ankrupt! stopped payment!” exclaimed Lady Selina, as Mr. Mark repeated to her the substance of the tidings, which, like a sudden blow, had prostrated the spirit of Clemence. The lady and the man of business were conversing alone, Clemence having been removed to her room in a fainting state, attended by Louisa and Vincent. “Is there no hope—no means of rallying—of struggling through the difficulty?” continued Lady Selina.
Mr. Mark looked very grave, and shook his head.
“I fear that this has been no thing of yesterday. The firm must have been for some time in a tottering state, though appearances were so carefully kept up that the crash took every one by surprise.”
“The strangest thing of all,” said Lady Selina, “is, that Mr. Effingham himself should, as you tell me, have disappeared—not have ventured to face his creditors!”
“It is strange,” observed the lawyer almost sternly; for he was an honest, straightforward man, who had not learned to regard all things as fair in the way of business. “It is strange!” he repeated more slowly: “when the affairs of the firm are wound up, we shall be better able to account for such a step on his part. It was this disappearance which touched Mrs. Effingham so nearly; she bore the news of the failure with a degree of firmness which, I own, surprised me; but when I informed her that her husband had fled, she was struck down at once; I was seriously alarmed for the consequences.”
“Oh! she is subject to hysterical fits; they do not alarm those who know her,” said the lady, whose malice would glance forth even at a time like this. “Of course Mrs. Effingham must feel the change in her fortunes; none shrink from poverty more than those who have once experienced its trials.”
“Mrs. Effingham is secured from anything approaching to poverty,” said the lawyer; “ample provision has been made for her comfort. Sixty thousand pounds were settled upon her not long after her marriage.”
“Sixty thousand pounds! and settled upon Mrs. Effingham!” exclaimed Lady Selina; “and what becomes of the rest of the family?”
“As you are aware, madam, the dowry of the late Lady Arabella Effingham, amounting to ten thousand pounds, was, by her will, divided share and share alike between her two surviving daughters. That is safe—invested in Government securities; for the rest, everything—house, furniture, estate—will, doubtless, be seized and disposed of for the benefit of the creditors.”
“But the sixty thousand pounds that you mentioned?”
“That sum is settled on Mrs. Effingham; no one will be able to deprive her of that.” Mr. Mark’s manner was cold and dry, and he soon afterwards closed the interview, leaving Lady Selina in a state of no small excitement and perplexity.
“Clever man of the world, Mr. Effingham,” she said to herself, as soon as she found herself alone; “I should hardly have given him credit for the tact to save such a sum out of the wreck. And all settled upon Mrs. Effingham!”—she bit her lip with vexation. “I wish that it had been disposed of in any other manner. Sixty thousand pounds! The interest of that will be—let me see—enough to keep a good house, a carriage. It is much more than she had ever a right to expect. We must not part company, after all. The weak little creature will never be able to manage by herself; and it will suit my convenience better for the family to keep together. Yes,” soliloquized the earl’s daughter, resting her chin on her hand in an attitude of thought, “it would be folly under these circumstances to part. I must change my tactics a little. I must make her feel me necessary; there must be no division. If I had ever had a suspicion of the turn which affairs would take, I would have played my cards very differently with Clemence Effingham.”
Regard for self-interest was striving against prejudice and pride, and, as often happens in hostilities of a more extended nature, the war was ended by a compromise, or rather a treaty of alliance. In a few minutes Lady Selina was gently tapping at Mrs. Effingham’s door.
Clemence appeared seated at her little writing-table, pale but tearless. Louisa was weeping beside her. Vincent, standing a little apart, was repeating to himself half aloud, “Poverty is no disgrace,” as one who is determined to face the enemy with resolution. It is possible, however, that poverty presented itself to the mind of the boy as little beyond exemption from going to school, and was, therefore, no great trial of his youthful philosophy. Lady Selina motioned to Louisa and her brother to quit the room, and then seating herself on the sofa close to Clemence, with strange, unwonted show of tenderness, laid her hand on that of the young wife, which lay cold and impassive on the cushion beside her.
“Dear Mrs. Effingham, we are truly partners in sorrow; for, believe me, my share in this trial is no light one,” and the lady heaved a deep sigh.
Clemence remained silent. That Lady Selina grieved for her she could not for a moment believe; but it was possible that even that cold, worldly heart might cherish a regard for her husband. How could it indeed be otherwise, after such long, intimate acquaintance with one who possessed such power to attract to himself the affections of all who knew him? Such a thought was quite sufficient to prevent the gentle wife from repelling the sympathy, such as it might be, even of her who had hitherto acted the part of an enemy. It would, however, have been hypocrisy to have accepted it with any warmth of gratitude. The pressure of Lady Selina’s thin fingers was not returned, and the eyes of Clemence remained bent upon the floor.
“But, dear Mrs. Effingham,” resumed Lady Selina, “this trial has alleviations—great alleviations.”
In an instant the blue eyes were riveted on the countenance of the speaker with an expression of hope. “Alleviations! Then you know where he is,—you have tidings—”
“No............