intention not to sell the land I possess in this neighborhood, but to leave it to you as a safe provision. If you have any wish on such subjects, do not conceal it from me.”
A few days afterwards, when she had returned from a visit to her brother’s, she began to speak to her husband on a subject which had for some time been in her mind.
“I should like to do something for my brother’s family, Nicholas; and I think we are bound to make some amends to Rosamond and her husband. Walter says Mr. Lydgate must leave the town, and his practice is almost good for nothing, and they have very little left to settle anywhere with. I would rather do without something for ourselves, to make some amends to my poor brother’s family.”
Mrs. Bulstrode did not wish to go nearer to the facts than in the phrase “make some amends;” knowing that her husband must understand her. He had a particular reason, which she was not aware of, for wincing under her suggestion. He hesitated before he said—
“It is not possible to carry out your wish in the way you propose, my dear. Mr. Lydgate has virtually rejected any further service from me. He has returned the thousand pounds which I lent him. Mrs. Casaubon advanced him the sum for that purpose. Here is his letter.”
The letter seemed to cut Mrs. Bulstrode severely. The mention of Mrs. Casaubon’s loan seemed a reflection of that public feeling which held it a matter of course that everyone would avoid a connection with her husband. She was silent for some time; and the tears fell one after the other, her chin trembling as she wiped them away. Bulstrode, sitting opposite to her, ached at the sight of that grief-worn face, which two months before had been bright and blooming. It had aged to keep sad company with his own withered features. Urged into some effort at comforting her, he said—