'I have heard of Dean Carrick; he wrote some book or other, and came into some notoriety before his death. Is it possible that you are his niece?'

'Yes. I was very proud of him, and of my other uncle; but they would have nothing to do with me after my marriage. We were living in Ireland then, and when Mat brought me to London I seemed to have cut myself adrift from all my people. My father died not long afterwards, and my mother followed him, and my two brothers were at sea. I saw the name of Carrick in the papers one day--James Carrick--he was in the navy; so it must have been Jem. Well, he is dead, and, as far as I know, Charlie may be dead too.'

She spoke with a degree of hardness that astonished him, but he would not interrupt her by a question. He saw that, for some reason of her own, she was willing to tell her story.

'I soon found out my mistake when Mat brought me to London. From the first we were unfortunate; we had neither of us any experience. Our first landlady cheated us, and our lodgings were far too expensive for our means--my money had not then come to me. At my mother's death I was more independent.

'I might have grown fonder of Mat but for one thing. Very shortly after our marriage--indeed, before the honeymoon was over--I discovered that he had already stooped to deceit. He had always led me to imagine that his people were well-to-do, and that his parentage was as respectable as mine; indeed, I understood that his only brother was a merchant, with considerable means at his disposal. I do not say Mat told me all this in words, but he had a way with him of implying things.

'I was very proud--ridiculously proud, if you will--and I had a horror of trade. You may judge, then, the shock it was to me when I found out by the merest accident--from reading a fragment of a letter--that this brother was a corn-chandler in a small retail way.

'We had our first quarrel then. Mat was very cowed and miserable when he saw how I took it; he wanted to coax me into forgiving his deceit.

'"I knew what a proud little creature you were, Olive," he said, trying to extenuate his shabby conduct, "and that there was no chance of your listening to me if you found out Tom was a tradesman. What does it matter about the shop? Tom is as good a chap as ever breathed, and Susan is the best-hearted woman in the world." But I would not be conciliated.

'I would not go near his people, and when he mentioned their names I always turned a deaf ear. It is a bad thing when a woman learns to despise her husband; but from that day I took Mat's true measure, and my heart seemed to harden against him. Perhaps I did not go the right way to improve him or keep him straight, but I soon found out that I dared not rely on him.

'I think I should have left him before the year was out, only my baby was born and took all my thoughts; and Mat was so good to me, that for very shame I dare not hint at such a thing. But we were not happy. His very fondness made things worse, for he was always reproaching me for my coldness.

'"You are the worst wife that a man could have," he would say to me.

"You would not care if I were brought home dead any day, and yet if the boy's finger aches you want to send for the doctor. If I go to the bad, it will be your own fault, because you never have a kind look or word for me."

'But he might as well have spoken to the wind. There was no love for Mat in my heart, and I worshipped my boy.'

'You are speaking now of your eldest son?'

'Yes; of Cyril. He was my first-born, and I doted on him. I had two other children before Kester came; but, happily, they died--I say happily, for I had hard work to make ends meet with three children. I was so wrapped up in my boy that I neglected Mat more and more; and when he took to going out of an evening I made no complaints. We were getting on better then, and I seldom quarrelled with him, unless he refused to give me money for the children. Perhaps he was afraid to cross me, for the money was generally forthcoming when I asked for it; but I never took the trouble to find out how he procured it. And he was only too pleased to find me good-tempered and ready to talk to him, or to bring Cyril to play with him; for he was fond of the boy, too. Well, things went on tolerably smoothly until Mollie was born; but she was only a few months old when the crash came.'

She stopped, and an angry darkness came over her face.

'You need not tell me,' returned Michael, anxious to spare her as much as possible. 'I am aware of the forgery for which your husband incurred penal servitude for so many years.'

'You know that!' she exclaimed, with a terrified stare. 'Who could have told you? Oh, I forgot Mat's brother at Brail! Why did I never guess that Audrey's old friend she so often mentioned was this Tom O'Brien?

But there are other O'Briens--there was one at Richmond when we lived there--and I thought he was still in his shop.'

'We heard all the leading facts from him; he told Audrey everything.'

'Then you shall hear my part now,' she returned, with flashing eyes.

