Mistakes Cleared Up

Dixon opened the door very softly, and stole on tiptoe up to
Margaret, sitting by the shaded window.

'Mr. Thornton, Miss Margaret. He is in the drawing-room.' Margaret dropped her sewing.

'Did he ask for me? Isn't papa come in?'

'He asked for you, miss; and master is out.'

'Very well, I will come,' said Margaret, quietly. But she
lingered strangely. Mr. Thornton stood by one of the windows,
with his back to the door, apparently absorbed in watching
something in the street. But, in truth, he was afraid of himself.
His heart beat thick at the thought of her coming. He could not
forget the touch of her arms around his neck, impatiently felt as
it had been at the time; but now the recollection of her clinging
defence of him, seemed to thrill him through and through,--to
melt away every resolution, all power of self-control, as if it
were wax before a fire. He dreaded lest he should go forwards to
meet her, with his arms held out in mute entreaty that she would
come and nestle there, as she had done, all unheeded, the day
before, but never unheeded again. His heart throbbed loud and
quick Strong man as he was, he trembled at the anticipation of
what he had to say, and how it might be received. She might
droop, and flush, and flutter to his arms, as to her natural home
and resting-place. One moment, he glowed with impatience at the
thought that she might do this, the next, he feared a passionate
rejection, the very idea of which withered up his future with so
deadly a blight that he refused to think of it. He was startled
by the sense of the presence of some one else in the room. He
turned round. She had come in so gently, that he had never heard
her; the street noises had been more distinct to his inattentive
ear than her slow movements, in her soft muslin gown.