er had told me--as related in
the thirtieth chapter of my narrative. Mrs. Beauly had been a witness
of the public degradation of my husband. That was enough in itself to
prevent him from marrying her: He broke off with _her_ for the same
reason which had led him to separate himself from _me._ Existence with a
woman who knew that he had been tried for his life as a murderer was an
existence which he had not resolution enough to face. The two accounts
agreed in every particular. At last my jealous curiosity was pacified;
and Benjamin was free to dismiss the past from further consideration,
and to approach the more critical and more interesting topic of the
future.

His first inquiries related to Eustace. He asked if my husband had any
suspicion of the proceedings which had taken place at Gleninch.

I told him what had happened, and how I had contrived to put off the
inevitable disclosure for a time.

My old friend's face cleared up as he listened to me.

"This will be good news for Mr. Playmore," he said. "Our excellent
friend, the lawyer, is sorely afraid that our discoveries may
compromise your position with your husband. On the one hand, he is
naturally anxious to spare Mr. Eustace the distress which he must
certainly feel, if he read his first wife's confession. On the other
hand, it is impossible, in justice (as Mr. Playmore puts it) to
the unborn children of your marriage, to suppress a document which
vindicates the memory of their father from the aspersion that the Scotch
Verdict might otherwise cast on it."

I listened attentively. Benjamin had touched on a trouble which was
still secretly preying on my mind.

"How does Mr. Playmore propose to meet the difficulty?" I asked.

"He can only meet it in one way," Benjamin replied. "He proposes to
seal up the original manuscript of the letter, and to add to it a plain
statement of the circumstances under which it was discovered, supported
by your signed attestation and mine, as witnesses to the fact. This
done, he must leave it to you to take your husband into your confidence,
at your own time. It will then be for Mr. Eustace to decide whether
he will open the inclosure--or whether he will leave it, with the seal
unbroken, as an heirloom to his children, to be made public or not, at
their discretion, when they are of an age to think for themselves. Do
you consent to this, my dear? Or would you prefer that Mr. Playmore
should see your husband, and act for you in