That evening, Mr Thornton came to call upon the Hales; firstly to apologise to Mr Hale for missing his lesson the previous evening, and secondly to bring the direction for the doctor, as bidden by his mother. When he entered the drawing-room, Miss Hale was seeing to her mother and Mr Hale had about him a pile of books, which momentarily weighed him down upon his chair. Isabel, who had been in the process of pouring tea, looked up at him with a flustered smile; conscious of having referred to him as "handsome" only earlier that day, and fearful that his mother would have related to him, her words.

'Miss Darrow,' said Mr Thornton, stepping fully into the room as she made to approach him, 'I have here the direction you requested from my mother,' holding out a small, folded note.

'Dr Donaldson?' queried she, in low tones, so as not to incite concern in her friends. Mr Thornton appeared to understand her caution, but was surprised that she knew of the doctor's name. Realising her mistake too late, she put in hastily, 'I knew of his name, but not his address.' Seeing Mr Thornton seated, she then set about pouring his tea - recalling how he took it - and handed it to him with a timid glance. He noted, as the Hales sat about their own refreshments, that Miss Darrow and given up the cup which had so clearly been allotted hers, prior to his arrival, but then she slipped silently from the room, and so he thought that she did not intend to join them. He was surprised then, when she returned with alacrity, carrying a fresh cup and saucer, whereupon she poured herself her own tea, taken black without sugar. He was intrigued to see that she had sought out her own cup, rather than ringing down for one, and supposed that she must be of peculiar preferences of taste - having lived in such strange climates - for the Hale's tea was not very fine and had a tendency to bitterness, which did not lend itself to being taken without milk.

Mr Hale soon began to speak upon the strike which was the talk of Milton, and Mr Thornton, keen to explain both sides of the argument to his friend, settled into an explanation with such a firm and unforgiving expression, as to quite repel Margaret. She could not help but think of him as unfeeling, and sighed in resignation. It seemed her father would favour him - her mother indifferent in her illness - and Isabel; she appeared to openly admire the rough fellow. She turned her gaze to her companion, and watched as Isabel listened attentively to the conversation, with an unobtrusive interest. She felt certain that her friend had a partiality for the man, but the only true evidence of it was her earlier admission of his being quite handsome. Every other time she had spoken up for him, there had been a sound logic to her words; an almost-cajoling tone to her voice, as though she wished for Margaret to feel the same admiration that she felt; as though she was championing a people or a cause and not merely one man. The difficulty was, believed Margaret, that where she felt an affinity to the worker, Isabel seemed to wish her to find footing with the very Masters who blighted the worker's existence.

Mr Thornton had explained to Mr Hale that business had taken a turn in the past twelvemonth and mills were not making such ready profits as they had been the previous year.

'The workers see only that we cannot increase wages - hear that we may have to lower them - and think themselves oppressed. They do not understand that we masters have to manage buyers and sellers of cotton; have to tread a thin line in order to balance the books. No; they will not allow that we act with good reason. They will launch their attack.'

'And how will they do that?' enquired Mr Hale.

'I should imagine they will enact a simultaneous strike across the city. Milton will be without smoke in the next few days, for we Masters have all given our answers; there is to be no wage increase. No, we wait for what we know shall come.' Margaret frowned at hearing Mr Thornton speak so calmly on the matter; as though a strike - which would see the poor even poorer - was inevitable and nothing could be done, when she felt that not to be the case.

'But why cannot you explain to the workers - for you say they do not understand the demands of trade - why cannot you explain to them that your profits have decreased and so the wage cannot be raised? If they understood, could not the strike be avoided?'

'But should a master have to explain his reasoning to his workers? Do you justify your expenditure to your servants? To offer explanations is to open the doors to interference from the workers and that! they shall never be allowed. Our finances or actions need not be run through a panel of workers. We Masters have the capital, and so saying, it is our right to choose what we shall do with it.'

'A human right,' came Margaret's quietly spoken reply.

