“Where is he?” she cried. “Oh, Aunt Catherine, where is he? You are hiding him, I said you would hide him, whatever he did. Oh, is it nothing to you if he goes and ruins people that never did him any harm?—young people like us that have all our life before us, and a dear baby to be turned out upon the world. Oh, Aunt Catherine, if you have any heart at all, where is he, where is he? I’ll have him to justice!” cried Ellen. “I’ll not sit under it. I won’t—not if he should kill me! I want Edward. Where is Edward? I shan’t go out of this till you give him up to me. He has ruined us, he has ruined us!” cried the excited creature, bursting into a transport of passionate tears.
There had been a moment of bewildered struggle in Catherine’s face; then she rose up with what seemed to the excited newcomers her usual composure.
“What does all this mean?” she said, in her quiet voice.
Hester had shut the door upon the servant’s curiosity; Ellen crying violently, and poor Algernon, endeavouring vainly to console her, stood between the two, in the centre of the room. It was all that poor young Merridew could do not to weep too.
“I am sure you will forgive her, Miss Vernon,” he said, in faltering tones. “We are nearly out of our senses. Oh, don’t cry, my dearest; whatever they do they can’t part us, and I’ll work for you and baby. I’ll work till I drop. Miss Vernon, if Edward’s here—she doesn’t mean any harm. She is just off her head, poor girl! and baby not a month old yet. If you will only let us see him, I’ll pledge my word—”
“Algy, hold your tongue!” cried Ellen amidst her sobs, stamping her foot. “Hold your tongue, I tell you. She’ll never, never give him up—never till she’s forced, I know that. She has always liked that fellow better than the whole of us put together. And we’ve every one kowtowed to him for her sake. He’s been the head of everything, though he was nothing but a poor—And as frightened of her as a dog, and hated her all the time. Oh yes, Aunt Catherine, you may believe me or not, but whenever there was a word about you, Edward was always the worst. Of course we all had our remarks to make, I don’t say anything different; but he was always the worst. And now he’s gone, and led Algy to his ruin,” she cried, with another wild outburst. “We have lost every penny. Do you hear me, Aunt Catherine, do you hear me? We’re ruined, with a dear baby not a month old, and I that have never got up my strength. Oh yes, Algy, yes, dear. I know you’ll work till you drop. But what good will that do to me, to have you work yourself to death, and to be left a widow at my age, with a baby to support? And, Aunt Catherine, it will all be your fault,” cried Ellen. “Yes, it will be your fault. If you hadn’t made such a fuss about him, who would have ever trusted him? It was because of you I gave my consent. I said Aunt Catherine will never let him come to harm. And now here it has all come to smash, and me and Algy are ruined. Oh, how can you have the heart? and a dear innocent baby without a word to say for himself! And me at my age—and poor Algy that thought he was making so good a marriage when he got one of the Vernons—”
“Nelly, Nelly, darling!” cried the poor young fellow, “I married you because I loved you, not because you were one of the Vernons.”
“And he had a good right to think so,” said Ellen pushing away his caressing arm. “And they all thought so—everyone; and now they’ve turned against me, and say I’m extravagant, and that I’ve ruined him. Oh! me to have ruined him that thought I was making a man of him! Aunt Catherine! Will you let us all be sacrificed, every one, only to keep Edward from harm?”
Catherine Vernon had sunk into her chair, but there was something of the old look of the spectator at a comedy again upon her face. The evening was beginning to fall, and they did not see the almost ghastly colour which had replaced the wonderful complexion of which everybody once spoke.
“Make her sit down, Algernon, and stop this raving,” she said. “What has happened? I know nothing of it. If you have any claims upon Vernon’s you will be paid with the rest—if we stand, till the last penny, if we fall, to the utmost that can be paid. I cannot say any more.”
They both sat down and gazed at her with consternation on their faces; even Ellen’s tears dried up as by magic. After she had stopped, they sat staring as if stupefied. Then Ellen got up, and threw herself at Catherine’s feet with a cry of wild dismay.
“Aunt Catherine! you don’t mean to say that you cannot help us, that you cannot save us? Oh, Aunt Catherine! don’t be angry with me. I did not mean to make you angry. I was always silly, you know. You will help us, you will save Algy, you will pay the money, won’t you?” She crept close to Catherine, and took her hand and kissed it, looking up piteously, with tears streaming down her face. “You’ll do it for me, Aunt Catherine? Oh, though I am silly I am fond of my husband. And
