“Have you had those sharp throbbings to-day?”
“Not badly. You warn me against excitement. I sometimes think I’m better under it. Certainly I’ve improved since Esha and Darling have been here. What should I do now without Darling to play and read to me? What a touch she has! And what a voice! And then her selection of music and of books is so good. By the way, she promised to translate a story for me from the German. I wonder if she has it finished. Go ask her.”
The answer was brought by Clara herself, and Josephine left the two together. Yes, Clara had written out the story. It was called Zu Spat, or “Too Late,” and was by an anonymous author. Clara read aloud from it. She had read about ten minutes, when the following passage occurred:—
“Selfish and superstitious, the Baroness put out of her mind the irksome thought of making her will; but now, struck speechless by disease, and paralyzed in her hands, she was impotent to communicate her wishes. Her agonized effort to say something in her last moments undoubtedly related to a will. But she died intestate, and all her large estate passed into the hands of a comparative stranger. And thus the humble friends whose kindness had saved and prolonged her life were left to struggle with the world for a meagre support. If in the new condition to which she had passed through death she could look back on her selfishness and its consequences, what poignant regrets must have been hers!”
“Read that passage again,” said Mrs. Ratcliff; adding, after Clara had complied, “You needn’t read any more now.”
That evening the wife summoned the husband to an interview. Somewhat surprised at the unusual command, Ratcliff made his appearance and took a seat at her side. His manner was that of a man who thinks no woman can resist him, and that his transparent cajoleries are the proper pabulum for her weak intellect,—poor thing!
“Well, my peerless one, what is it?” he asked.
“I wish to talk with you, Ratcliff, about this white slave of yours. What do you think of her?”
“Think of her? Nothing! I’ve given no thought to the subject. I’ve hardly looked at her.”
“Lie Number 1,” thought the invalid, looking him in the face, but betraying no distrust in her expression.