No Name, Wilkie Collins [reading the story of the TXT] 📗

She tried to gain time; she attempted confusedly to speak a few words of gratitude; but her mistress silenced her.

“You owe me no thanks,” said Magdalen. “I tell you again, we are only helping each other. I have very little money, but it is enough for your purpose, and I give it you freely. I have led a wretched life; I have made others wretched about me. I can’t even make you happy, except by tempting you to a new deceit. There! there! it’s not your fault. Worse women than you are will help me, if you refuse. Decide as you like, but don’t be afraid of taking the money. If I succeed, I shall not want it. If I fail⁠—”

She stopped, rose abruptly from her chair, and hid her face from Louisa by walking away to the fireplace.

“If I fail,” she resumed, warming her foot carelessly at the fender, “all the money in the world will be of no use to me. Never mind why⁠—never mind me⁠—think of yourself. I won’t take advantage of the confession you have made to me; I won’t influence you against your will. Do as you yourself think best. But remember one thing⁠—my mind is made up; nothing you can say or do will change it.”

Her sudden removal from the table, the altered tones of her voice as she spoke the last words, appeared to renew Louisa’s hesitation. She clasped her hands together in her lap, and wrung them hard. “This has come on me very suddenly, ma’am,” said the girl. “I am sorely tempted to say yes; and yet I am almost afraid⁠—”

“Take the night to consider it,” interposed Magdalen, keeping her face persistently turned toward the fire; “and tell me what you have decided to do, when you come into my room tomorrow morning. I shall want no help tonight⁠—I can undress myself. You are not so strong as I am; you are tired, I dare say. Don’t sit up on my account. Good night, Louisa, and pleasant dreams!”

Her voice sank lower and lower as she spoke those kind words. She sighed heavily, and, leaning her arm on the mantelpiece, laid her head on it with a reckless weariness miserable to see. Louisa had not left the room, as she supposed⁠—Louisa came softly to her side, and kissed her hand. Magdalen started; but she made no attempt, this time, to draw her hand away. The sense of her own horrible isolation subdued her, at the touch of the servant’s lips. Her proud heart melted; her eyes filled with burning tears. “Don’t distress me!” she said, faintly. “The time for kindness has gone by; it only overpowers me now. Good night!”

When the morning came, the affirmative answer which Magdalen had anticipated was the answer given.

On that day the landlady received her week’s notice to quit, and Louisa’s needle flew fast through the stitches of the parlormaid’s dress.

Between the Scenes Progress of the Story Through the Post I From Miss Garth to Mr. Pendril

“Westmoreland House, January 3rd, 1848.

“Dear Mr. Pendril⁠—I write, as you kindly requested, to report how Norah is going on, and to tell you what changes I see for the better in the state of her mind on the subject of her sister.

“I cannot say that she is becoming resigned to Magdalen’s continued silence⁠—I know her faithful nature too well to say it. I can only tell you that she is beginning to find relief from the heavy pressure of sorrow and suspense in new thoughts and new hopes. I doubt if she has yet realized this in her own mind; but I see the result, although she is not conscious of it herself. I see her heart opening to the consolation of another interest and another love. She has not said a word to me on the subject, nor have I said a word to her. But as certainly as I know that Mr. George Bartram’s visits have lately grown more and more frequent to the family at Portland Place⁠—so certainly I can assure you that Norah is finding a relief under her suspense, which is not of my bringing, and a hope in the future, which I have not taught her to feel.

“It is needless for me to say that I tell you this in the strictest confidence. God knows whether the happy prospect which seems to me to be just dawning will grow brighter or not as time goes on. The oftener I see Mr. George Bartram⁠—and he has called on me more than once⁠—the stronger my liking for him grows. To my poor judgment he seems to be a gentleman in the highest and truest sense of the word. If I could live to see Norah his wife, I should almost feel that I had lived long enough. But who can discern the future? We have suffered so much that I am afraid to hope.

“Have you heard anything of Magdalen? I don’t know why or how it is; but since I have known of her husband’s death, my old tenderness for her seems to cling to me more obstinately than ever.

“Always yours truly,

“Harriet Garth.”

II From Mr. Pendril to Miss Garth

“Serle Street, January 4th, 1848.

“Dear Miss Garth⁠—Of Mrs. Noel Vanstone herself I have heard nothing. But I have learned, since I saw you, that the report of the position in which she is left by the death of her husband may be depended upon as the truth. No legacy of any kind is bequeathed to her. Her name is not once mentioned in her husband’s will.

“Knowing what we know, it is not to be concealed that this circumstance threatens us with more embarrassment, and perhaps with more distress. Mrs. Noel Vanstone is not the woman to submit, without a desperate resistance, to the total overthrow of all her schemes and all her hopes. The mere fact that nothing whatever has been