even
when he wound his arm around her she was still mute, he continued,
"Speak--this silence breaks my heart--what have I done to lose your
confidence?"

"Not you--I--" gasped the wife. "Your words at breakfast--this
letter--have rolled the stone from my heart--I must confess--the
truth--I am like Mrs. Beaufort--in debt--frightfully in debt." And with a
gesture, as if she would crush herself into the earth, she slipped from
his arms and sank literally on the floor.

Whatever pang Mr. Ferrars felt at the knowledge of her fault, it seemed
Overpowered by the sense of her present anguish--an anguish that proved
how bitter had been the expiation; and he lifted his wife to the sofa,
bent over her with fondness, called her by all the dear pet names to
which her ear was accustomed, and nearer twenty times than once gave her
the "kiss of forgiveness."

"And it is of you I have been frightened!" cried Lady Lucy, clinging to
his hand. "You who I thought would never make any excuses for faults you
yourself could not have committed!"

"I have never been tempted."

"Have I? I dare not say so."

"Tell me how it all came about," said Mr. Farrars, drawing her to him;
"tell me from the beginning."

But his gentleness unnerved her--she felt choking--loosened the collar of
her dress for breathing space-and gave him the knowledge he asked in
broken exclamations.

"Before I was married--it--began. They persuaded me so many--oh, so
many--unnecessary things--were--needed. Then they would not send the
bills--and I--for a long time--never knew--what I owed--and then--and
then--I thought I should have the power--but--"

"Your allowance was not sufficient?" asked Mr. Ferrars, pressing her hand
as he spoke.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes! most generous, and yet it was always forestalled to
pay old bills: and then--and then my wants were so many. I was so weak.
Madame Dalmas has had dresses I could have worn when I had new ones on
credit instead, and--and Harris has had double wages to compensate for
what a lady's maid thinks her perquisites; even articles I might have
given to poor gentlewomen I have been mean enough to sell. Oh, Walter! I
have been very wrong; but I have been miserable for at least three years.
I felt as if an iron cage were rising around me,--from which you only
could free me--and yet, till to-day, I think I could have died rather
than confess to you."

"My poor girl! Why should you have feared me? Have I ever been harsh?"