On the following morning I received a few lines from him myself,confirming Hargrave's intimations respecting his approachingreturn. And he did come next week, but in a condition of body andmind even worse than before. I did not, however, intend to passover his derelictions this time without a remark; I found it wouldnot do. But the first day he was weary with his journey, and I wasglad to get him back: I would not upbraid him then; I would waittill to-morrow. Next morning he was weary still: I would wait alittle longer. But at dinner, when, after breakfasting at twelveo'clock on a bottle of soda-water and a cup of strong coffee, andlunching at two on another bottle of soda-water mingled withbrandy, he was finding fault with everything on the table, anddeclaring we must change our cook, I thought the time was come.

'It is the same cook as we had before you went, Arthur,' said I.'You were generally pretty well satisfied with her then.'

'You must have been letting her get into slovenly habits, then,while I was away. It is enough to poison one, eating such adisgusting mess!' And he pettishly pushed away his plate, andleant back despairingly in his chair.

'I think it is you that are changed, not she,' said I, but with theutmost gentleness, for I did not wish to irritate him.

'It may be so,' he replied carelessly, as he seized a tumbler ofwine and water, adding, when he had tossed it off, 'for I have aninfernal fire in my veins, that all the waters of the ocean cannotquench!'

'What kindled it?' I was about to ask, but at that moment thebutler entered and began to take away the things.

'Be quick, Benson; do have done with that infernal clatter!' criedhis master. 'And don't bring the cheese, unless you want to makeme sick outright!'

Benson, in some surprise, removed the cheese, and did his best toeffect a quiet and speedy clearance of the rest; but,unfortunately, there was a rumple in the carpet, caused by thehasty pushing back of his master's chair, at which he tripped andstumbled, causing a rather alarming concussion with the trayful ofcrockery in his hands, but no positive damage, save the fall andbreaking of a sauce tureen; but, to my unspeakable shame anddismay, Arthur turned furiously around upon him, and swore at himwith savage coarseness. The poor man turned pale, and visiblytrembled as he stooped to pick up the fragments.

'He couldn't help it, Arthur,' said I; 'the carpet caught his foot,and there's no great harm done. Never mind the pieces now, Benson;you can clear them away afterwards.'

Glad to be released, Benson expeditiously set out the dessert andwithdrew.

'What could you mean, Helen, by taking the servant's part againstme,' said Arthur, as soon as the door was closed, 'when you knew Iwas distracted?'

'I did not know you were distracted, Arthur: and the poor man wasquite frightened and hurt at your sudden explosion.'

'Poor man, indeed! and do you think I could stop to consider thefeelings of an insensate brute like that, when my own nerves wereracked and torn to pieces by his confounded blunders?'

'I never heard you complain of your nerves before.'

'And why shouldn't I have nerves as well as you?'

'Oh, I don't dispute your claim to their possession, but I nevercomplain of mine.'

'No, how should you, when you never do anything to try them?'

'Then why do you try yours, Arthur?'

'Do you think I have nothing to do but to stay at home and takecare of myself like a woman?'

'Is it impossible, then, to take care of yourself like a man whenyou go abroad? You told me that you could, and would too; and youpromised - '

'Come, come, Helen, don't begin with that nonsense now; I can'tbear it.'

'Can't bear what? - to be reminded of the promises you havebroken?'

'Helen, you are cruel. If you knew how my heart throbbed, and howevery nerve thrilled through me while you spoke, you would spareme. You can pity a dolt of a servant for breaking a dish; but youhave no compassion for me when my head is split in two and all onfire with this consuming fever.'

He leant his head on his hand, and sighed. I went to him and putmy hand on his forehead. It was burning indeed.

'Then come with me into the drawing-room, Arthur; and don't takeany more wine: you have taken several glasses since dinner, andeaten next to nothing all the day. How can that make you better?'

