'That is so,' I said, angry with myself for feeling uneasy at the remark.
'Yes, yes,' he continued; 'it would break her heart to give up any of her little whims--she is like a child. The dear girl must enjoy life--now is her only time. By and by, when she becomes a mother, perhaps--'
I turned from him; it was my dearest hope, but it was fated not to be gratified.
'I tell you what it is, Bryan,' he said, 'you do not make a proper use of your opportunities; were I in your position, I would treble my income.'
'By what means?' I asked.
'By speculating, my dear Bryan; by speculating judiciously, as with your abilities you would be sure to do. Think of the additional pleasures you could offer my dear girl, and of the thousand ways in which you could add to her enjoyment of life.'
Money had never presented itself to me in this light before; Mr. Glaive was right; it was a thing to be desired for what it would purchase. I took heed of his counsels, and became a speculator. The words he had spoken to me bore other fruit besides--bitter fruit, from the distress they caused me. I was twenty-five--not twenty--years older than Frances, and gray hairs were multiplying fast on my head. The thought that in a very few years my hair might be quite white, while Frances would be still a girl, gave me unutterable pain; but I strove to banish it from my mind. We had been married nearly six months, and with the exception of my own self-torturings, no cloud had appeared to darken our lives, when a circumstance occurred. As I was going home one evening, a woman stopped me--a poor ragged creature--and addressing me by name, begged me to assist her. During those few months I never paused to inquire into the merits of an appeal for charity--my own happiness pleaded for the applicants, and I gave without question. I gave this woman a shilling, and she accepted it thankfully enough, but with the mournful remark that it would be gone to-morrow. That, and the circumstance of her addressing me by name--I having no knowledge of her--interested me, and I questioned her. She was a stranger, she said, and had but newly arrived, having walked many weary miles. Where did she come from? I asked; and she mentioned the town where I had first tarried and suffered after leaving my home. She told me that she saw my name over my place of business, and had recognised it as belonging to one who had been most kind to a young friend she knew years and years ago, and then she mentioned the name of the girl who had died in my arms.
'What were you?' I asked. 'I have no remembrance of you.'
'Don't ask me what I was or what I am,' she faltered; 'but if you can assist me to lead an honest life, do so for pity's sake.'
In memory of the poor girl whom she had known, I determined to assist this unfortunate creature--at this time a middle-aged woman--and I obtained a respectable lodging for her at once. I told her that we would never refer to the past, but that she should commence a new and better life at once. And she did; and honestly fulfilled its duties.