The day will come

by M. E. Braddon

“No, he was never unkind, never. To the last, when he died raving mad with delirium tremens, he was always kind. It was seeing his madness and his ruin that made my trouble. He was violent sometimes, and threatened to kill me, but that was only when he didn’t know me. I watched him moping for a week or so, and then one day, I was so unhappy at seeing him fret, that I thought I would do anything to cheer him. I fancied he missed the company in this house, and the cards and dominoes, and billiards—for before we were married he used to dine at the table d’hôte two or three times a week, and used to be in the café or in the billiard-room every night.”

“How did he manage to live without a profession, and without ostensible means?”

Madame shrugged her shoulders.

“God knows. I think he used to write to his old friends—his brother officers in the navy or the merchant service—and he got a little from one and a little from another. He would borrow of any one. And there was a small legacy from his mother’s sister which fell in to him soon after he came to Jersey. That was all gone before I married him. He hadn’t a penny after he’d paid the marriage fees. Well, monsieur, seeing him so downhearted I proposed that he should go down to the ‘Belle Alliance’ and have a game at billiards and see his old friends. ‘You needn’t take any money,’ I said, ‘my uncle will treat you hospitably.’ He seemed pleased at the idea, and he promised to be home early; but just as he was leaving the house he turned back and said there was a little bill of thirty shillings he owed to a bootmaker in the street round the corner, and he didn’t like to pass the man’s shop without paying. Would I let him have the money? It was the first money he’d asked me for since we were married, and I hadn’t the heart to say no, so I went to my little cash-box and took out three half sovereigns. I told him that the money meant a week’s housekeeping. ‘I give you nice little dinners, don’t I, Fred?’ I said, ‘but you’ve no idea how economical I am.’ He laughed and kissed me, and said he hated economy, and wished he had a fortune for my sake, and he went down the street whistling. Well, sir, perhaps you can guess what happened. He came home at three o’clock next morning mad with drink, and then I knew he was not to be cured. I went on trying all the same, though, till the last; and I lived the life of a soul in torment. I was fond of him to the last, and saw him killing himself inch by inch, and saw him die a dreadful death, one year and three days after our wedding day. He spent every penny I had in the world, and my uncle helped us when that was gone, and I came back to this house after his funeral a broken-hearted woman. All my furniture which I’d worked for was sold to pay the rent, and the doctors, and the undertaker. I just saved the furniture in this room, and that is all that is left of four hundred and seventy pounds and of my married life.”

“You were indeed the victim of a generous and confiding heart.”

“I was fond of him to the last, monsieur, and I forgave him all my sufferings; but let no woman ever marry a drunkard with the hope of reforming him.”

“Were you quite alone in your martyrdom; had your husband no relatives left to help him on his dying bed?”

“Not one. He told me he was the last of his race. He must have had distant relations, I suppose; but his elder brother was dead, and his sister.”

“You are sure his brother was dead?”

“Yes; he fell into the water at Nice on a dark evening, when he was going on board the steamer for Corsica. I have got the paper with the account of his death.”