“Well, I should think you are cured now, my poor Joseph!” said his brother presently.
“Of what, in heaven's name?” said poor Mr. Joseph. “By Jove to think—to think of some men, George! What had I done, what had I done?”
“I do think of them,” said Mr. Foxley gravely. “I do think of them. And but for my happiness here,” touching Mildred's dress reverently, “I could wish—” wistfully, “That we had never come here—'twas I who brought you my poor Joseph, 'twas I, 'twas I.”
“Oh! that's rubbish!” pronounced Mr. Joseph energetically. “The main point is now, how am I to get my living. God! I am perfectly useless! They won't take me back in town there.”
“Dear Mr. Joseph,” said Mildred, with her eyes shining on the brother of her lover. “You will live with us of course, with—Dacre, Dacre and me, and my aunt. We all love you—see,” and Milly rose, first pressing Mr. George's fingers as they touched her dress in passing and giving him a look which was meant to keep him in order for a few moments, “no one can nurse you as well as I can—ask Dacre—let me take off that bandage and put it on again more comfortably for you! Will you, dear Mr. Joseph?” Mr. Joseph groaned and hid his face against Milly's heaving breast.
“She is to be your angel as well as mine, perhaps,” murmured his brother.
“I have always been so active,” groaned poor Mr. Joseph, “What is to become of me? To live here with you would have been beautiful, but now—the simple thought of existence at all anywhere is unbearable! And the money—good God, George, how can I Help giving way!”
Some few other such scenes had naturally to be gone through before any course could be suggested to Mr. Joseph. Mrs. Cox had been taken into confidence, and Farmer Wise made to understand that nothing must be said about the unhappy affair. Mr. Joseph wrote into town explaining in some way his resignation of the rather important clerkship he had but just begun to fill creditably, and sending for all his belongings took to Mrs. Cox's remaining little room under the roof in the character of an invalid. The secret was admirably kept, even by the doctor who had been written to and who had seen a similar case some years ago.
“A jealous devil, I suppose,” said he, when he read Mr. George Foxley's note.
“Well, he might have come off worse. But I should like to know who the country lass was that he'd been sparkin', and who revenged herself like that.”