"It would be such.No sophistries of French philosophy on your part,no cruelty on your husband's,can abrogate the one law,which if you disown it as God's,is still man's--being necessary for the peace,honour,and safety of society.""What law?"
"THOU SHALT NOT COMMIT ADULTERY."
People do not often utter this plain Bible word.It made Ursula start,even when spoken solemnly by her own husband.It tore from the self-convicted woman all the sentimental disguises with which the world then hid,and still hides,its corruptions.Her sin arose and stared her blackly in the face--AS SIN.She cowered before it.
"Am I--THAT?And William will know it.Poor William!"She looked up at Ursula--for the first time with the guilty look;hitherto,it had been only one of pain or despair."Nobody knows it,except you.
Don't tell William.I would have gone long ago,but for him.He is a good boy;--don't let him guess his sister was--"She left the word unspoken.Shame seemed to crush her down to the earth;shame,the precursor of saving penitence--at least,John thought so.He quitted the room,leaving her to the ministry of his other self,his wife.As he sat down with me,and told me in a few words what indeed I had already more than half guessed,I could not but notice the expression of his own face.And I recognized how a man can be at once righteous to judge,tender to pity,and strong to save;a man the principle of whose life is,as John's was--that it should be made "conformable to the image"of Him,who was Himself on earth the image of God.
Ursula came out and called her husband.They talked some time together.I guessed,from what I heard,that she wished Lady Caroline to stay the night here,but that he with better judgment was urging the necessity of her returning to the protection of her husband's home without an hour's delay.
"It is her only chance of saving her reputation.She must do it.
Tell her so,Ursula."
After a few minutes,Mrs.Halifax came out again.
"I have persuaded her at last.She says she will do whatever you think best.Only before she goes,she wants to look at the children.
May she?"
"Poor soul!--yes,"John murmured,turning away.
Stepping out of sight,we saw the poor lady pass through the quiet,empty house into the children's bed-room.We heard her smothered sob,at times,the whole way.
Then I went down to the stream,and helped John to saddle his horse,with Mrs.Halifax's old saddle--in her girlish days,Ursula used to be very fond of riding.
"She can ride back again from the Mythe,"said John."She wishes to go,and it is best she should;so that nothing need be said,except that Lady Caroline spent a day at Longfield,and that my wife and Iaccompanied her safe home."
While he spoke,the two ladies came down the field-path.I fancied Iheard,even now,a faint echo of that peculiarly sweet and careless laugh,indicating how light were all impressions on a temperament so plastic and weak--so easily remoulded by the very next influence that fate might throw across her perilous way.
John Halifax assisted her on horseback,took the bridle under one arm and gave the other to his wife.Thus they passed up the path,and out at the White Gate.
I delayed a little while,listening to the wind,and to the prattle of the stream,that went singing along in daylight or in darkness,by our happy home at Longfield.And I sighed to myself,"Poor Lady Caroline!"
