FullReads

“Not you–I–” gasped the wife. “Your words at breakfast–this letter–have rolled the stone from my heart–I must confess–the truth–I am like Mrs. Beaufort–in debt–frightfully in debt.” And with a gesture, as if she would crush herself into the earth, she slipped from his arms and sank literally on the floor.

Whatever pang Mr. Ferrars felt at the knowledge of her fault, it seemed overpowered by the sense of her present anguish–an anguish that proved how bitter had been the expiation; and he lifted his wife to a sofa, bent over her with fondness, called her by all the dear pet names to which her ear was accustomed, and nearer twenty times than once gave her the “kiss of forgiveness.”

“And it is of you I have been afraid!” cried Lady Lucy clinging to his hand. “You who I thought would never make any excuses for faults you yourself could not have committed!”

“I have never been tempted.”

“Have I? I dare not say so.”

“Tell me how it all came about,” said Mr. Ferrars, drawing her to him; “tell me from the beginning.”

But his gentleness unnerved her–she felt choking–loosened the collar of her dress for breathing space–and gave him the knowledge he asked in broken exclamations.

“Before I was married–it–began. They persuaded me so many–oh, so many–unnecessary things were–needed. Then they would not send the bills–and I–for a long time–never knew–what I owed–and then–and then–I thought I should have the power–but–“

“Your allowance was not sufficient?”‘ asked Mr. Ferrars, pressing her hand as he spoke.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes! most generous, and yet it was always forestalled to pay old bills; and then–and then my wants were so many. I was so weak. Madame Dalmas has had dresses I could have worn when I had new ones on credit instead, and–and Harris has had double wages to compensate for what a lady’s maid thinks her perquisites; even articles I might have given to poor gentlewoman I have been mean enough to sell. Oh, Walter! I have been very wrong; but I have been miserable for at least three years. I have felt as if an iron cage were rising round me–from which you only could free me–and yet, till to-day, I think I could have died rather than confess to you.”

“My poor girl! Why should you have feared me? Have I ever been harsh?”

“Oh, no!–no–but you are so just–so strict in all these things–“

“I hope I am; and yet not the less do I understand how all this has come about. Now, Lucy–now that you have ceased to fear me–tell me the amount.”

She strove to speak, but could not.

“Three figures or four? tell me.”

“I am afraid–yes, I am afraid four,” murmured Lady Lucy, and hiding her face from his view; “yes, four figures, and my quarter received last week gone every penny.”

“Lucy, every bill shall be paid this day; but you must reward me by being happy.”

“Generous! dearest! But, Walter, if you had been a poor man, what then?”

“Ah, Lucy, that would have been a very different and an infinitely sadder story. Instead of the relinquishment of some indulgence hardly to be missed, there might have been ruin and poverty and disgrace. You have one excuse,–at least you knew that I could pay at last.”

“Ah, but at what a price! The price of your love and confidence.”

“No, Lucy–for your confession has been voluntary; and I will not ask myself what I should have felt had the knowledge come from another. After all, you have fallen to a temptation which besets the wives of the rich far more than those of poor or struggling gentlemen. Tradespeople are shrewd enough in one respect: they do not press their commodities and long credit in quarters where ultimate payment seems doubtful–though–“

“They care not what domestic misery they create among the rich,” interrupted Lady Lucy, bitterly.

“Stay: there are faults on both sides, not the least of them being that girls in your station are too rarely taught the value of money, or that integrity in money matters should be to them a point of honour second only to one other. Now listen, my darling, before we dismiss this painful subject for ever. You have the greatest confidence in your maid, and entre nous she must be a good deal in the secret. We shall bribe her to discretion, however, by dismissing Madame Dalmas at once and for ever. As soon as you can spare Harris, I will send her to change a check at Coutts’s, and then, for expedition and security, she shall take on the brougham and make a round to these tradespeople. Meanwhile, I will drive you in the phaeton to look at the bracelet.”

“Oh, no–no, dear Walter, not the bracelet.”

“Yes–yes–I say yes. Though not a quarrel, this is a sorrow which has come between us, and there must be a peace-offering. Besides, I would not have you think that you had reached the limits of my will, and of my means to gratify you.”

“To think that I could have doubted–that I could have feared you!” sobbed Lady Lucy, as tears of joy coursed down her cheeks. “But, Walter, it is not every husband who would have shown such generosity.”

“I think there are few husbands, Lucy, who do not estimate truth and candour as among the chief of conjugal virtues:–ah, had you confided in me when first you felt the bondage of debt, how much anguish would have been spared you!”