'Excuse me?' asked Mr Thornton. 'I did not hear what you said.' Margaret attempted to put him off, but he spoke cajolingly and so she was forced to relent.

'I said you had a human right. That is, there are no reasons but religious ones, why you ought not do with your money as you wish.'

'Our views on religion differ, but do you not give me credit for having some, even if they should not be the same as yours?' he asked in a soft voice, which spoke to Margaret of an intimacy she did not wish to feel. Speaking loudly, so as to address the entire room, as opposed to solely him, she replied, -

'I give your religious opinions no particular thought at all; I have no need to. I meant only to say that you may certainly do with your money whatever you wish, for it is yours and in a human sense, you are at liberty to do so. Yet in a Christian sense - as one who prospers and holds guardianship over others - you have the responsibility of stewardship; a responsibility not to be taken lightly.' She did not wish to continue speaking with him directly - she wanted him to return to conversing with her father - so she added further, 'Besides, I know little of business. I know not what is a fair wage, and so I ought not to involve myself in your conversation with my father.'

'I should be glad to explain matters to you, Miss Hale, for surely, when the strike comes - and it will - every man with a pen shall be professing his opinions, and it pays to be informed.'

'Thank you,' replied Margaret stiffly, 'but if I have any questions, I shall seek answers from my father in the first instance.' But Mr Hale was a scholar and had no mind for business, and Isabel felt this response entirely unsuitable.

'But Margaret, think what insight you could gain from speaking directly with a Master? You have already formed your opinions from speaking with Higgins, but that is only one side of the argument. I am sure he is an honest man, but he has his own agenda and cannot be objective.' She looked cautiously to Mr Thornton, who watched with interest. 'Now, Mr Thornton sits on the other side of the argument, and is certainly biased, also, but to listen to both opponents would give you a far greater understanding, and I am certain, that as an educated man, and a man who has worked his way upwards to where he is today, Mr Thornton can offer you a fair insight - more so than Higgins ever can, for what does he know of the Masters and their wider business, beyond the management of their shed? What knows he of the markets and the effects of politics on world trade?'

Margaret, vexed at being contradicted by Isabel and uneasy at having Nicolas Higgins alluded to in Mr Thornton's presence, could only offer up a weak reply, acknowledging that she found Milton and the whole issue of the strike to be quite strange.

'Strange? Why do you think it so?' asked Mr Thornton. Margaret frowned and bit her lip in thought, before speaking closely and with great concentration.

'I do not know. I suppose because it seems to me, as an outsider (as Isabel points out, I have very little true knowledge on the matter), that you are two classes - Master and worker - and although you stand against each other you are both one dependent upon the other in every possible way. You, the Master, cannot run your business without workers, and the workers cannot find employment without the Master, and yet both sides appear determined to run each other down.'

'Who have you heard running the Masters down?' asked Mr Thornton, mildly vexed. 'I shan't ask you who you have heard running the workers down, for it is clear to me that you continue to misunderstand what it is I say.'

'I shall not answer your question as to who,' replied Margaret defiantly (but she was sure Mr Thornton now knew her informer to be Nicholas Higgins), 'but I shall say that the person I have spoken with has led me to believe that it would serve a Master's purpose if the workers were kept in need of money; that they would be easier to manage if they had no savings in the bank. I have also heard say, that it is in the Masters' interests to keep the worker ignorant. That if the worker knows nothing of business and economies, has no basis for understanding reason or logic, they are nothing but large, overgrown children who will do as the Master bids them.' Mr Thornton was offended, and, turning his attention back to Mr Hale, went on to explain his own views on the workers; that they were, indeed, suited to ignorance during their ten hours a day with him, but that beyond that, they were free men to do as they wished. That he sought only to impose law upon his workers for the hours they worked for him, at the end of which time, they would be as free a man as he. Margaret stirred.

'Do not you feel some obligation - in respect of the ignorance of your workers - not to keep them childlike? For when they leave your mills, they go out into the world still ignorant. Do you not feel it your responsibility to guide them as any parent should?' But Mr Thornton shook his head vigorously.