With some coaxing and persuasion, I got him to leave the table.When the baby was brought I tried to amuse him with that; but poorlittle Arthur was cutting his teeth, and his father could not bearhis complaints: sentence of immediate banishment was passed uponhim on the first indication of fretfulness; and because, in thecourse of the evening, I went to share his exile for a littlewhile, I was reproached, on my return, for preferring my child tomy husband. I found the latter reclining on the sofa just as I hadleft him.

'Well!' exclaimed the injured man, in a tone of pseudo-resignation.'I thought I wouldn't send for you; I thought I'd just see how longit would please you to leave me alone.'

'I have not been very long, have I, Arthur? I have not been anhour, I'm sure.'

'Oh, of course, an hour is nothing to you, so pleasantly employed;but to me - '

'It has not been pleasantly employed,' interrupted I. 'I have beennursing our poor little baby, who is very far from well, and Icould not leave him till I got him to sleep.'

'Oh, to be sure, you're overflowing with kindness and pity foreverything but me.'

'And why should I pity you? What is the matter with you?'

'Well! that passes everything! After all the wear and tear thatI've had, when I come home sick and weary, longing for comfort, andexpecting to find attention and kindness, at least from my wife,she calmly asks what is the matter with me!'

'There is nothing the matter with you,' returned I, 'except whatyou have wilfully brought upon yourself, against my earnestexhortation and entreaty.'

'Now, Helen,' said he emphatically, half rising from his recumbentposture, 'if you bother me with another word, I'll ring the belland order six bottles of wine, and, by heaven, I'll drink them drybefore I stir from this place!'

I said no more, but sat down before the table and drew a booktowards me.

'Do let me have quietness at least!' continued he, 'if you deny meevery other comfort;' and sinking back into his former position,with an impatient expiration between a sigh and a groan, helanguidly closed his eyes, as if to sleep.

What the book was that lay open on the table before me, I cannottell, for I never looked at it. With an elbow on each side of it,and my hands clasped before my eyes, I delivered myself up tosilent weeping. But Arthur was not asleep: at the first slightsob, he raised his head and looked round, impatiently exclaiming,'What are you crying for, Helen? What the deuce is the matternow?'

'I'm crying for you, Arthur,' I replied, speedily drying my tears;and starting up, I threw myself on my knees before him, andclasping his nerveless hand between my own, continued: 'Don't youknow that you are a part of myself? And do you think you caninjure and degrade yourself, and I not feel it?'

'Degrade myself, Helen?'

'Yes, degrade! What have you been doing all this time?'

'You'd better not ask,' said he, with a faint smile.

'And you had better not tell; but you cannot deny that you havedegraded yourself miserably. You have shamefully wronged yourself,body and soul, and me too; and I can't endure it quietly, and Iwon't!'

'Well, don't squeeze my hand so frantically, and don't agitate meso, for heaven's sake! Oh, Hattersley! you were right: this womanwill be the death of me, with her keen feelings and her interestingforce of character. There, there, do spare me a little.'

'Arthur, you must repent!' cried I, in a frenzy of desperation,throwing my arms around him and burying my face in his bosom. 'Youshall say you are sorry for what you have done!'

'Well, well, I am.'

'You are not! you'll do it again.'

'I shall never live to do it again if you treat me so savagely,'replied he, pushing me from him. 'You've nearly squeezed thebreath out of my body.' He pressed his hand to his heart, andlooked really agitated and ill.

'Now get me a glass of wine,' said he, 'to remedy what you've done,you she tiger! I'm almost ready to faint.'

I flew to get the required remedy. It seemed to revive himconsiderably.

'What a shame it is,' said I, as I took the empty glass from hishand, 'for a strong young man like you to reduce yourself to such astate!'

'If you knew all, my girl, you'd say rather, "What a wonder it isyou can bear it so well as you do!" I've lived more in these fourmonths, Helen, than you have in the whole course of your existence,or will to the end of your days, if they numbered a hundred years;so I must expect to pay for it in some shape.'

'You will have to pay a higher price than you anticipate, if youdon't take care: there will be the total loss of your own health,and of my affection too, if that is of any value to you.'

