“Oh, that is true enough. There are dishonorable ruins; this one is the soul of honor, and of philanthropy, for that matter. He has so much to sustain him, but he can’t live on it. And, Ruth, if you had ever known what it was to live on nothing, you could sympathize better with that sort of ruin. The hard part for me to bear would be that it is all so unnecessary; if he had but lived up to the wisdom and business keenness which characterized all the earlier years of his life! He has taken to giving some very strange advice to his clients since he subscribed to his new views—advice which has taken thousands of dollars out of his business. ‘Had to do it,’ he told me; his ‘conscience wouldn’t allow him to do otherwise.’ If that is true, I am really afraid that I couldn’t afford to have a conscience; it is too expensive in article.”
How much of this was sincere, and how much was a sort of sarcastic pleasantry? Ruth wished she knew. It was a new and rather startling thought that possibly the money which sustained her now had to do with the fact that her husband couldn’t afford a sensitive conscience!
She put the thought away, as far from her as possible. At least, she could do nothing with it now; the time for it was past. She tried not to think what ground she had for expecting a high type of conscience from one who lived in cool dishonor of the claims of the Lord Jesus Christ.
The immediate questions were: What would her father do? Also, what was there that she could do for him?
“Oh, he will give everything up,” Judge Burnham said; “every penny; house, and landed property, and household goods, down to his very dog. Even his clothing is in danger. I saw it in his eyes. It is the disease which has pervaded his system. This new conscience of his won’t let him do anything sensible.”
“Judge Burnham,” said Ruth, having endured all that she could—she was not skilled in endurance—“I wish you would remember that you are speaking of my father, and refrain from sneers. If his code of honor is higher than yours, he can not help it, I suppose. At least, you should be able to respect it; or, failing in that, please respect my feelings.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Judge Burnham, quickly startled by the repressed fierceness of the tones.
“I did not mean to hurt your feelings, Ruth, but you do not understand business, and your father is really being very absurd with his strained ideas of equity.”
“I understand conscience, somewhat,” Ruth said, quickly, and she was stung with the thought that perhaps in the days gone by she had stifled hers. Now all this was certainly very sad talk to come between husband and wife not six weeks after their marriage. Ruth felt it and deplored it and wept over it, and wondered how it would be possible to avoid subjects on which they did not think and feel alike.