name given to you by a tradesman and moneylender, I hold you contaminated by connection with a cheat. You were right, Sir!—this is disgrace; how much do you owe? Where are your dishonoured acceptances? Where have you used my name and my credit? Tell me at once—I insist on it!”
He spoke rapidly and contemptuously, and rising from his chair as he ended, walked impatiently up and down the room.
“I owe no money to Mr. Sherwin, Sir—no money to anyone.”
He stopped suddenly:
“No money to anyone?” he repeated very slowly, and in very altered tones. “You spoke of disgrace just now. There is a worse disgrace then that you have hidden from me, than debts dishonourably contracted?”
At this moment, a step passed across the hall. He instantly turned round, and locked the door on that side of the room—then continued:
“Speak! and speak honestly if you can. How have you been deceiving me? A woman’s name escaped you constantly, when your delirium was at its worst. You used some very strange expressions about her, which it was impossible altogether to comprehend; but you said enough to show that her character was one of the most abandoned; that her licentiousness—it is too revolting to speak of her —I return to you . I insist on knowing how far your vices have compromised you with that vicious woman.”
“She has wronged me—cruelly, horribly, wronged me—” I could say no more. My head drooped on my breast; my shame overpowered me.
“Who is she? You called her Margaret, in your illness—who is she?”
“She is Mr. Sherwin’s daughter—” The words that I would fain have spoken next, seemed to suffocate me. I was silent again.