“But she never can again. Ours was then merely a tacit understanding. Now, supposing me ever to hear what she may hint or say, do you imagine I should give the slightest heed to it? I would not believe her news of a person I had never seen; and do you think she can make the slightest impression on me with regard to you.”
“It seems unreasonable at this moment; but yet, I have a superstitious dread of the power of spirits of evil.”
“Superstitious, indeed! I defy them all, now that we have once understood each other. If she were able to do far more than she can—if she could load the winds with accusations against you—if she could haunt my dreams, and raise you up in visions mocking at me—I believe she could not move me now. Before, I blamed myself—I thought I was lost in vanity and error: now that I have once had certainty, we are safe.”
“You are right, I trust—I believe it. But there is a long hard battle to be fought yet. It fills me with shame to think how she treats you in every relation you have. She is cruel to Maria Young. She hopes to reach you through her. Ah! you will hear nothing of it from Maria, I dare say; but she spoke infamously to her this morning, before Mrs Levitt. Mrs Levitt happened to be sitting with Maria, when Priscilla and one or two of the children went in. Mrs Levitt spoke of us: Priscilla denied our engagement: Maria asserted it—very gently, but quite decidedly. Priscilla reminded her of her poverty and infirmities, spoke of the gratitude she owed to those from whom she derived her subsistence, and reproached her with having purposes of her own to answer, in making matches in the families of her employers.”
“And Maria?”
“Maria trembled excessively, the children say, weak and reduced by pain as she is. One can hardly conceive of temper carrying any woman into such cruelty! Mrs Levitt rose, in great concern and displeasure, to go: but Maria begged her to sit down again, sent one of the children for me, and appealed to me to declare what share she had had in my engagement with you. I set her right with Mrs Levitt, who, I am convinced, sees how the matter stands. But it was really a distressing scene.”
“And before the children, too!”
“That was the worst part of it. They stood looking from the furthest corner of the room in utter dismay. It would have moved any one but Priscilla to see the torrent of tears Maria shed over them, when they came timidly to wish her good morning, after Mrs Levitt was gone. She said she could do nothing more for them: they had been taught to despise her, and her relation to them was at an end.”
“It is; it must be,” exclaimed Margaret. “Is there no way of stopping a career of vice like this? While Mrs Plumstead gets a parish boy whipped for picking up her hens’ eggs from among the nettles, is Maria to have no redress for slander which takes away her peace and her bread?”
“She shall have redress. For the children’s sake, as well as her own, her connection with them must go on. I do not exactly see how; but the thing must be done. I dread speaking to poor Rowland about any of these things; I know it makes him so wretched: but the good and the innocent must not be sacrificed. If these poor children must despise somebody, their contempt must be made to fall in the right place, even though it be upon their mother.”