‘Churchill, my own true husband.’
She was on her knees by his side, her head lying against his breast, her eyes looking up at him with love unspeakable.
‘Will this sacrifice set your heart at rest, Madge?’
‘It will, dear love, for I believe that Heaven will accept your atonement.’
‘Remember, it is in my option, however strong these people’s case may be, to compromise matters, to retain the estate, and only surrender half the income—to hold my place in the county—to be to all effects and purposes Squire of Penwyn, to have the estate and something over three thousand a year to live upon. That course is open to us. These people will take half our fortune and be content. If I surrender what they are willing to leave me it is tantamount to throwing three thousand a year into the gutter. Shall I do that, Madge?’
‘If you wish me to know rest or peace, love. I can know neither while we retain one sixpence of James Penwyn’s money.’
‘It shall be done then, my dearest. But remember that in making this sacrifice you perhaps doom your son to a life of poverty. And poverty is bitter, Madge. We have both felt its sting.’
‘Providence will take care of my son.’
‘So be it, Madge. You have chosen.’
She put her arms round his neck and kissed him.