Poor Mr Thornton, afflicted with all-consuming jealousy, enough to drive a man to the mad house. Fortunately for him, he's missed the onset of schizophrenia by five years. Depicting the thoughts poor John tortured himself with following the night of Edith's dinner party.

i.

Who is Captain Lennox? asked Mr. Thornton of himself, with a strange kind of displeasure, that prevented him for the moment from replying to her!

ii.

'No, no; a clever Lennox, (the captain's a fool, you must understand) a young barrister, who will be setting his cap at Margaret. I know he has had her in his mind this five years or more: one of his chums told me as much; and he was only kept back by her want of fortune. Now that will be done away with.'

'How?' asked Mr. Thornton, too earnestly curious to be aware of the impertinence of his question.

iii.

'Frederick!' exclaimed Mr. Thornton. 'Who is he? What right—?'

iv.

'You think Miss Hale looking well,' said Mr. Lennox, 'don't you? Milton didn't agree with her, I imagine; for when she first came to London, I thought I had never seen any one so much changed. To-night she is looking radiant. But she is much stronger. Last autumn she was fatigued with a walk of a couple of miles. On Friday evening we walked up to Hampstead and back. Yet on Saturday she looked as well as she does now.

'We!' Who? They two alone?

A man of old age he was becoming. He had placed himself in a vulnerable platter from which death could crow over him. He had fed his rabid, hungry jealousy by continuously replaying any thoughts of her cleaving to a man. A man who was not he.

The mention of Frederick's and Lennox's and any other gentleman within any proximity from her accelerated him to a possessed sort of frenzy, in a way that he could not recognize himself.

And tonight, after being detained for an eternity from her, he felt like a man renewed to drink in the vision of her in her gilded dress, only to disappoint him with their impersonal exchange of formalities. She remained every bit as beautiful as he remembered. He found it painful to stand at an arm's length away from her, so certain that he could never have her. But the mere presence of her was a delicious torture he could not live without.

Sleep would not come to him that night. Ashamed with himself, he sat up from his bed and let out a heady sigh.

John Thornton, a fine sculptor who had molded his own empire, saw it dissipate away like a castle in the sand, as if he was unfortunate enough to mull over every detail, except for that one mistake that seemed to undo him. He had seen his family struck down by one careless, thoughtless, yet desperate venture, it had gnawed at his side to see his mother wither her youth away for the sake of her family…yet it surprised him that nothing had knocked him over and left him feeling so battered as the lack of feeling from her end.

Contempt was there, yes. But she did not loathe him as he did her. For loathe was such a strong sentiment at least, she could not be bothered to exert that effort for him. His face twisted in renewed pain in the existing knowledge that she thought so little of him, while he pined away for her presence, her words, haughty and wounding they may be.

So little she thought of him, yet how much he had thought of her! For she was far more lovely, more resplendent, more accomplished than any woman he had known. And what was he? A crude, provincial brute, with nothing remaining to his name but the shards she left of his broken heart.

When he had first heard of his rival Lennox, he had fought to dismiss it outright despite learning of her reliance upon him, but Mr Bell, as though reading his thoughts, had indeed confirmed his greatest fear of his speculation that soon, Margaret may belong to another. He took up his newspaper determinedly, resolved to avoid any more conversation that would lead him to expose himself through his unrestrained outbursts.

Is that how it went? One spurned, unworthy suitor, such as himself. And another. Perhaps, a few more less clumsy, disastrous proposals, with finer breeding with a fortune to boot, until one day, she will stop avoiding their advances. Would one ultimately, successfully rise up to the top?

Before, he could dare hope that he could be half the man that she deserved. But now, what of him now?

He had best be careful, he could not afford to let his emotions rule over him that he could be taken for a jealous fool.

But a jealous fool he was!

Once he reckoned that he could master his emotions, his anger. But this woman, this exquisite, haughty, fine young lady, she had both tortured him and enriched him with his love for her that he could no longer restrain himself. He felt his control slipping away, as if he were separated from his actions, his words at the mere mention of her.

What would he do now? Spend the rest of his days looking forward to his exchange with her through an agent, (that clever, crafty Lennox, most likely) coupled with the heady anticipation that she may already belong to another? He would have given all up, to have those precious few glimpses and the idle conversation they would make returned to him.

Would that be enough for him? Scraps of disdain and contempt she carelessly threw at him in the past, and now, berating himself for causing himself further pain and humiliation?

His breath caught in his throat as he allowed his suspicion to form into a coherent thought.

There would never be another woman who could make him feel as whole as she did! So why was he sitting around, hugging his torment, longing for her, while another lover could already be striving to be more successful as he? Disgusted, he resolved to try again.

His fortunes had crumbled before him. And yet all he could think of was her. What was he to lose now?

A new dawn unfolded itself before him. Shame never touched John Thornton.

Marinating in his thoughts, he faintly heard the light, but harried footsteps that he could not have mistaken for other than Margaret. Then a slight pause. The door opened slightly, revealing the woman whom he had thought of every day since she left a mark upon his heart.

His breath caught in his throat as he took in the visage before him, she, in a light, crisp silk that matched her eyes, that same bracelet that encircled her taper arm.

His very heart-pulse was arrested instantly, but he resolved that his countenance would triumph any possible resentment that she would fling at him like a bucket of ice. He steeled himself for what he presumed would come.

But there it was: the softening of the face, the half-sighing mouth, the glow in her cheek, the light in her eye…that look. His lovely Margaret was breathless as she came to a stop before him, and he could tell from the blush that rose to her cheeks that she found herself in a strange position of awkward shyness before him.

Encouraged, and master of his emotions once more, John Thornton hauled his courage back. A rare, benign smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth as he lightly took a step closer to her.

'I am so sorry Mr. Lennox is not here,—he could have done it so much better than I can. He is my adviser in this… I wanted to tell you, how grieved I was to find that I am to lose you as a tenant.'

I welcome all reviews, especially criticisms, as I have not published in so long. Margaret and John are lovely, I love that they're both so human at acknowledging their faults.