Dagworthy, who never knew what it was to be without
luxuries,--I'm not in the habit of listening to scandal, but I believe
there's a great deal of truth in certain stories told about his
selfishness and want of feeling. I consider Mr. Dagworthy this poor
man's murderer; it was his bounden duty to see that a man in his
employment was paid enough to live upon,--and Mr. Hood was not. Imagine
what suffering must have brought about such an end as this. A sad
case,--say people. I call it a case of crime that enjoys impunity.'

Wilfrid listened gloomily. The broad question stirred him to no strong
feeling, but the more he heard the more passionate was his longing to
bear Emily away from the scenes of such a past. With what devotion would
he mould his life to the one task of healing her memory! Yet he knew it
must be very long before her heart could recover from the all but deadly
wound it had received. A feeling which one may not call jealousy,--that
were too inhuman,--but still one of the million forms which jealousy
assumes to torture us, drove him to ask himself what the effect of such
a crisis in her life might be on Emily's love for him. There would
always remain in her inmost soul one profound sadness in which he had no
part, and which by its existence would impugn the supremacy of that bond
which united him and her.

'How does Mrs. Hood bear it?' he asked, when he found Mrs. Baxendale
again examining his face.

'I think Emily's illness has been her great help,--poor creatures that
we are, needing one great grief to balance another. But she seems in a
very weak state; I didn't like her look yesterday.'

'Will you describe her to me?' asked Wilfrid.

'She is not the kind of mother you would give to Emily. I'm afraid her
miserable life has told upon her greatly, both in mind and body.'

'Emily never spoke of her, though so often of her father.'

'That is what I should have expected. Still, you must not think her
quite unworthy. She speaks as an educated woman, and is certainly very
devoted.'

'What of her present position? She must be in extreme difficulties.'

'No, she wants nothing for the present. Friends have been very anxious
to help her. That's what I say,--only let your misery drive you out of
the world, and people will find out all at once how very easily they
might have saved you. A hundredth part of the interest that has been
shown in the family since poor Mr. Hood's death would have found endless
ways