CHAPTER XXIX.—HOW TO MAKE HOME HAPPY.
Mrs. Coverdale, resuming the matrimonial discussion broken off at the end of the last chapter, thus pursued the argument by which she hoped to induce her husband to let off her poaching protégé.
“In the present case the innocent must suffer with the guilty. I see no justice in ruining a poor family by imprisoning or transporting the only member who is able to work and support it.”
“The said member should have thought of that himself,” returned Harry; “if he had been working and supporting his family, he would have been safe from transportation, like any other honest man; but as he preferred to steal my game and shoot my keeper, he thereby deprived his family of the pleasure of his inestimable society; it is he, therefore, who has brought this evil upon them, not I; and when I consent to your relieving their necessities out of my pocket, I think I am doing, to say the least of it, as much as any reasonable woman ought to expect of me.”
Despite her prejudices in favour of the seraphic baby and its interesting mother, Alice felt the truth of her husband’s reasoning; but she had boasted of her power too confidently, and pledged herself to exert it too deeply, to retreat; so, perceiving that argument would avail her nothing, she was obliged to fall back upon woman’s last resource—personal influence, and strive to win from Harry’s affection that which his reason had denied her. A dangerous experiment, pretty Alice! and one in which, if your philosophy did but go deep enough to enable you to discern it, you would perceive success to be a greater evil than failure, for it would argue culpable weakness in him on whom you have to lean for support through life. But Alice was by no means in an ethical frame of mind at that moment, and cared only for obtaining her point by any means which occurred to her; so, drawing a stool close to Harry, she meekly seated herself at his feet, and looking up into his face with her large imploring eyes, began coaxingly, “Harry, dear, are you quite, quite determined to say No?”
An affirmative bend of the head was the only reply.
“But if I make it a personal request,” she continued, laying her soft cheek caressingly against his hand; “if I ask you to forgive these men for my sake, and so afford me the exquisite pleasure of making this poor woman happy? Oh! you will not refuse me. If you do, I shall think you do not love me. Come, you will say Yes.”
Poor Harry! he was sorely perplexed. Had it been any personal sacrifice—even a pledge to give up hunting or shooting—which she required of him, he would gladly have yielded, in the true and deep tenderness towards his wife which his late self-examination had aroused. But the serious thoughts which a review of his past errors had called forth, while they pointed out to him how he had failed in his duty to her whom he had vowed to love and protect, also proved to him that where Alice was inclined to act wrongly, or foolishly, he was bound to save her even from herself; and his clear, good sense instantly told him that this was a request which she ought not to have urged, since to grant it would necessitate a sacrifice of principle on his part. Accordingly, he replied—