"Very well. Get me the things, that's all."
She went into the next room, and he heard her unlock a drawer. He continued calmly smoking; she put on her bonnet and tripped down stairs.
No sooner did he hear the street door shut than he rose and walked into her bed-room to search for the money. He saw a drawer with a key in it, but on opening it he found nothing there. He next unlocked all the other drawers, but without result.
There was nothing now in the room likely to conceal any money, and he began to think that perhaps she had only a few shillings, which she had carried away with her. Almost mechanically he opened the small drawer of her wash-hand stand, and there he saw six sovereigns glittering in the farther corner. His face lighted up with a strange expression as they met his eye, and rapidly clutching them, and turning over the drawer to see if it concealed any more, he took his hat, and was out of the house in an instant.
When Blanche returned and found him gone, her heart misgave her; with trembling limbs she staggered into the bed-room—opened the drawer—and saw her fears confirmed. It is impossible to render the despair which seized her at this discovery. That little incident was more frightful to her, was more damning evidence of the unconquerable nature of his vice than any she had yet known; and helpless, hopeless she sank upon the bed, not to weep, but to brood upon the awful prospect of her life.
It was not grief which laid her prostrate, it was a stupor: a dull, heavy agony, like a shroud closing her from life, from hope, from happiness. Before, her heart had been wrung; she had been humiliated, she had been tortured; but in the bitterest moments, she had never been utterly prostrate,—never absolutely without gleam of hope. Now, her husband stood before her as irreclaimable,—marching with frightful rapidity to his doom, and dragging with him, a wife and child.
That child's cries on awaking, partly aroused her. She felt the necessity for an effort; she felt that another demanded she should not give way to the stupor which oppressed her. She put the child to her breast; but, alas! the shock she had received had dried up its life-giving fountains, and the disappointed infant sucked in vain. Tears gushed from her, as she became aware of this new misfortune—tears, scalding yet refreshing tears, which melted down her stubborn grief into something more like human woe; and relieved by them, she rose to make some food for the hungry babe, whose impatient cries recalled her to a sense of duties, which allowed not the passive indulgence of sorrow. Cecil, meanwhile, had lost the little treasure he had obtained possession of in so despicable a manner; and having lost it, remained sauntering about the streets, without courage to return home to face his wife. Exhausted at last by fatigue, he came back.
Not a word passed between them. He got into bed feeling humbled and exasperated, yet not having courage even to put a bullying face on the matter. She was brushing her hair, and he heard the sighs which she struggled to suppress, but he feigned sleep, and would not hear them.
She crept into bed, anxious not to awake him; and through the long night he heard her weeping, so that it almost broke his heart: yet he feigned sleep, and dared not speak!
From that time, there was always a sort of barrier between them. A wall had grown up between their loves, formed out of shame, remorse, pity and hopelessness. They never alluded to the incident which caused it; but they both felt that it was constantly present in each other's minds.