“Was there not something done at one time—about insuring your husband’s life?” asked he, gently.
“Yes; a good many years ago. He could not manage it then—nor since. Our income has never been large.” And she named the sum.
Mr Oswald rose suddenly, and began his walk about the room again. It was incredible! A scholar and a gentleman like his cousin to rest contented all these years with such a pittance! He knew that he had been earnest and full of zeal in the cause to which he had devoted his life—more than content. Valuing money for the sake of what it could do, he had yet envied no man who had more than fell to his lot. He must have known that his children must be left penniless! How could he have borne it?
“And how should I leave mine, if I were to die to-night?” said Mr Oswald to himself, with a groan. “I who have lived a life so different.”
He came and sat down again. But what could he say? Mrs Inglis spoke first.
“I have made no plans as yet. There has been no time. But I am not afraid. The way will open before us.”
“Yes, you must have good courage. And you will tell me in what way I can be of use to you.”
“You are very kind,” said Mrs Inglis, speaking quickly. “You may be sure I shall gladly avail myself of your advice. I am not afraid. My boys are strong and willing to work. We love one another, and there are worse things than poverty.”
“And, for the present, you will remain here at any rate. In a few weeks I shall see you again; and, in the meantime, you must permit me to supply anything you may require.”
“You are very kind. You may be quite sure we shall apply to you if it be necessary. Just now it is not; and when we have had time to consider our plans, we shall write to you—if you cannot come.”