'What! you're at that game of threatening me with the loss of youraffection again, are you? I think it couldn't have been verygenuine stuff to begin with, if it's so easily demolished. If youdon't mind, my pretty tyrant, you'll make me regret my choice ingood earnest, and envy my friend Hattersley his meek little wife:she's quite a pattern to her sex, Helen. He had her with him inLondon all the season, and she was no trouble at all. He mightamuse himself just as he pleased, in regular bachelor style, andshe never complained of neglect; he might come home at any hour ofthe night or morning, or not come home at all; be sullen, sober, orglorious drunk; and play the fool or the madman to his own heart'sdesire, without any fear or botheration. She never gives him aword of reproach or complaint, do what he will. He says there'snot such a jewel in all England, and swears he wouldn't take akingdom for her.'

'But he makes her life a curse to her.'

'Not he! She has no will but his, and is always contented andhappy as long as he is enjoying himself.'

'In that case she is as great a fool as he is; but it is not so. Ihave several letters from her, expressing the greatest anxietyabout his proceedings, and complaining that you incite him tocommit those extravagances - one especially, in which she imploresme to use my influence with you to get you away from London, andaffirms that her husband never did such things before you came, andwould certainly discontinue them as soon as you departed and lefthim to the guidance of his own good sense.'

'The detestable little traitor! Give me the letter, and he shallsee it as sure as I'm a living man.'

'No, he shall not see it without her consent; but if he did, thereis nothing there to anger him, nor in any of the others. She neverspeaks a word against him: it is only anxiety for him that sheexpresses. She only alludes to his conduct in the most delicateterms, and makes every excuse for him that she can possibly thinkof; and as for her own misery, I rather feel it than see itexpressed in her letters.'

'But she abuses me; and no doubt you helped her.'

'No; I told her she over-rated my influence with you, that I wouldgladly draw you away from the temptations of the town if I could,but had little hope of success, and that I thought she was wrong insupposing that you enticed Mr. Hattersley or any one else intoerror. I had myself held the contrary opinion at one time, but Inow believed that you mutually corrupted each other; and, perhaps,if she used a little gentle but serious remonstrance with herhusband, it might be of some service; as, though he was more rough-hewn than mine, I believed he was of a less impenetrable material.'

'And so that is the way you go on - heartening each other up tomutiny, and abusing each other's partners, and throwing outimplications against your own, to the mutual gratification ofboth!'

'According to your own account,' said I, 'my evil counsel has hadbut little effect upon her. And as to abuse and aspersions, we areboth of us far too deeply ashamed of the errors and vices of ourother halves, to make them the common subject of ourcorrespondence. Friends as we are, we would willingly keep yourfailings to ourselves - even from ourselves if we could, unless byknowing them we could deliver you from them.'

'Well, well! don't worry me about them: you'll never effect anygood by that. Have patience with me, and bear with my languor andcrossness a little while, till I get this cursed low fever out ofmy veins, and then you'll find me cheerful and kind as ever. Whycan't you be gentle and good, as you were last time? - I'm sure Iwas very grateful for it.'

'And what good did your gratitude do? I deluded myself with theidea that you were ashamed of your transgressions, and hoped youwould never repeat them again; but now you have left me nothing tohope!'

'My case is quite desperate, is it? A very blessed consideration,if it will only secure me from the pain and worry of my dearanxious wife's efforts to convert me, and her from the toil andtrouble of such exertions, and her sweet face and silver accentsfrom the ruinous effects of the same. A burst of passion is a finerousing thing upon occasion, Helen, and a flood of tears ismarvellously affecting, but, when indulged too often, they are bothdeuced plaguy things for spoiling one's beauty and tiring out one'sfriends.'