'What do you suppose were my feelings when I heard the news that Mat was in prison, and that my boy's father was a convicted felon? What do you imagine were my thoughts when I sat in my lodgings, with my children round me, knowing that this heritage of shame was on them?'

'It was very bad for you,' he whispered softly, for her tragical aspect impressed him with a sense of grandeur. She was not good: by her own account she had been an unloving wife; but in her way she had been strong--only her strength had been for evil.

'Yes, it was bad. I think for days I was almost crazed by my misfortunes; and then Mat sent for me. He was penitent, and wanted my forgiveness, so they told me.'

'And you went?'

'Of course I went. I had a word to say to him that needed an answer, and I was thankful for the opportunity to speak it. I dressed myself at once, and went to the prison. Cyril cried to come with me, and slapped me with his little hands when I refused to take him; but I only smothered him with kisses. I remember how he struggled to get free, and how indignant he was. "I don't love you one bit to-day, mamma! you are not my pretty mamma at all." But I only laughed at his childish pet--my bright, beautiful boy!--I can see him now.

'Mat looked utterly miserable; but his wretchedness did not seem to touch me. The sin was his, and he must expiate it; it was I and my children who were the innocent sufferers. He began cursing himself for his mad folly, as he called it, and begged me over and over again to forgive him. I listened to him for a few minutes, and then I looked at him very steadily.

'"I will forgive you, Mat, and not say a hard word to you, if you will promise me one thing."

'"And what is that?" he asked, seeming as though he dreaded my answer.

'"That you will never try to see me or my children again."'

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

'SHALL YOU TELL HIM TO-NIGHT?'

'Wouldst thou do harm, and still unharmed thyself abide?

None struck another yet, except through his own side.

From our ill-ordered hearts we oft are fain to roam, As men go forth who find unquietness at home.'

TRENCH.

Michael raised his eyes and looked attentively at the woman before him; but she did not seem to notice him--she was too much absorbed in her miserable recital.

'I had made up my mind to say this to him from the moment I heard he was in prison--he should have nothing more to do with me and the children.

It was for their sake I said it.

'He shrank back as though I had stabbed him, and then he began reproaching me in the old way: "I had never loved him; from the first I had helped to ruin him by my coldness; he was the most wretched man on earth, for his own wife had deserted him;" but after a time I stopped him.

'"It is too late to say all this now, Mat; you are quite right--I never loved you. I was mad to marry you; we have never been suited to each other."

'"But I was fond of you. I was always fond of you, Olive."

'But I answered him sternly:

'"Then prove your affection, Mat, by setting me free. Let me go my way and you go yours, for as truly as I stand here I will never live with you again."

'"But what will you do?" he asked; "oh, Olive, do not be so cruelly hard! There is Tom; he will take you and the children, and care for you all."

'But at the mention of his brother I lost all control over myself. Oh, I know I said some hard things then--I am not defending myself--and he begged me at last very piteously not to excite myself, and he would never mention Tom again; only he must know what I meant to do with myself and the children while he was working out his sentence.

'"Then I will tell you," I replied; "for at least you have a right to know that, although from this day I will never acknowledge you as my husband. I will not go near your beggarly relations; but I have a little money of my own, as you know, though you have never been able to touch it. I will manage to keep the children on that."

'Well, we talked--at least I talked--and at last I got him to promise that he would never molest me or the children again. Mat was always weak, and I managed to frighten him. I threatened to make away with myself and the children sooner than have this shame brought home to them, not that I meant it; but I was in one of my pa.s.sionate moods, when anything seemed possible.

'I told him what I meant to do, for I had planned it all in my head already. I would sell out all my money and change my investments, so that all clue should be lost; and I would take another name, and after a time the children should be told their father was dead. I would give myself out to be a widow, and in this way no disgrace would ever touch them. Would you believe it? Mat was so broken and penitent that he began to think that, after all, this would be best--that it would be kinder to me and the children to cut himself adrift from us.

'I saw him again, and he gave me his promise. "You are a clever woman, Olive," he said; "you will do better for the youngsters than ever I could have done. I have brought disgrace on everyone belonging to me. If you would only have trusted to Tom!--but you will go your own gait. I dare not cross you; I never have dared, lest evil should come of it; but I think no woman ever had a colder heart."