“Wait for it then,” said the lawyer; “do nothing without beforehand weighing the consequences, or it is possible that you may regret even the noble and generous act, the thought of which does you honour.”
After some further conversation, it was settled that Clemence should delay her decision until Mr. Gray’s letter should be received, and then convey her final decision in writing to the man of business. Mr. Mark left her with a mingled sentiment of compassion and respect, which softened his usually abrupt manner to that of almost paternal tenderness.
“She has much to suffer, but she will suffer bravely,” thought he, as he stepped into his brougham.
Clemence heaved a deep sigh when she found herself left alone. The spirit which had supported her through that painful interview now seemed to fail her. Very repugnant was it to her feelings to consult any one before her husband, on a point which concerned his honour so nearly. Could she not learn his will ere making so momentous a decision? To do so was the instinct of her heart, but not the judgment of her reason. No; even had she the means of communicating with Mr. Effingham, how could she seek guidance from him on the very path from which he had wandered? how ask him if it were her duty to counteract his own schemes, and clear, as far as possible, his character from a stain which he had deliberately contracted? It was, perhaps, better that a cloud of doubt should rest on what Mr. Effingham’s ultimate wishes might be, and that Clemence should not behold in actual opposition her obedience to her husband and her duty to her God.
CHAPTER XX
DECISION.
Mr. 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.