And Mrs. Harper was satisfied. She had found out all she wished to know. Madeline’s past was as clear as daylight now! Was it?
And now behold Madeline at home once more, flushed with excitement, exhilarated by the change, by the money in her purse, and with her bright eyes, bright colour, and new hat, making quite a cheerful and brilliant appearance before the amazed and languid invalid.
He was looking very ill to-day. These close stifling rooms and sleepless nights were gradually sapping his scanty stock of vitality.
“Baby is asleep,” she said, glancing eagerly into the cradle. “And now I am going to tell you all about it,” taking off her hat and gloves, and pushing aside her husband’s writing materials, filling him up a glass of port, fetching a biscuit, and taking a seat opposite to him, all within the space of three minutes.
“You have good news, Maddie, I see,” he remarked as he looked at her, and noticed her condition of suppressed excitement, and her sparkling eyes.
“Good?—news, yes; and money!” pulling out her purse and displaying thick rolls of Bank of England notes, and some shining sovereigns. “Oh, Laurence dear, I feel so happy, all but in one little corner of my conscience, and I’m afraid you’ll be angry with me—about something—that is the one drawback! I don’t know how to begin to tell you—best begin with the worst. I’ve gone back to being Madeline West once more; they don’t know that I am married.”
“Madeline!” he ejaculated sternly. “You are not in earnest.”
“Now, dear, don’t; don’t speak till you hear all. You know how I left, how I travelled with the price of my rings. I arrived, was shown up into Mrs. Harper’s own room—where, in old times, girls were sent for to have bad news broken to them. She has had a stroke. Miss Selina is married, and Mr. Murphy is gone. The school is going down. So when Mrs. Harper had a letter from my father, enclosing five hundred pounds for two years’ expenses, and one hundred for me for pocket-money, it was a most welcome surprise, and they were anxious to find me, of course”—pausing for a second to take breath. “Don’t interrupt me, yet,” she pleaded, with outstretched hands. “Mrs. Harper gave me papa’s letter to read. He had lost money, he had been ill for a long time, he had no wish to write until he was again a rich man. Now he is a millionaire, and is coming home immediately, expecting to find me still at the Harpers’, and still Miss West. I am to be a great heiress. I am to keep his house; and, Laurence dear, he had heard a hint of you. I know it was that detestable gossip, Maggie Wilkinson. She had a cousin in an office in Melbourne, and used to write him volumes. And, oh, he says dreadful things—I mean my father—if I marry a poor man, as he has such—such—views. That was the word; and if I disappoint him, I am to be turned from his door penniless, to earn my own bread!”
“As you are doing now,” observed her listener bitterly.
“Yes!” with a gesture of despair; “but what is it—for you and me and baby—what are nine shillings a week? Then Mrs. Harper exclaimed, with great relief, ‘I see you are not married!’ pointing to my hand; and it all came into my mind like a flash. I did not say I was not married, I uttered no actual untruth; but I allowed her to think so. The temptation was too great; there was the wealth for the taking—money that would bring you health. I said I would steal for you, Laurence; but it was not stealing, it was, in a sense, my own money, intended for my use. Are you very angry with me for what I have done, dear?” she wound up rather timidly.