His duty, that's what!"

Margaret had been ready to immediately respond, but Dixon's use of the word "duty" made her hesitate. She knew well how important his duty was to him, and it caused her a moment of doubt. But before she could recover from her hesitation, Dixon recognized her opportunity to undermine whatever authority or advantage Margaret had been about to exercise. "He is still enough of a stranger to us, Miss, to not know about Master Frederick at all. Now is not the time to bring somebody else into the secret. It would be only a matter of time until we let all of Milton know if we started making allowances."

Mr. Hale spoke now, despondent and quiet. "Dixon is right, Margaret. If we begin to make exceptions of who may know about Frederick, it will soon be impossible to distinguish between who does and does not know. Better that as few people as possible know."

Margaret tried one last tack. "But, Father, surely it would give you some relief and comfort, to have a friend to confide in."

He sighed. "Perhaps it would, but it is safer for all to remain silent. It is as much for Mr. Thornton's benefit as anyone's. He would be placed in an awkward situation if informed, and it will be better for him to know nothing."

Margaret sat back, recognizing defeat. If her father would not agree to Mr. Thornton's knowing, there was no help for it. She tried not to notice the glimmer of triumph in Dixon's eyes. "Very well. It will remain a secret."

Later that evening, Margaret was still wrestling with her disappointment. Today she had discovered something wonderful and precious, helped along by her mother's unexpected prompting. She loved Mr. Thornton! She was relieved and excited by the realization, and she was impatient to see him. Why did propriety and convention have to constrain her? There were moments that she wanted to escape the house and seek him out, confess herself, and experience the joy of requited love.

Instead she sat alone, conflicted and sad, for it was not merely convention that kept her from going to him. Not now Dixon had won her victory, binding Margaret to silence. How could she go to Mr. Thornton and tell him all that was in her heart and yet conceal from him her own brother? She knew she would not be able to. Once she began to tell him of her love for him, she would have to be honest with him about everything. He deserved no less from one who professed to love him.

But she had given her word and agreed with her father and Dixon to keep Frederick secret and safe. She could not tell Mr. Thornton about Frederick presently, so she would have to wait to tell him anything of her feelings. She would have to put her happiness on hold, all because Dixon's arguments had carried the day. Why had she ever imagined it was a good idea to keep her attachment to Mr. Thornton private? If she had only told her family of her feelings for him, surely they would have agreed to include him in the secret. For that matter, why had she never told him about Frederick? She'd had so many opportunities to say something about him, but the thought had never occurred to her. She wanted to weep, for her own sake and because of her mother's words to her that very morning. Already she was ignoring her mother's final counsel and sacrificing her current happiness so that Mrs. Hale would be able to see her son in some security.

Margaret could not hate Dixon for her immovable opinion, nor could she hate her father for agreeing. But she wished she could, frustrated as she was that almost immediately after admitting she loved Mr. Thornton, she had made the decision to lie to him. One day she would confess all, and would he ever be able to forgive her for her lack of trust? Even still, Dixon's words of duty dinned in Margaret's ears, and she tried to forget them, tried to push away any hint of doubt. He had done nothing to deserve it. Her heart ached at the thought that he would be hurt by her secrecy, and almost was she tempted to flout her family's decision and go to him immediately, confessing everything and telling him about Frederick, anyway. But could she dare?

Yes, she could dare. She had no reason to hide her feelings for Mr. Thornton from her family. She would tell her father and he must understand how important it was for Mr. Thornton to know about Frederick. He must agree that to lie to Mr. Thornton would be injurious to their current understanding. And with his blessing, she would go to Mr. Thornton. She would tell him everything.

The violent sound of the door-bell interrupted her hasty resolution, and as she moved down the stairs, she vaguely wondered to herself who could be calling at such a late hour. She pulled the door open to see a man's tall figure silhouetted against the street lamps, and for an irrational moment, she half-thought it could be Mr. Thornton. But as the figure turned toward her, she knew it was not him.

"Is this Mr. Hale's?" the stranger spoke, and Margaret knew from his clear voice that he was no stranger.

"Frederick!"