Letitia could forgive the tone in which this was spoken.
“Listen, Maria, what you must do. Command yourself, and go and tell the butler that his master has a brain-fever, and desire him not to quit your husband’s side but at your bidding. Have the children kept away, and, if possible, stay with your husband, looking and speaking like yourself, till some one comes to relieve you of your charge. I will immediately send proper advice and help from town.—Farewell, sister. I shall not come again till you send for me. As soon as I can be of any comfort, send. My husband will wish it.”
“But Waldie will insist on going with you. He will never let you drive off. He will....”
“All this is provided against. I can plead an errand near the turnpike, and shall go out with Thérèse by the little shrubbery gate. The carriage will overtake us. Do not detain me. Farewell.”
Letitia said nothing about removing the children. She thought that if, as was probable, Waldie’s state should prove such as to render Maria’s presence improper, her children would be her best comfort.—In a few minutes, Maria saw, but diverted her husband from seeing, Letitia and Thérèse hastening from the back of the house through the shrubbery, and disappearing down the road. It was with a strange mixture of bitter and yearning feelings that the unhappy wife witnessed such a conclusion as this of a visit which had been planned and endured for her sake.
There was ample time in after years for the sisters to explain, and forgive, and renew the confidence which had been unshaken till this day. Waldie was never more an impediment to their intercourse. He was kept under close restraint from the hour after Letitia’s departure, when he insisted on searching every corner of the house for her, and was frantic at having sought in vain, up to the moment when, after years, first of madness and then of imbecility, death released himself and his friends from the burden of his existence.
More than once Maria tremblingly asked the confidential physician whether her sister’s presence was likely to be of any service; and almost rejoiced to be answered with a decided negative.
It was perfectly true that Waldie had become, as is commonly said, as rich as Crœsus. But what to Maria was all the splendour in which she might have henceforth lived, if she had so chosen? What to her was the trebling of the fortunes of her children? As a compensation for the love which had been disappointed, the domestic hopes which had been rudely overthrown, these things were nothing, though there were some in the world who called them prosperity.