r. Gray, as Clemence expected, viewed the subject of retaining or relinquishing the fortune in the same light that she did herself. He had, before answering her letter, seen the article in the Times which had so deeply wounded the young wife, and he had anticipated the resolution that she would form. The ideas of the simple-minded pastor were drawn, not from the maxims or example of the world, of which he indeed knew little, but from the pure, written Word of God. He read and believed that the love of money is the root of all evil; he read and believed that it is impossible to serve God and Mammon; and he had imbibed the spirit of that most solemn question, What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul; or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul? The clergyman’s letter was a very tender one, full of pious consolation, and concluded by offering to the bankrupt’s wife a home in the vicarage, where his dear partner, as well as himself, would ever regard her as a cherished daughter.
The good man’s words were as balm to Clemence’s wounded spirit, though she felt that her duty to her husband’s family might render it impossible to accept an invitation which would otherwise have opened a harbour of refuge to her weary, storm-tossed soul. Clemence, without further delay, wrote her final decision to Mr. Mark. Never had she more impatiently despatched a letter than that which stripped her at once of the wealth which lay like a mountain’s weight upon her conscience. Then, ringing the bell of the study—the room which she now almost exclusively occupied—Mrs. Effingham summoned, one after another, every member of her numerous household, and gave warning to all, without exception. It was a painful duty to the young mistress, but Clemence had nerved herself to its performance, and uttered a sigh of relief as the last of the servants quitted her presence. After all, it was easier to act than to think; the necessity for exertion was perhaps in itself a blessing.
Clemence, since reading the article in the Times, had secluded herself much from the family; she could not, in the first hours of her anguish, have endured the sight of familiar faces—the torture of being harassed with questions; she shrank even from the idea of sympathy, and could scarcely bear to look upon Vincent, the breathing image of one whom she thought of with grief, only exceeded by her love. Clemence felt it now, however, necessary to communicate with those whose interests were closely linked with her own, and to ascertain the views and feelings of her step-children before replying to the letter of Mr. Gray. With this view, mastering a strong sensation of repugnance, she ascended to the drawing-room, and found herself, on opening the door, in the presence of the assembled family.
Lady Selina was standing near the fire-place in earnest conference with Arabella; Vincent had stretched himself on the velvet rug, leaning upon his crossed arms in an attitude of thought, but he started up on his step-mother’s entrance; Louisa lay on the sofa, her hand pressed over her eyes. There was a sudden break in the conversation when Clemence’s form appeared, and Lady Selina, with a slow and stately air, advanced forward a few steps to meet her.
“Mrs. Effingham,” she commenced, in tones even more cold and formal than usual, “I have been much surprised, greatly astonished to find that you have at once, without consulting any one, dismissed the whole of your husband’s establishment! May I presume to ask your reason for so extraordinary a step?”
“I cannot now afford to keep any such servants,” replied Clemence, gently but firmly.
“Not afford!—really, Mrs. Effingham, your language is incomprehensible! Not afford, with sixty thousand pounds of your own in the funds!”
Clemence leaned on the table for support as she answered, “I will never touch a farthing of that money. I have given up all to the creditors, without reserve.”
“That’s right!” was the hearty exclamation of Vincent. Lady Selina stood for a moment actually speechless! Had she seen Clemence deliberately put an end to her own existence, the lady’s amazement and horror could not have been greater.
“You have done such an insane thing!” she exclaimed at length.
“I have done it!” was the reply of Clemence.
“Then, madam, you have qualified yourself for Bedlam!” cried Lady Selina, condensed fury flashing from her eyes, all sense of what is due from one lady to another lost in the torrent of furious passion. “You have reduced your family to beggary; you have subscribed to the condemnation of your own husband; you have confirmed the opinion which I formed of you from the day when Mr. Effingham had the infatuation to throw himself away on a child—an idiot such as you!”
“Aunt, you must not, you shall not—” cried Vincent; but there was no staying the rushing flow of bitter words. Clemence endured them as the tree, whose leafy honours have been struck down by the woodman’s axe, endures the pelting rain upon its prostrate form. It has felt the cold steel dividing its very core; the sharp blow, the heavy fall, have been its fate; the furious shower may now do its worst, it cannot lay it lower, any more than it has power to restore life to the withered foliage! But when Lady Selina paused at length, mortified, perhaps, to find that her fiercest invectives could awake no answering flash of angry retort, Clemence quietly expressed her hope that she might be enabled so to economize as to live upon her limited resources without incurring debt.
“Resources!” exclaimed Lady Selina with ineffab............