In the morning early, before Cora had risen, Nora went to him and told all. Her young lady should not work herself to death; hiding it from Mr. Lewis was a sin, and so she made bold to betray her. Lewis bowed his head and wept; she had, indeed, been firm in adversity; she had, indeed, been true to her word, and kept a stout heart. How he loved her! how willingly he could have knelt before her! The scene that passed between them I could not think of describing; it must be imagined by the kind-hearted reader, by the sacrificing wife, and the grateful, devoted husband. One load was taken from the mind of Lewis, the absence of local disease in his cherished one, and he thankfully turned his thoughts to the Great Source of all his joys, blessing him for the trials he sent that he might be purified. Poor as he was, destitute of expectation as he felt himself to be, he left home with a light heart. His gem, his bright, beautiful Cora was not threatened with a loss of health. She had promised to rest, and now she would find her roses once more.
During all this time, Margaret had watched her brother and sister with intense anxiety, and, suspecting the cause of their altered looks, set her little head to work to find out more. On a visit to Laura, she mentioned Lewis and his appearance of delicate health. Cora's name she never breathed before her hard-hearted persecutor.
"Oh, they are so poor; no wonder!" cried she, with a look of scorn. "I suppose they are starving. I wonder they are not begging."
"God forbid!" said Margaret, earnestly. "Have you heard anything?"
"Yes; Phillips told me Lewis did not make a cent, and wondered how they had lived till now. The other evening, Mr. Layton was here and asked me about Lewis, saying he could not find his house. He wished to offer him the situation of head clerk in the establishment of Layton, Finlay & Co."
"And what did you tell him?" asked Margaret, breathlessly.
"Oh, I told him there was no use in doing anything of the kind, as he would not be able to keep Lewis long, his habits of negligence were so irremediable."
"Great God of heaven!" cried Margaret, starting up and standing before her sister. "You did not tell him that, Laura!"
"Indeed, I did! I have no idea of seeing that wife of his benefited in any way. She married him poor; let her remain so."
Margaret was gone in an instant. She almost flew down the street to her husband's office, and, fortunately, met him on her way. In a few words, she related to him what had passed.