'I am happy to play the role of heavy-handed parent whilst the men labour for me, but beyond that, I claim not authority. To do so would be to trench upon their freedom in such a way as I should so wholly despise myself; I could not do so.' Mr Thornton stood to leave, for he had another engagement that evening, but Margaret had not finished her piece.

'But surely, you only feel such interference would be an imposition because Master and Man stand so completely in isolation from one another? There is no friendship by which to welcome or regard such actions as nothing more than advice from an advisor. It strikes me that the very resentfulness of feeling you attest to, would come about only because both sides are so diametrically opposed as to make the workers fear any action by you would be to trench upon them?' Mr Hale looked anxiously to his daughter; fearful that she would make his friend late for his appointment.

'Come, Margaret,' encouraged Isabel, who could see Mr Hale's concern, 'you must surely see that any interference - however well intentioned, and however well received - is a loss of a man's liberty? Something any man of purpose or independent spirit must resent?'

'Why ever so?' asked Margaret in confusion, for she felt that with good intentions, there could be no harm in such a thing.

'Forgive me for speaking plainly, Margaret, but you are a woman and you are speaking of men. You are accustomed to having limitations placed upon your freewill; your choices of movement, who and how you socialise. You shall never set up a home without a man's influence - be it father or husband - and so you see counsel - kindly meant - as something which ought to be willingly received, but it is different for a man. Indeed, any man of strong character would resent even the interference of his own beloved father, were the father too officious in his attentions. You cannot judge clearly for you feel yourself, the advantage of said guidance and counsellor.'

'But you, as a woman, can see the difference?' retorted Margaret, defensively.

'Certainly I can, for where I have lived, a woman had every liberty that a man possessed and this cosseted existence here - which I find myself exposed to as a woman - is stifling (however kindly meant) and over time, one should grow to resent it. Indeed, I believe any thinking man certainly would. Mr Thornton has attested to that, in proclaiming himself to find any such interference into his own affairs so very abhorrent. It is a sign of respect for one's fellow man, not to impose oneself in such a way.' Isabel looked about at the stunned faces before her, and knew herself to have spoken too frankly. Margaret was quite clearly vexed and lifted her chin in her proud, defiant way. Mrs Hale looked only feeble and trembling, as though her nerves were set on edge, and Mr Hale looked cautiously from daughter to goddaughter. Only Mr Thornton appeared truly composed, and that appearance was a lie, for his heart beat thick and fast within his chest as he looked upon a blushing Miss Darrow. Never had he heard a woman speak so plainly and with such insight. Never had he felt his words so closely attended to; so clearly understood; never had he seen her to such an advantage, as when she proclaimed herself to have been a free creature who now resented the confinements society placed upon her. She was, when she was speaking unguardedly, quite beautiful, and exciting, and he felt for her a spark of passion the likes of which Miss Hale's great beauty has never managed to inspire. And yet he knew, in listening to the frank explanation of her views - even before she had professed herself to having had the freedom of a man, when she had lived abroad - that she would be a challenge to any man - perhaps even more so than Miss Hale, for all her proud haughtiness. And yet, as he looked down at the small woman before him - the cheeks tinged with a flush of pink, which crept down her neck - exposing her deep regret and mortification - as her head bowed and she chewed meekly at her lip - he thought her so very lovely; a dichotomy of fierce and feisty, and then gentle and entirely feminine. He wished in that moment - seeing her so discomposed, and feeling her to be so very isolated from what had always felt a companionship of two, between father and daughter - to fold her into his arms and hold her to his breast. The temptation was so very great, but he could not; he should not - he believed it only to be a passing fancy which would abate as soon as he stepped into the cool evening air and put the exchange from his mind. He took his leave of Mr and Mrs Hale, put out his hand for Margaret - saw the offer refused for a second time - and turned - his lips a grim line - to Miss Darrow, but she had slipped silently from the room, and was found moments later in the hallway, retrieving his hat and gloves.

