‘I wish I had thought the same. I wish I had consulted you before,’ groaned her husband, ‘but I feared the worst, and it weighed so on my mind that I determined to visit him privately, and learn what he intended to do. When I asked him, he said, as you do, that he was forbidden, under the most heavy penalties, to repeat anything that he might hear during his office as confessor. If I had only been content with that. But his manner made me feel secure, and I wanted to make myself look as little guilty as possible in his eyes, so I told him the story over again, and then—’
‘Well, what then, Henry? Was there any harm in that?’ inquired Hannah.
‘I have d—d myself by it, that’s all!’ exclaimed Hindes, despairingly. ‘I had hardly finished when he told me that, although secrets told under the seal of confession were inviolate, we were not in a confessional at that moment, and it lay within his discretionary powers to make what use of my revelation he chose.’
‘Oh! Henry, Henry!’ cried Hannah, ‘what have you done? What misery and disgrace have you not brought upon us all?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ he answered roughly; ‘think of the children and yourself before me. And it’s all your fault, from beginning to end. Who was it urged me to confess my sins and obtain forgiveness for them? Who was it said that, if I humiliated myself, Heaven might have mercy on Wally and give us back his health in exchange?’
‘And so He has!’ said Hannah, joyfully. ‘He has accepted the painful effort you have made, Henry, and rewarded it by giving us this fresh hope of the boy’s recovery. Oh! my poor husband! have I been harsh to you? I did not mean it! I was only shocked to think of the danger you ran! But have no fear, dearest! I feel sure that God, who put it into your heart to confess, will not let it lead you to public disgrace. Frederick Walcheren will not betray your secret. I am sure of it! Let me go to him, Henry, and plead to him for mercy and forbearance in the name of myself and my little children. I feel certain he will not refuse me, if it were only for dear Jenny’s sake, and my great love for her.’
‘No, no!’ said Hindes, hoarsely; ‘you must do no such thing! You don’t know him. He would spurn you from him. A woman cannot realise a man’s feelings in such a matter. He loved her—he must feel like a wild beast deprived of his prey. He would tread on you, or anyone who stood in his path. He is thirsting for his revenge! He told me so, and when I craved him for mercy in your name and the children’s, he only asked what mercy I had shown him. Hannah! it is useless to ignore the fact. My doom is fixed! If it is not the gallows, it is public and utter disgrace.’
All the woman rose in Hannah’s breast at these words, and the man before her was one to be protected and solaced and thought for.
‘It shall be neither, my dearest,’ she answered firmly; ‘only trust to me. I have pondered over the difficulties that might happen in your case, Henry, and I think I have found a way out of them. You are tired and worn out with misery and suspense, my poor love. Let me think for you. You must go to your room now, and try to rest. I will bring you some dinner myself, for you mustn’t let the servants see you in this state. I will sit up to-night, and get your clothes ready, and pack your portmanteau, and to-morrow, instead of going to the city, you shall take the train for Liverpool, and the first steamer for the Argentine Republic. There you will be safe from English laws, and pursuit will be useless. As soon as you are fairly off, I will wind up your affairs, and join you with the children. Trust everything to me. Only look after your own safety.’
Henry Hindes raised his tear-stained face from the sofa cushions, and stared at his wife.