George Craik, the younger, however, had none of his father’s scruples. He cared little or nothing now for his cousin’s reputation. All he wanted was to expose, smash, pulverise, and destroy Bradley, the man whom he had always cordially detested, and who had subjected him to innumerable indignities on the part of his cousin. So, seeing Alma’s helplessness, and no longer dreading her indignation, he plucked up heart of grace and took his full part in the discussion.
‘The fellow deserves penal servitude for life,’ he said, ‘and in my opinion, Alma, it’s your duty to prosecute him. It is the only course you can take in justice to yourself and your friends. I know it will be deucedly unpleasant; but not more unpleasant than going through the Divorce Court, which respectable people do every day.’
‘Silence!’ exclaimed his cousin, turning upon him with tremulous indignation.
‘Eh? what?’ ejaculated George.
‘I will not discuss Mr. Bradley with you. To my uncle I will listen, because I know he has a good heart, and because he is my dear father’s brother; but I forbid you to speak to me on the subject. I owe all this misery and humiliation to you, and you only.’
‘That’s all humbug!’ George began furiously, but his father interposed and waved him to silence.
‘Alma is excited, naturally excited; in her cooler senses she will acknowledge that she does you an injustice. Hush, George!—My dear child,’ he continued, addressing Alma, ‘all my son and I desire to do is to save you pain. You have been disgracefully misled, and I repeat, I pity rather than blame you. To be sure you have been a little headstrong, a little opinionated, and I am afraid the doctrines promulgated by your evil genius have led you to take too rash a view of—hum—moral sanctions. Depend upon it, loose ideas in matters of religion lead, directly and indirectly, to the destruction of morality. Not that I accuse you of wilful misconduct—Heaven forbid! But you have erred from want of caution, from, if I may so express it, a lack of discretion; for you should have been aware that the man that believes in neither Our Maker nor Our Saviour—an—in short, an infidel—would not be deterred by any moral consideration from acts of vice and crime.’
This was a long speech, but Alma paid little or no attention to it. She stood against the mantelpiece, leaning her forehead against it, and trembling with agony; but she did not cry—the tears would not come yet—she was still too lost in amazement, pain, and dread.
Suddenly, as Sir George ended, she looked up and said:—
‘The name of this woman, this actress? Where is she to be found?’