CHAPTER XLVI. THE CRISIS DEFERRED.
"TAKE care, Valeria!" said Mrs. Macallan. "I ask you no questions; Ionly caution you for your own sake. Eustace has noticed what I havenoticed--Eustace has seen a change in you. Take care!"
So my mother-in-law spoke to me later in the day, when we happened to bealone. I had done my best to conceal all traces of the effect producedon me by the strange and terrible news from Gleninch. But who could readwhat I had read, who could feel what I now felt, and still maintainan undisturbed serenity of look and manner? If I had been the vilesthypocrite living, I doubt even then if my face could have kept my secretwhile my mind was full of Benjamin's letter.
Having spoken her word of caution, Mrs. Macallan made no further advanceto me. I dare say she was right. Still, it seemed hard to be left,without a word of advice or of sympathy, to decide for myself what itwas my duty to my husband to do next.
To show him Benjamin's narrative, in his state of health, and in theface of the warning addressed to me, was simply out of the question. Atthe same time, it was equally impossible, after I had already betrayedmyself, to keep him entirely in the dark. I thought over it anxiouslyin the night. When the morning came, I decided to appeal to my husband'sconfidence in me.
I went straight to the point in these terms:
"Eustace, your mother said yesterday that you noticed a change in mewhen I came back from my drive. Is she right?"
"Quite right, Valeria," he answered--speaking in lower tones than usual,and not looking at me.
"We have no concealments from each other now," I answered. "I ought totell you, and do tell you, that I found a letter from England waitingat the banker's which has caused me some agitation and alarm. Will youleave it to me to choose my own time for speaking more plainly? And willyou believe, love, that I am really doing my duty toward you, as a goodwife, in making this request?"
I paused. He made no answer: I could see that he was secretly strugglingwith himself. Had I ventured too far? Had I overestimated the strengthof my influence? My heart beat fast, my voice faltered--but I summonedcourage enough to take his hand, and to make a last appeal to him."Eustace," I said; "don't you know me yet well enough to trust me?"
He turned toward me for the first time. I saw a last vanishing trace ofdoubt in his eyes as they looked into mine.
"You promise, sooner or later, to tell me the whole truth?" he said
"I promise with all my heart!"
"I trust you, Valeria!"
His brightening eyes told me that he really meant what he said.We sealed our compact with a kiss. Pardon me for mentioning thesetrifles--I am still writing (if you will kindly remember it) of our newhoneymoon.
By that day's post I answered Benjamin's letter, telling him what I haddone, and entreating him, if he and Mr. Playmore approved of my conduct,to keep me informed of any future discoveries which they might make atGleninch.
After an interval---an endless interval, as it seemed to me--of tendays more, I received a second letter from my old friend, with anotherpostscript added by Mr. Playmore.
"We are advancing steadily and successfully with the putting together ofthe letter," Benjamin wrote. "The one new discovery which we have madeis of serious importance to your husband. We have reconstructed certainsentences declaring, in the plainest words, that the arsenic whichEustace procured was purchased at the request of his wife, and was inher possession at Gleninch. This, remember, is in the handwriting ofthe wife, and is signed by the wife--as we have also found out.Unfortunately, I am obliged to add that the objection to taking yourhusband into our confidence, mentioned when I last wrote, still remainsin force--in greater force, I may say, than ever. The more we make outof the letter, the more inclined we are (if we only studied our ownfeelings) to throw it back into the dust-heap, in mercy to the memory ofthe unhappy writer. I shall keep this open for a day or two. If thereis more news to tell you by that time you will hear of it from Mr.Playmore."
Mr. Playmore's postscript followed, dated three days later.
"The concluding part of the late Mrs. Macallan's letter to her husband,"the lawyer wrote, "has proved accidentally to be the first part whichwe have succeeded in piecing together. With the exception of a few gapsstill left, here and there, the writing of the closing paragraphshas been perfectly reconstructed. I have neither the time nor theinclination to write to you on this sad subject in any detail. In afortnight more, at the longest, we shall, I hope, send you a copy of theletter, complete from the first line to the last. Meanwhile, it ismy duty to tell you that there is one bright side to this otherwisedeplorable and shocking document. Legally speaking, as well as morallyspeaking, it absolutely vindicates your husband's innocence. And itmay be lawfully used for this purpose--if he can reconcile it to hisconscience, and to the mercy due to the memory of the dead, to permitthe public exposure of the letter in Court. Understand me, he cannot betried again on what we call the criminal charge--for certain technicalreasons with which I need not trouble you. But, if the facts which wereinvolved at the criminal trial can also be shown to be involved in acivil action (and in this case they can), the entire matter may be madethe subject of a new legal inquiry; and the verdict of a second jury,completely vindicating your husband, may thus be obtained. Keep thisinformation to yourself for the present. Preserve the position which youhave so sensibly adopted toward Eustace until you have read the restoredletter. When you have done this, my own idea is that you will shrink,in pity to _him,_ from letting him see it. How he is to be kept inignorance of what we have discovered is another question, the discussionof which must be deferred until we can consult together. Until that timecomes, I can only repeat my advice--wait till the next news reaches youfrom Gleninch."
I waited. What I suffered, what Eustace thought of me, does not matter.Nothing matters now but the facts.
In less than a fortnight more the task of restoring the letter wascompleted. Excepting certain instances, in which the morsels of the tornpaper had been irretrievably lost--and in which it had been necessaryto complete the sense in harmony with the writer's intention--the wholeletter had been put together; and the promised copy of it was forwardedto me in Paris.
Before you, too, read that dreadful letter, do me one favor. Let mebriefly remind you of the circumstances under which Eustace Macallanmarried his first wife.
Remember that the poor creature fell in love with him without awakeningany corresponding affection on his side. Remember that he separatedhimself from her, and did all he could to avoid her, when he found thisout. Remember that she presented herself at his residence in Londonwithout a word of warning; that he did his best to save her reputation;that he failed, through no fault of his own; and that he ended, rashlyended in a moment of despair, by marrying her, to silence the scandalthat must otherwise have blighted her life as a woman for the restof her days. Bear all this in mind (it is the sworn testimony ofrespectable witnesses); and pray do not forget--however foolishlyand blamably he may have written about her in the secret pages of hisDiary--that he was proved to have done his best to conceal from his wifethe aversion which the poor soul inspired in him; and that he was (inthe opinion of those who could best judge him) at least a courteous anda considerate husband, if he could be no more.
And now take the letter. It asks but one favor of you: it asks to beread by the light of Christ's teaching--"Judge not, that ye be notjudged."
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