"As sure as that my name is Betsy Batten. I saw him coming out of the shop, and asked him about it, just as he was turning into the chemist's, next door, to pay a precious long bill."
Ann bit her lip, and silently turned away to busy herself with sorting cigars. Here was a startling confirmation of a fear which had often crossed her mind during her illness, that her husband's business was not thriving, and that, unless matters mended, ruin might soon stare them both in the face.
The tobacconist's wife said nothing more on the subject, though it was never out of her thoughts, until she and Martin were at their quiet evening meal, with little Annie sitting, as usual, upon her father's knee.
"Martin, you're a-hiding something from me," said Ann, abruptly, looking full at her husband. "Don't think I'm afraid to hear truth; I'd rather know it right out at once, and so be prepared for the worst. We'll be bankrupt before the winter sets in."
"No, not so bad as that," replied Martin, calmly; "but now that you are—thank God!—so much stronger, it is better that you should know all. There should never be a secret between man and wife. Ann, I can't get on with this business; it is to me a losing concern; I don't make enough to pay rent and cover expenses."
"And they have been so heavy, so heavy of late!" sighed Ann.
"It is a relief to me to find that Mason, our neighbour round the corner, is willing to take the whole concern off our hands at Michaelmas, if you and I agree in thinking that it is better to give up the business before we are entangled in debt. If this arrangement be settled, we shall then be clear of the world, though," added Laver, with a melancholy smile. "We shall have little enough left, I fear, with which to begin life again."
Ann covered her eyes with her hand, and moaned aloud in her bitterness of spirit. "There's no use in going on longer, struggling to get a livelihood here," she murmured. "My father is dead, my brothers won't help us; I'm sure don't know which way to look."
"Upwards!" said Martin, hopefully.
The word had scarcely escaped his lips when a tap was heard at the door, and on Martin's rising and opening it, the now familiar form of Mr. Vale, the rector, entered the parlour. Even little Annie had always a smile with which to welcome the kindly old man, who used to pat her on the head, and give her his cane to play with.