She would not look at him; could not look at him, but merely croaked a whispered apology which Mr Thornton had to stoop to hear - for she was a whole foot shorted than he.

'Mr Thornton,' she acknowledge in farewell, bobbing him a small curtsey. He inclined his head as he watched her struggling to avoid his gaze, and thrust out his hand with a small, encouraging smile. She took it, and the touch of her small and slender hand in his - calloused as it was - thrilled him. That one can feel so much from a simple handshake, he thought to himself as he walked away, and yet Miss Hale will not even deign to take my hand.

Armed with the direction for Dr Donaldson, Isabel sent him a note requesting that he visit with Mrs Hale, and upon completing his examination of the patient, he informed Isabel that Mrs Hale's condition was as suspected; there was very little to be done for her, and she was not destined to be long for this world. Disheartened - for she knew something could be done for the poor lady, had they access to modern medicines - she could only note down the remedies suggested by the good doctor, and endeavour to procure them for Mrs Hale's comfort. In truth, she felt most of the tonics proclaimed to be of use by the doctor would do little more for the patient's comfort than would water, but Mrs Hale - being of a timid and sickly disposition - was bound to believe herself much resorted after taking such potions, even if the improvement was only in the mind. Isabel watched the doctor leave the sickroom, and heard the low voice of an anxious Margaret, who was - as she knew with her legendary foresight - pressing Dr Donaldson into revealing the true extent of Mrs Hale's illness. Some minutes passed, and Margaret's footsteps sounded up the stairs, signalling her approach, and Isabel, sensing Margaret's wish to be alone with her mother, slipped silently from the room.

Dixon, she found in the kitchen with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and she could not help but pity her, for here was a woman who had spent so many years in service that the closest person to her was her employer. Here was a woman who would surely mourn her mistress's passing just as keenly as would the daughter, but her grief would be cast aside and discounted, for not only was she no blood relation, but a paid subordinate.

'Do not fret, Dixon. Mrs Hale still has time, and we must make it a happy and comfortable time for her,' encouraged Isabel, setting a cup of tea upon the kitchen table, and bidding an anxious Dixon to take a seat. 'I have a list of medicines from the doctor, and I shall see them purchased; Mrs Hale shall want for nothing.' Dixon nodded, sniffed loudly and looked upwards, as though attempting to divine her mistress through the ceiling of the floors above.

'My poor mistress! She would never have taken ill had we not come here. It is all the master's doing. I said he would be the end of her, marrying below her station. A country curate! and then he up sticks and leaves! And here; to here, of all places! The end of her, it is.' Isabel frowned at the servant, through her grief.

'Dixon, you must not speak so. What you say is entirely untrue. Mrs Hale was afflicted for some time before arriving in Milton. Her illness is such that the symptoms will not have been apparent when it first arose. Mr Hale is not at fault, and it will pain the family to claim so.' Dixon scowled and grudgingly sipped at her tea, before setting it down and turning back to Isabel in defiance.

'Perhaps she was unwell before we came to this godforsaken place, but then it was Helstone which did her in. I said the place was damp. Dark, forested place that it was. Always damp, and the mistress often said it so herself. That, you cannot deny, for you never lived there. And we never would have been in Helstone had the Mistress married well and stayed in London.' Isabel sighed impatiently. Dixon would never be satisfied until she was in the grave, herself.

Isabel was saved from more of Dixon's protestations by the arrival of Margaret, who exchanged a sombre look with Isabel and declared that she knew all, forming a rather morbid trio around the battered kitchen table. After a time, Isabel declared herself in need of running an errand to the apothecary - as per Dr Donaldson's instructions - and saw herself scarce so that Margaret and Dixon could console each other as only life-long acquaintances can, and once Margaret had said all she had to say to Dixon, she took herself out to visit with Bessy Higgins in the hope that her friend could lift her spirits.