<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_294'></SPAN>294</span>CHAPTER XL</h2>
<p>Frank Spencer had already left the
Mill House and gone to Hilcrest when
McGinnis was well enough to go back
to his place in the mills. The mills, in spite of
the loss of the two buildings (which were being
rapidly rebuilt) were running full time, and needed
him greatly, particularly as the senior member of
the firm had not entirely regained his old health
and strength.</p>
<p>For some time after McGinnis went away, Margaret
remained at the Mill House; but she was
restless and unhappy in the position in which she
found herself. McGinnis taught an evening class
at the Mill House, and she knew that it could not
be easy for him to see her so frequently now that
the engagement was broken. Margaret blamed
herself bitterly, not for the broken engagement,
but for the fact that there had ever been any engagement
at all. She told herself that she ought
to have known that the feeling she had for Bobby
was not love—and she asked herself scornfully
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_295'></SPAN>295</span>
what she thought of a young woman who could
give that love all unsought to a man who was so
very indifferent as to beg her favor for another!
Those long hours of misery when the mills burned
had opened Margaret’s eyes; and now that her
eyes were opened, she was frightened and
ashamed.</p>
<p>It seemed to Margaret, as she thought of it, that
there was no way for her to turn but to leave both
the Mill House and Hilcrest for a time. Bobby
would be happier with her away, and the Mill
House did not need her—Clarabella had come
from New York, and had materially strengthened
the teaching force. As for Hilcrest—she certainly
would not stay at Hilcrest anyway—now. Later,
when she had come to her senses, perhaps—but
not now.</p>
<p>It did not take much persuasion on the part of
Margaret to convince Mrs. Merideth that a winter
abroad would be delightful—just they two together.
The news of Margaret’s broken engagement
had been received at Hilcrest with a joyous
relief that was nevertheless carefully subdued in
the presence of Margaret herself; but Mrs. Merideth
could not conceal her joy that she was to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_296'></SPAN>296</span>
take Margaret away from the “whole unfortunate
affair,” as she expressed it to her brothers. Frank
Spencer, however, was not so pleased at the proposed
absence. He could see no reason for Margaret’s
going, and one evening when they were
alone together in the library he spoke of it.</p>
<p>“But, Margaret, I don’t see why you must go,”
he protested.</p>
<p>For a moment the girl was silent; then she
turned swiftly and faced him.</p>
<p>“Frank, Bobby McGinnis was my good friend.
From the time when I was a tiny little girl he
has been that. He is good and true and noble,
but I have brought him nothing but sorrow. He
will be happier now if I am quite out of his sight
at present. I am going away.”</p>
<p>Frank Spencer stirred uneasily.</p>
<p>“But you will be away—from him—if you are
here,” he suggested.</p>
<p>“Oh, but if I’m here I shall be there,” contested
Margaret with a haste that refused to consider
logic; then, as she saw the whimsical smile
come into the man’s eyes, she added brokenly:
“Besides, I want to get away—quite away from
my work.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_297'></SPAN>297</span></p>
<p>Spencer grew sober instantly. The whimsical
look in his eyes gave place to one of tender sympathy.</p>
<p>“You poor child, of course you do, and no
wonder! You are worn out with the strain,
Margaret.”</p>
<p>She raised a protesting hand.</p>
<p>“No, no, you do not understand. I—I have
made a failure of it.”</p>
<p>“A failure of it!”</p>
<p>“Yes. I want to get away—to look at it from
a distance, and see if I can’t find out what is the
trouble with it, just as—as artists do, you know,
when they paint a picture.” There was a feverishness
in Margaret’s manner and a tremulousness
in her voice that came perilously near to
tears.</p>
<p>“But, my dear Margaret,” argued the man,
“there’s nothing the matter with it. It’s no
failure at all. You’ve done wonders down there
at the Mill House.”</p>
<p>Margaret shook her head slowly.</p>
<p>“It’s so little—so very little compared to what
ought to be done,” she sighed. “The Mill House
is good and does good, I acknowledge; but it’s
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_298'></SPAN>298</span>
so puny after all. It’s like a tiny little oasis in
a huge desert of poverty and distress.”</p>
<p>“But what—what more could you do?” ventured
the man.</p>
<p>Margaret rose, and moved restlessly around
the room.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” she said at last. “That’s
what I mean to find out.” She stopped suddenly,
facing him. “Don’t you see? I touch
only the surface. The great cause behind things
I never reach. Sometimes it seems as if it were
like that old picture—where was it? in Pilgrim’s
Progress?—of the fire. On one side is the man
trying to put it out; on the other, is the evil
one pouring on oil. My two hands are the two
men. With one I feed a hungry child, or nurse
a sick woman; with the other I make more
children hungry and more women sick.”</p>
<p>“Margaret, are you mad? What can you
mean?”</p>
<p>“Merely this. It is very simple, after all. With
one hand I relieve the children’s suffering; with
the other I take dividends from the very mills
that make the children suffer. A long time ago
I wanted to ‘divvy up’ with Patty, and Bobby
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_299'></SPAN>299</span>
and the rest. I have even thought lately that
I would still like to ‘divvy up’; and—well, you
can see the way I am ‘divvying up’ now with
my people down there at the mills!” And her
voice rang with self-scorn.</p>
<p>The man frowned. He, too, got to his feet
and walked nervously up and down the room.
When he came back the girl had sat down again.
Her elbows were on the table, and her linked
fingers were shielding her eyes. Involuntarily
the man reached his hand toward the bowed
head. But he drew it back before it had touched
a thread of the bronze-gold hair.</p>
<p>“I do see, Margaret,” he began gently, “and
you are right. It is at the mills themselves that
the first start must be made—the first beginning
of the ‘divvying up.’ Perhaps, if there were
some one to show us”—he paused, then went
on unsteadily: “I suppose it’s useless to say
again what I said that day months ago: that if
you stayed here, and showed him—the man who
loves you—the better way——”</p>
<p>Margaret started. She gave a nervous little
laugh and picked up a bit of paper from the
floor.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_300'></SPAN>300</span></p>
<p>“Of course it is useless,” she retorted in what
she hoped was a merry voice. “And he doesn’t
even love me now, besides.”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t love you!” Frank Spencer’s eyes
and voice were amazed.</p>
<p>“Of course not! He never did, for that matter.
’Twas only the fancy of a moment. Why,
Frank, Ned never cared for me—that way!”</p>
<p>“<em>Ned!</em>” The tone and the one word were
enough. For one moment Margaret gazed into
the man’s face with startled eyes; then she turned
and covered her own telltale face with her hands—and
because it was a telltale face, Spencer took
a long stride toward her.</p>
<p>“Margaret! And did you think it was Ned I
was pleading for, when all the while it was I who
was hungering for you with a love that sent me
across the seas to rid myself of it? Did you,
Margaret?”</p>
<p>There was no answer.</p>
<p>“Margaret, look at me—let me see your eyes!”
There was a note of triumphant joy in his voice
now.</p>
<p>Still no answer.</p>
<p>“Margaret, it did not go—that love. It stayed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_301'></SPAN>301</span>
with me day after day, and month after month,
and it only grew stronger and deeper until there
was nothing left me in all this world but you—just
you. And now—Margaret, my Margaret,” he said
softly and very tenderly. “You <em>are</em> my Margaret!”
And his arms closed about her.</p>
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