and again I am met by his villany, even down here, in the very chamber—”
“Do not hesitate. I am not afraid of the word—in the very chamber of death.”
“When is my punishment to end?” exclaimed Laura.
“You have always hated Ernest Hardwick,” said Mrs. Berry, in a quiet voice. “It is an easy thing to say—now. But he was not a man to hate.”
Laura’s look was more eloquent than any spoken reply.
“He was a man to loathe and despise,” she said. “A sordid wretch who would wring money from the terrors of two poor girls, who feared that his dangerous malice would ruin them with society, and who deprived themselves almost of necessaries to scrape together what he demanded—you are right, that is not a man to hate.”
A curious look, not of dissatisfaction, came over Mrs. Berry’s face while Laura spoke her indignant words. But she answered:
“Those two girls must have been in his power, or where was the force of his threats?”
“One was—and the second was her sister, and loved her, Mrs. Berry.”
“And it is the second who is talking to me?”
And the angry crimson, again spreading over Laura’s brow, was the answer to the doubt.
“Ah! we all have much to learn. I have learned something, and I must not die in debt.”
She turned over and over some of the leaves of the letters, but rather listlessly, as if her thoughts were not upon the lines she seemed to be reading. At last she turned suddenly to Laura.
“Answer me a question.”
“Yes.”
“We are two women—alone—and whatever your answer may be, I give you the word of one who is dying that it shall never be known beyond this room, but answer me truthfully.”
“If I answer at all, I will.”
“Ernest Hardwick, was he ever your lover?”
“Never!” replied Laura, with indignant emphasis.
“But he sought to be?”
“He once dared to say words which he never dared to repeat.”
“If he said that you gave him midnight meetings?”
“He spoke falsely.”
“I think I know truth when I hear it, and I believe that I hear it now.”
“You do indeed, Mrs. Berry.”
“I believe it, I tell you. And, as I said, I will not die in debt. I told you that you would not hear confession and penitence from me until you had led the way. But it appears to me that you have nothing to confess and repent. I have been mistaken in you. I am not half so much interested in you, Mrs. Lygon, as I was yesterday. You seem to me to be a good sort of woman, whose kind nature made you a victim when you were a girl, and has done it again now that you are wife and mother; and as for the courage for which I was told you were celebrated, it seems to be sheer cowardice, that drives you to do things which a really brave person would avoid. Well, you cannot help your nature, but I wish I had known something more about you a few weeks ago. Will you please to go downstairs?”
“But you—”
“Please to go down-stairs, and request Mr. Berry to come up. There, do not fear for your book. I have far more interest in it than you have. Had I been in your place, I would never have moved from my husband’s home. I would have torn out the letters which I owned as mine, and thrown them at my husband’s feet, and defied the devil and all his works. Why did you not?”
Laura did not speak.
“No answer. Well, fetch Mr. Berry. Yes, and request your sister to come up also. I think that both of them may like to hear, in company, something which I shall tell them. Go.”
Laura obeyed the imperative word and gesture, and went down. She found Mrs. Hawkesley alone, but in answer to Laura’s inquiring look Beatrice pointed to the garden, where its owner was pacing moodily among his trees.
“He only mentioned that we had nothing to say to one another, and left me. What has his wife said?”
“Nothing. But she seems to intend to make some revelation, and desires that you will both be present. A strange, poisonous woman, Beatrice,” said Laura, in an emphatic whisper.
“A bad woman,” replied Beatrice, “and it is frightful to think that she is so near her end. But we had better go up.”
Mr. Berry was summoned, and the message delivered.
“If it is your wish, Mrs. Lygon, I will be present. You have a right to decide what witnesses shall be there. I tell you at once that they may hear strange things.”
“And who but my husband’s oldest friend should hear what is said to me?”
“That is enough.”
A bell had been heard to ring, and while they spoke Hester entered again, took from one of the tables a large Bible, and went out hastily. Mr. Berry observed her, and a dark look, almost a scowl, came upon his kindly face.
“Take chairs,” said Mrs. Berry, when they came into the room.
Mr. Berry noticed that the Bible was placed on the ground, close to the chair of his wife. Laura’s glance was at her own volume, which still lay at the hand of Mrs. Berry.
“Dear Edward,” said Mrs. Berry, in a gentle voice, “it is well that these ladies have arrived before my rapidly sinking strength leaves me, and while I am in possession of such mental faculties as it has pleased God to give me. You will be able to testify hereafter, if need, that I am perfectly competent to the transaction of business, and that I am not the victim of any of the hallucinations which are said to cloud the brain of those who are departing.”
The speech was in Mrs. Berry’s favourite style, and was delivered with as much precision as if it had been studied.
“You do not answer, dear Edward. It will be satisfactory to these ladies that you should do so.”
“Your mind is as clear as ever, Marion,” replied her husband, shortly.
