“You!” said Thorsby. “You, who love the country so, whose heart has so many ties there!”
“I can do it willingly,” said Letty. “I can be very happy with you and dear little Leonard anywhere. My greatest ties are here.”
“It cannot be,” said Thorsby, assuming an awful look. “Angels of light and devils cannot dwell together. I say, once for all, go, and leave me to my fate, or I will end it on this spot.”
Letty started back with the child in her arms, which clung affrighted to her bosom, and with a wild and long-fixed look, said, “Then farewell! but oh, no, not for ever! not for ever!” and with that she opened the door, gave one other last look at the unhappy man as he stood ghastly and motionless—a look of misery beyond all words—then disappeared. George saw her coming, still and tearless, clasping the child to her heart, and he knew that her loving attempt had failed. He supported her tenderly to the cab, and drove back to the inn.
“Let us get home, dear George,” she said, as they entered the inn; “I would not die here,” and she shuddered.
“Die!” said George. “No, dearest, you shall not die. You will not die for the faithlessness of a bad man; you must live for us and for your child. But we will away home at once.”
He laid his unhappy sister on the sofa, and rang for wine. “Take some refreshment, dear Letty, and we will be off at once.” Letty took a glass of wine mechanically, and closing her eyes, looked like a beautiful corpse. George ordered a post-chaise, and so they posted all the way down. Letty lay through the journey as in a sort of trance, with a passive marble look, but still conscious, and answering in a whisper to her brother’s anxious questions. This state continued after they reached home.
“It is a blessing of God,” said the physicians who were called in; “the enormous strain of the mind has exhausted her animal powers—and it is well: a different action, and the brain must have felt the shock, and could not have borne it. Let her remain so. If she can take nourishment, well; but for some time let her rest. Let us hope that no violent reaction will take place, when we shall have to fear delirium, and, perhaps, actual insanity.”
The news of these events—of the heroic endeavours of Letty to reclaim her husband, and of her present critical state—brought her mother and sister instantly to her side. Under their tender care the judicious system of the physicians was carefully carried out; and in a few days’ time tears were seen stealing beneath the eyelashes of Letty; her mother gently kissed her, and she raised her arms and clasped them round her neck. Without opening her eyes, she was conscious of the presence of Ann, and put out her hand to clasp her, and then she lay and wept long and silently. Her dear, watching relations soon found that she was perfectly conscious of all that had passed; but a wondrous calm had come over her, and she said to her mother and Ann, “Do not be anxious about me. I shall soon be better. I must live as one of God’s children, to bear His rod, and to seek to save the lost. Promise me never to blame him in my presence. Join with me in prayer daily, nightly, incessant prayer, for his recovery. That is the business of my life now. If I succeed in the end it will be worth all the earth can send of sorrow and suffering.”
In a few weeks Letty was about again. A pale, thin, serious, but energetic-looking woman. Could that be the once laughing, blithe, singing Letty? It was the same bright, pure spirit, saddened but ennobled by the ordeal of trial and distress, and by a life’s aim the noblest and most sacred that ever lifted a womanly soul into the regions of a wisdom beyond her years. She soon returned her attention to business. Closely veiled, she walked silently through the quietest streets from her house to the warehouse; but the marked respect, the lifted hats of the gentlemen, the regardful and sympathising looks of ladies, and the deep curtseys of humbler women, as she passed, showed what a sensation the narrative of her doings and sufferings had created in the place. Thomas Barnsdale, by his silent, respectful attention, showed the same effect on him. One of the first papers that he put into her hand, was a deed of gift, regularly drawn by a legal hand, and duly executed by Thorsby, making over to her and their son the whole of the property and trade in Castleborough. He had reserved only to himself the business in London, which, as a commission business, received the goods manufactured at Castleborough, and exported them on a percentage. This deeply affected Letty. It showed that amid all the weakness and impulsive folly of her husband, there were great redeeming qualities in him, and she was more than ever resolved to hope for his final recovery, and to devote her life to that object. Her father, tremendously incensed against him, told her to leave the business to Barnsdale, and the house to Thorsby’s mother, and come back to Woodburn Grange, where the tenderest love awaited her. But Letty held to her wiser course. Old Mrs. Thorsby, already in ill health, was completely broken down by these last unhappy events, and could not last long. Letty would not leave her, but attended her with every loving care. To make the business more secure, she gave Thomas Barnsdale a certain share in it, of which he was equally deserving, from his faithfulness and unwearied attention to its interests.