"No, sir, it will not. I had a bad bout of it last night myself, and lost every ha'penny Mr. Harman gave me for the journey,--that's the reason I 'm here."
"But if I have not got it? There, so help me! is every farthing I can call my own this minute,"--and he drew from his pocket some silver, in which a single gold coin or two mingled,--"take it, if you like."
"No, sir; it's no good to me. Short of twenty pounds, I could n't start on the journey."
"And if I haven't got it! Am I to go out and rob for you?" cried Sewell, as his eyes flashed indignantly at him.
"I don't want you to rob; but it isn't a house like this hasn't twenty pounds in it."
"You mean," said Sewell, with a sneering laugh, "that if there 's not cash, there must be plate, jewels, and such-like, and so I 'm to lay an embargo on the spoons; but you forget there is a butler who looks after these things."
"There might be many a loose thing on your Lady's table that would do as well,--a ring or two, or a bracelet that she's tired of."
Sewell started,--a sudden thought flashed across him; if he were to kill the fellow as he stood there, how should he conceal the murder and hide the corpse? It was quick as a lightning flash, this thought, but the horror of the consequences so overcame him that a cold sweat broke out over his body, and he staggered back to a seat, and sank into it exhausted and almost fainting.
"Don't take it to heart that way, sir," said the fellow, gazing at him. "Will I get you a glass of water?"
"Yes. No--no; I'll do without it. It's passing off. Wait here for a moment; I 'll be back presently." He arose as he spoke, and moved slowly away. Entering the house, he ascended the stairs and made for his wife's room. As he reached the door, he stopped to listen. There was not a sound to be heard. He turned the handle gently, and looked in. One shutter was partly open, and a gleam of the breaking daylight crossed the floor and fell upon the bed on which she lay, dressed, and fast asleep,--so soundly, indeed, that though the door creaked loudly as he pushed it wider, she never heard the noise. She had evidently been sitting up with a sick man, and was now overcome by fatigue. His intention had been to consult with her,--at least to ask her to assist him with whatever money she had by her,--and he had entered thus stealthily not to startle her; for somehow, in the revulsion of his mind from the late scene of outrage and insult, a sense of respect, if not of regard, moved him towards her, who, in his cruelest moments, had never ceased to have a certain influence over him. He looked at her as she slept; her fine features, at rest, were still beautiful, though deep traces of sorrow were seen in the darkened orbits and the lines about that mouth, while three or four glistening white hairs showed themselves in the brown braid over her temple. Sewell sat down beside the bed, and, as he looked at her, a whole life passed in review before him, from the first hour he met her to that sad moment of the present. How badly they had played their game! how recklessly misused every opportunity that might have secured their fortune! What had _he_ made of all his shrewdness and ready wit? And what had _she_ done with all her beauty, and a fascination as great as even her beauty? It was an evil day that had brought them together. Each, alone, without the other, might have achieved any success. There had been no trust, no accord between them. They wanted the same things, it is true, but they never agreed upon the road that led to them. As to principles, she had no more of them than he had; but she had scruples--scruples of delicacy, scruples of womanhood--which often thwarted and worried him, and ended by making them enemies; and here was now the end of it! _Her_ beauty was wasted, and _his_ luck played out, and only ruin before them.