She was walking slowly up the long gravel path which led to the side door, when her down-cast eyes fell upon a piece of paper lying at the foot of one of the trees. Almost mechanically she picked it up and looked at it. It was a ten dollar bill!
Emily's heart leaped for joy. Here was a windfall come to her in her utmost need, but the next moment her spirits fell again, as she reflected that the money was not hers, and that she ought to take immediate steps to find the rightful owner. Then came a thought—a wicked thought, which three months ago she would have rejected with horror,—she might say nothing about finding the bill, and appropriate it to the payment of the account which weighed her down like a nightmare.
Such was the temptation which had assailed her! She might have rejected it at once, and still have been without sin, for temptation is not sin. She might have yielded to her honest convictions, and taken measures to restore the money to its proper owner. But, alas she had learned to stifle the voice of conscience—she had ceased to pray for direction or strength—she had left off to watch and be sober, and now she was abandoned to her own miserable weakness and folly till she should drink of the cup which her own hands had prepared.
She turned and walked toward the gate again, as though she intended to retrace her steps, but the ringing of a bell warned her that she had already been out too long, and reluctantly she turned toward the house, putting the money in her pocket as she did so, with the half-formed resolution to institute an immediate inquiry respecting it. As she was putting away her bonnet and shawl, she put her hand in her pocket and pulled out Mr. Barton's bill.
"What is that?" asked Delia, who was writing at the table.
"It is that horrible bill of Mr. Barton's, Delia. Just see what an immense amount,—nine dollars and sixty cents. I believe he has overcharged me. I am sure I have never had all that worsted."
"Worsted mounts up very fast," observed Delia, looking over the bill, "and you have had a great deal lately. You know I told you, you were getting yourself into trouble. That shawl for Kitty took nearly a pound, and that is four dollars."
"What is the use of always saying, 'I told you so,'" interrupted Emily, fretfully.
"Here, then, is the morocco and velvet and the silver braid for two pairs of slippers, and the silk and card board for your handkerchief boxes, besides all the presents you bought," continued Delia, without heeding the interruption. "Yes, I should have expected it to be as much as that at least, for mine was seven, and I did not buy nearly as much as you."
"Have you paid yours?" asked Emily.