Chapter III: Woman's Love

Blanche was trimming a baby cap, when her father entered the room. With a cry of delight she sprang up, and rushed into his arms. He hugged her fondly, and the tears rolled down his cheeks as he pressed his child sadly to his bosom.

It was some time before either of them spoke.

"My poor child!" he said at last.

"Your happy child, papa; I am so happy! I knew you would forgive me soon. Oh! why is not Cecil here to join with me in gratitude?"

"Blanche," he said with an effort, "I am come to take you away with me: will you come?"

She looked her answer.

"That is right, ... that is right .... Pack up your things, then, at once."

"Pack up what things?" she asked in astonishment.

"Whatever you want to take with you .... Come .... don't stay in this house a moment longer than you can help."

Her astonishment increased.

"Do you mean me to leave my home?"

"Yes."

"And .... my husband?"

"Yes."

"Leave my husband?--leave my Cecil? Why, papa, what can have put that into your head? Do you suppose, I am not happy here? ... He is the best of husbands!"

Meredith Vyner had recourse to his snuff-box, as in all emergencies. He inserted thumb and index finger into it, and trifled mechanically with the grains, while seeking for some argument.

"Do, dear papa, relieve me from this suspense .... What is it you mean?"

"Are you serious, Blanche?--_is_ he a good husband?'

"I adore him; he is the kindest creature on earth."

Vyner took a huge pinch. That did not clear his ideas, and he sat silently brushing off the grains which had congregated in the wrinkles of his waistcoat, very much puzzled what to say.

"Papa, there is something on your mind. If it is anything against Cecil .... anything a wife ought not to hear, spare me, and do not utter it. If it is anything else, spare me the suspense, and tell me at once what it is."

"Blanche, my dearest child, I came here to save you from ruin, and I will save you. You must quit your husband."

"Why?"

"Is not my word sufficient? I say you must. Your welfare depends upon it."

"Why?--I say again--why?"

"Are you--no, you cannot be aware of _how_ your husband gains a livelihood."

She coloured violently and trembled. He noticed it, and read the avowal in her agitation.

"You _do_ know it then?"

She burst into tears.

"Well, my dear child, since you know it, that saves me an unpleasant explanation. But you must leave him; you cannot stay here longer: you cannot share his infamy; you shall not be dragged into his ruin. It has been a miserable match; I have always grieved over it; always knew it would end wretchedly. But to come to this!--to this! No, Blanche, you cannot remain here. Come and live at home; there at least you will not live in infamy."

She wept bitterly, but offered no remark.

"Come, Blanche," he said, taking her hand, "you will leave this place, will you not? You will live with us. I cannot promise to make you happy, but at least I can save you from the wretched existence of a gambler's wife. Come--come."

"I cannot!" she sobbed.

"Rouse yourself: conquer this emotion. Think of your future--think of your child!"

She shuddered.

"Think of the child you are to bring into the world. Must it also share in the ruin which its father will inevitably draw upon you? My dear Blanche, you must have courage; for your own sake--for your child's sake--you must quit this house. Come home to me. I am unhappy myself; I want to have some one about me I can love: Rose is the only one: Violet is away: your mother--but don't let me speak of her. You see, Blanche, dear, I want you; you will fill a place at home; you will be so petted; and the little one will have every comfort--and his aunt Rose--but don't sob so, my child: do restrain yourself. You will come, eh?"

"I cannot!"

Vyner took another pinch of snuff, and was disconcerted; there was such wretchedness, but such resolution in her tone, that he felt his arguments had been powerless.

Her sobs were pitiful to hear, and his own eyes were filled with tears, in spite of his rising anger at what he considered her obstinacy.

"Why can you not?"

"Because he is my husband--one whom I have chosen for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, to cherish, and to obey, till death do us part--one from whom death alone shall part me, for I love him, he loves me, and by his side I can smilingly await poverty, even ruin."

"Even infamy!" exclaimed Vyner.

"Even infamy!" she replied, in a low sad tone.

"This is madness."

"It is love--it is duty. I know the wretched fate which must befall us. I foresee it: but if it had already fallen, I should say the same. I cannot leave him! I may be miserable; we may be brought to beggary; my child may want every necessary--oh! I have not shut my eyes to _that_ terrible prospect! I have seen it; it has wrung my heart, but I cannot--would not, if I could--leave him who is all my happiness. Cecil is more than my husband: he is all that I hold dearest in life: he is the father of that child whose future you so gloomily foresee; shall that child--shall _my_ child not smile upon its father? You do not know what you ask."

"I ask you to be happy."

"I am so. Without Cecil I could not be so. Let misfortune come to me in any shape, so that it rob me not of him, and I can bear it; only not that--only not that!"

"Bless you for those words, my own beloved!" said a voice which made them both start and look up.

Cecil stood before them. He had overheard the greater part of their conversation, and had opened the door without their noticing it, absorbed as they were in their own emotions.

Vyner took three rapid pinches, and felt greatly confused. Blanche threw herself into her husband's arms, and sobbed aloud.

"Bless you, my own Blanche, for the unshaken depth of your love. It shall not be thrown away. I will no longer be unworthy of it. I have been a villain--yes, sir, I confess I have been a weak and selfish villain; seduced by my necessities, and by vile temptations, I have nearly brought this dear girl to ruin. But this morning has saved me. I have seen the peril--I will--hear me, sir, solemnly swear, by all that is sacred--by all my hopes of happiness--by this dear head now resting on my heart--I swear never again, on any pretext, to touch a card--to enter a house of play! Will you believe me? You hear my oath--a gentleman's word ought to be sufficient, but you have my oath--will you believe it?"

Blanche pressed him convulsively to her, and laughed hysterically in her joy.

Vyner rose, and taking Cecil's hand, said,--

"Chamberlayne, you are a man of honour; I respect you. What you have now done effaces the past. We are reconciled. I will assure you two hundred pounds a year during my life, which, with your own income, will suffice, I hope, to keep you in decent comfort, and will enable you to employ your talents honourably, and, I hope, profitably. My house is open to you. We are reconciled, are we not?"

Cecil pressed his hand warmly.

"I have been angry with you," Vyner continued, "but my anger is gone--what says our favourite?"

Non Dindymene, non adytis quatit
Mentem sacerdotum incola Pythius
Non Liber æque, non acuta
Si geminant Corybantes æra
Tristes ut iræ--

Eh? is it not so? The past then is forgotten?"

"Oh, sir," said Cecil, wiping away a tear, "I do not deserve such kindness.... I have been a wretch.... But my future conduct shall thank you--I cannot now!"

"All I ask is--make Blanche happy."

Cecil looked down upon her upturned face, and met her loving glance with a look of unutterable tenderness; then drawing her head to him, he pressed his lips upon her eyes; she threw her arms around him, and exclaimed,--

"How can I help being happy with him?"

Much affected by this scene, Vyner again pressed Cecil's hand with great warmth, kissed his child, wiped his eyes, and withdrew; for his heart was full.