Thenceforth I restrained my tears and passions as much as I could.I spared him my exhortations and fruitless efforts at conversiontoo, for I saw it was all in vain: God might awaken that heart,supine and stupefied with self-indulgence, and remove the film ofsensual darkness from his eyes, but I could not. His injustice andill-humour towards his inferiors, who could not defend themselves,I still resented and withstood; but when I alone was their object,as was frequently the case, I endured it with calm forbearance,except at times, when my temper, worn out by repeated annoyances,or stung to distraction by some new instance of irrationality, gaveway in spite of myself, and exposed me to the imputations offierceness, cruelty, and impatience. I attended carefully to hiswants and amusements, but not, I own, with the same devotedfondness as before, because I could not feel it; besides, I had nowanother claimant on my time and care - my ailing infant, for whosesake I frequently braved and suffered the reproaches and complaintsof his unreasonably exacting father.

But Arthur is not naturally a peevish or irritable man; so far fromit, that there was something almost ludicrous in the incongruity ofthis adventitious fretfulness and nervous irritability, rathercalculated to excite laughter than anger, if it were not for theintensely painful considerations attendant upon those symptoms of adisordered frame, and his temper gradually improved as his bodilyhealth was restored, which was much sooner than would have been thecase but for my strenuous exertions; for there was still one thingabout him that I did not give up in despair, and one effort for hispreservation that I would not remit. His appetite for the stimulusof wine had increased upon him, as I had too well foreseen. It wasnow something more to him than an accessory to social enjoyment:it was an important source of enjoyment in itself. In this time ofweakness and depression he would have made it his medicine andsupport, his comforter, his recreation, and his friend, and therebysunk deeper and deeper, and bound himself down for ever in thebathos whereinto he had fallen. But I determined this should neverbe, as long as I had any influence left; and though I could notprevent him from taking more than was good for him, still, byincessant perseverance, by kindness, and firmness, and vigilance,by coaxing, and daring, and determination, I succeeded inpreserving him from absolute bondage to that detestable propensity,so insidious in its advances, so inexorable in its tyranny, sodisastrous in its effects.

And here I must not forget that I am not a little indebted to hisfriend Mr. Hargrave. About that time he frequently called atGrassdale, and often dined with us, on which occasions I fearArthur would willingly have cast prudence and decorum to the winds,and made 'a night of it,' as often as his friend would haveconsented to join him in that exalted pastime; and if the latterhad chosen to comply, he might, in a night or two, have ruined thelabour of weeks, and overthrown with a touch the frail bulwark ithad cost me such trouble and toil to construct. I was so fearfulof this at first, that I humbled myself to intimate to him, inprivate, my apprehensions of Arthur's proneness to these excesses,and to express a hope that he would not encourage it. He waspleased with this mark of confidence, and certainly did not betrayit. On that and every subsequent occasion his presence servedrather as a check upon his host, than an incitement to further actsof intemperance; and he always succeeded in bringing him from thedining-room in good time, and in tolerably good condition; for ifArthur disregarded such intimations as 'Well, I must not detain youfrom your lady,' or 'We must not forget that Mrs. Huntingdon isalone,' he would insist upon leaving the table himself, to join me,and his host, however unwillingly, was obliged to follow.

Hence I learned to welcome Mr. Hargrave as a real friend to thefamily, a harmless companion for Arthur, to cheer his spirits andpreserve him from the tedium of absolute idleness and a totalisolation from all society but mine, and a useful ally to me. Icould not but feel grateful to him under such circumstances; and Idid not scruple to acknowledge my obligation on the firstconvenient opportunity; yet, as I did so, my heart whispered allwas not right, and brought a glow to my face, which he heightenedby his steady, serious gaze, while, by his manner of receivingthose acknowledgments, he more than doubled my misgivings. Hishigh delight at being able to serve me was chastened by sympathyfor me and commiseration for himself - about, I know not what, forI would not stay to inquire, or suffer him to unburden his sorrowsto me. His sighs and intimations of suppressed affliction seemedto come from a full heart; but either he must contrive to retainthem within it, or breathe them forth in other ears than mine:there was enough of confidence between us already. It seemed wrongthat there should exist a secret understanding between my husband'sfriend and me, unknown to him, of which he was the object. But myafter-thought was, 'If it is wrong, surely Arthur's is the fault,not mine.'

