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—”
“none, none,” replied the lady sadly; “but is it not a comfort to think that your beloved husband, even under the heavy pressure of adversity, thought and cared for his family with a foresight which does him such honour? mr. mark, of course, informed you that the sixty thousand pounds settled upon you by mr. effingham are safe; the creditors cannot lay a finger upon them.”
lady selina watched the effect of her words. a bright flush suffused the countenance of clemence, rising even to her temples, and then suddenly retreating, left it even more pallid than before.
“i did not hear about money—could not think about money,” she replied hoarsely, withdrawing her hand from lady selina’s.
“your delicacy of feeling, your disregard of worldly considerations is noble—is quite in character,” said that lady, with a little touch of sarcasm in her tone; “nevertheless, it must be a great relief to your mind to find that everything is not lost—that, though on a smaller scale, you can still maintain a suitable establishment, still offer a home to those who have dwelt together under this roof.”
clemence pressed her aching brow with both her hands. “lady selina, i cannot think, i cannot realize what has happened, far less form plans for an uncertain future. i must hear from my husband, i must learn our actual position, know the full extent of the ruin which has come upon our house. of one thing i am certain—certain,” she repeated more earnestly, rising from the sofa as she spoke, “my husband would be the last man to claim or to desire an exemption from the sufferings which may, i fear, fall upon some of his creditors. i feel assured that, when he settled a fortune upon his wife, it was in perfect ignorance of the crash which was so near. unforeseen events have brought on a crisis, and he will meet it, like himself, with firm courage, unblemished honour, and a conscience free from reproach.”
“she is a greater fool than i thought her,” was lady selina’s mental reflection, as she relieved clemence from her unwelcome presence.
clemence, notwithstanding her fearless declaration, felt strangely uneasy and anxious. vincent’s childish words recurred again and again to her mind, “poverty is no disgrace.” why should such words give her pain? she feared to question her own heart as to the reason. clemence wrote a long letter to her friend mr. gray, the faithful counsellor of her youth, detailing to him what had occurred, as far as her own knowledge extended, mentioning to him the words of lady selina, and asking him, in the absence of her best and dearest guide, to say whether he thought that she could conscientiously avail herself of resources so considerately provided for her before the day of adversity had arrived. clemence touched tenderly on the subject. doing so, even in the gentlest manner, pained her like pressure upon a wound. she shrank from writing a word which, even in the most remote way, could convey the slightest imputation upon the conduct of her husband.
the wings of time sometimes appear to be clogged with lead. how wearily move the hours when anxious sorrow watches the shadow on the dial! clemence’s prevailing feeling was an intense desire for tidings from her absent lord. if uneasy doubts would arise in her mind, a letter, she felt assured, would remove them. her husband would make all clear. whatever had occurred, no fault could rest with him; her loving faith in him was unshaken. clemence started at every post-knock, and trembled when her room was hastily entered, so nervously was her mind on the watch for tidings.
louisa was in a state of great depression. the first breath of misfortune was sufficient to lay low the fragile reed, which had no firm support to counterbalance its own weakness. perhaps there was a secret painful impression on the young girl’s mind that, since god’s first visitation had failed to produce lasting effects, one yet more terrible might be coming upon her. louisa refused to listen to words of comfort or hope, persisted in viewing everything in the darkest light, and by her tears, complaints, and forebodings, irritated the prouder and firmer spirit of her sister, which was struggling to tread misfortunes under foot, and rise triumphant above them.
on the following day, which was sunday, neither lady selina nor her nieces quitted their dwelling. those who had attended divine service only to be seen of men, naturally absented themselves from the house of prayer when observation would be painful. but to clemence, weary and heavy-laden, social worship was a privilege not to be lightly foregone. in the solemn exercises of prayer and praise, she trusted to be raised for a while above the cares and the grief that oppressed her; the jarred and strained chords of her heart could yet be tuned to swell the church’s hymn of thanksgiving. avoiding mixing with the stream of the congregation of which she had been lately a member, clemence, accompanied only by vincent, attended a more distant church.
the preacher’s sermon appeared as if addressed expressly to herself, so closely did clemence apply it. he spoke of the blessedness of that home which sin and sorrow never can enter, and of the boundless riches of god’s grace, so unlike to the treasures of earth which take to themselves wings and flee away. he dwelt on the glories of the heavenly city, till clouds of present affliction seemed to reflect its distant brightness. he then described the heaven in the heart, which may be experienced by the believer while yet a sojourner in a world of trial, yea, even when plunged into the seven-fold heated furnace of great tribulation,—the consciousness of the presence of an almighty friend, of the support of the everlasting arm, of the possession of that unspeakable love which passeth knowledge, and is stronger than death! tears, but not tears of grief, flowed from the eyes of clemence as she listened, and her heart seemed able to echo the words of the poet, with which the preacher concluded his address—
“give what thou canst, without thee we are poor—
and with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.”
