“But how can we? To me it is inconceivable.”
“Though not to me,” said Eunice, smiling. “We are now paying four hundred dollars for rent; half of this we may at least save, by going farther from the centre of the city, and taking a still smaller house. We must not think of appearances, father, but of what it is right for us to do.”
“Appearances, child!” returned the father; “I have long since ceased to care for them. But I do not think you could be comfortable in so small a house.”
“Such a house would be a paradise compared to this, if it brought peace of mind and a clear conscience, while this did not.”
“Two hundred dollars would be something; but not all we may be compelled to reduce. I have not much hope in the results of a business, so crippled for want of means as mine will be, even if it should be continued.”
“Much, very much more may be reduced,” said Eunice, confidently; “leave that to Eveline and me. Only let us know exactly the state of your affairs, and I am sure we will be able to sustain all by our mutual exertions.”
Far more cheerful than it had been for weeks, was the face of Mr. Townsend, when he met his family at the tea-table that evening. As soon as an opportunity for doing so occurred, with an inward shudder at the dreadful act he had contemplated, he destroyed the poisonous drug with which he had resolved to take his own life. As he did so, the image of Eunice arose in his mind, and he murmured, half audibly,
“My saviour!”
When Mr. Townsend went to his store on the next morning, he was surprised to find all the letters of notification to consignors and creditors, which he had written the day before, lying upon his desk.
“I am very sorry, sir,” said his clerk, “but I forgot entirely to throw these letters into the post-office last evening. I hope nothing serious will result from the delay.”