And indeed I know not whether, at the time, it was not for himrather than myself that I blushed; for, since he and I are one, Iso identify myself with him, that I feel his degradation, hisfailings, and transgressions as my own: I blush for him, I fearfor him; I repent for him, weep, pray, and feel for him as formyself; but I cannot act for him; and hence I must be, and I am,debased, contaminated by the union, both in my own eyes and in theactual truth. I am so determined to love him, so intensely anxiousto excuse his errors, that I am continually dwelling upon them, andlabouring to extenuate the loosest of his principles and the worstof his practices, till I am familiarised with vice, and almost apartaker in his sins. Things that formerly shocked and disgustedme, now seem only natural. I know them to be wrong, because reasonand God's word declare them to be so; but I am gradually losingthat instinctive horror and repulsion which were given me bynature, or instilled into me by the precepts and example of myaunt. Perhaps then I was too severe in my judgments, for Iabhorred the sinner as well as the sin; now I flatter myself I ammore charitable and considerate; but am I not becoming moreindifferent and insensate too? Fool that I was, to dream that Ihad strength and purity enough to save myself and him! Such vainpresumption would be rightly served, if I should perish with him inthe gulf from which I sought to save him! Yet, God preserve mefrom it, and him too! Yes, poor Arthur, I will still hope and prayfor you; and though I write as if you were some abandoned wretch,past hope and past reprieve, it is only my anxious fears, my strongdesires that make me do so; one who loved you less would be lessbitter, less dissatisfied.

His conduct has, of late, been what the world calls irreproachable;but then I know his heart is still unchanged; and I know thatspring is approaching, and deeply dread the consequences.

As he began to recover the tone and vigour of his exhausted frame,and with it something of his former impatience of retirement andrepose, I suggested a short residence by the sea-side, for hisrecreation and further restoration, and for the benefit of ourlittle one as well. But no: watering-places were so intolerablydull; besides, he had been invited by one of his friends to spend amonth or two in Scotland for the better recreation of grouse-shooting and deer-stalking, and had promise to go.

'Then you will leave me again, Arthur?' said I.

'Yes, dearest, but only to love you the better when I come back,and make up for all past offences and short-comings; and youneedn't fear me this time: there are no temptations on themountains. And during my absence you may pay a visit toStaningley, if you like: your uncle and aunt have long beenwanting us to go there, you know; but somehow there's such arepulsion between the good lady and me, that I never could bringmyself up to the scratch.'

About the third week in August, Arthur set out for Scotland, andMr. Hargrave accompanied him thither, to my private satisfaction.Shortly after, I, with little Arthur and Rachel, went toStaningley, my dear old home, which, as well as my dear old friendsits inhabitants, I saw again with mingled feelings of pleasure andpain so intimately blended that I could scarcely distinguish theone from the other, or tell to which to attribute the varioustears, and smiles, and sighs awakened by those old familiar scenes,and tones, and faces.

Arthur did not come home till several weeks after my return toGrassdale; but I did not feel so anxious about him now; to think ofhim engaged in active sports among the wild hills of Scotland, wasvery different from knowing him to be immersed amid the corruptionsand temptations of London. His letters now; though neither longnor loverlike, were more regular than ever they had been before;and when he did return, to my great joy, instead of being worsethan when he went, he was more cheerful and vigorous, and better inevery respect. Since that time I have had little cause tocomplain. He still has an unfortunate predilection for thepleasures of the table, against which I have to struggle and watch;but he has begun to notice his boy, and that is an increasingsource of amusement to him within-doors, while his fox-hunting andcoursing are a sufficient occupation for him without, when theground is not hardened by frost; so that he is not wholly dependenton me for entertainment. But it is now January; spring isapproaching; and, I repeat, I dread the consequences of itsarrival. That sweet season, I once so joyously welcomed as thetime of hope and gladness, awakens now far other anticipations byits return.