“No, I dare swear you were not,” said the old gentleman; “but if not you, there were others. It’s never a good thing to play with money: either it sticks to your fingers and defiles you, or it’s like a canker on your good name. He’s away to his account, that maybe had something to answer for. He should have given you your choice—your lad or my siller. He should have put it into words. He should have given you your choice.”
“He did,” said Lily, almost under her breath.
“He did! I’m glad to hear it—it was honest of him—and you—thought it better to have them both. I understand now. It was maybe wise, but not what I would have expected of you.”
Lily had not a word to say; she had hidden her face in her hands.
“Mr. Wallace,” said Ronald, coming back, “I cannot have my wife questioned in my absence about things for which, at the utmost, she is only partially to blame. I am here to answer for her, and myself, too.”
“You will have enough to do with yourself. Did you think, sir, you were to come and let off a surprise on us all, and claim Sir Robert’s money, and receive his inheritance, and never a word said?”
“If it eases your mind, say as many words as you like!” cried Ronald cheerfully; “they will not hurt either Lily or me—precious balms that do not break the head!”
“I would just like, my young sir, to punish ye well for your mockery of the Holy Scriptures, if not of me!”
“The punishment is not in your hand,” said Lily, uncovering her pale face. “We are not clear of it, nor ever will be; it will last as long as our lives.”
“I can well believe that,” said old Wallace. He put up the papers with which the table was strewn into his bag. “You can come to me in my office when you like, Mr. Lumsden, and I will show you every thing. It’s unnecessary that you and me should go over it here,” he said, snapping the bag upon them, almost with vehemence. “She’s badly hurt enough; there is no occasion for turning the knife in the wound. I will leave you to make it up within yourselves,” he said.