"Stephen, you have not written Matilda. It is better that she should know at once," said the woman, taking a seat beside her brother-in-law, and placing her hand upon his shoulder as gently as if he were an infant.
"God bless you, Hester, I am not alone; I yet have warm friends, let the world say what it will."
Mr. Verne's frame shook with emotion, and the tears stood in his eyes—a pitiable sight to the friend beside him.
"The world may say that you are an unfortunate man, Stephen, but it cannot say that you are a dishonest one," said the woman, cheerily; "and remember, Stephen," added she, "it is partly to the delinquency of others that you owe this."
"True, indeed, Hester," said Mr. Verne, brightening up, "had they given me time I would have redeemed every dollar of my common debts, but as it is now, every cent's worth of property I own shall go into the assignee's possession as assets, for the benefit of each and every creditor."
"Why, then, take such a gloomy view of the affair, Stephen? Hundreds have been in the same position and came out all right in the end, and I see no reason why you should form an exception."
"That is true enough, Hester, but I feel that I am going downward." And as Mr. Verne spoke he shut his teeth very firmly as if suffering intense pain.
Mrs. Montgomery was quick to detect the cause, but she made no comment upon it.
Prom the woman's heart went up a fervent prayer that Heaven would avert the threatening blow, and that quiet and content would yet reign in the now desolate home.
It was only by the utmost persuasion that Mr. Verne could be induced to eat a morsel of food.