“I think it is time,” said the husband--“full time that you heard all, or nearly all, connected with this painful matter. It is mere business, which I will try to make intelligible if possible. You ought not to be quite so ignorant of worldly matters as you are, since, if anything happened to me--But I have provided against almost everything.” “What are you talking of?” said Agatha, holding him tight, with a faint intuition of his meaning. “Of nothing painful. Do not be afraid. Only that I think it right to explain to you what has occurred to us since our marriage--in worldly things I mean.” “Yes. I am listening.” “Before we married,” he continued, distinctly, and rather proudly, “I knew nothing whatever of your fortune--not even its amount. I made no inquiries, interfered in no way, except reading the settlement I signed. The settlement stated that your property was safe in the Funds. This was a”--his brow darkened--“it was--_not true_. The whole had been taken out, contrary to your father's expressed will, and embarked in a mining speculation in Cornwall.” “Those miners whom Miss Valery aided? Was it my money that was wasted at Wheal Caroline? Was it me from whom the poor miner came to seek redress?” “No; the transaction was more blameable even than that. It was all carried on in my brother's name. He was made what they call 'managing director' of the company: Grimes being solicitor. There were a few shareholders--his clients--widows and unmarried women who had put by their savings, and such like poor people who wanted large interest, and some richer ones, important enough to make public their ruin--for everybody lost all.” “But the poorer shareholders--the widows--the old maids?” “Ay, there's the pity--there's the wickedness,” said Nathanael, beneath his breath. “People tell me such things are common in England, but I would have starved rather than have been mixed up in such a transaction, even in the smallest way, and with property that was bona fide my own.” “And,” said Agatha, slowly understanding, “this property was not Major Harper's own. Also, his doing the thing secretly afterwards, and leading you to believe what was--not quite true. I must say it, I think it was very wrong of your brother.” “Don't let us talk of him more than we can help. Remember--a brother, Agatha!” More light dawning on his strange conduct, his self-command, his secrecy even with her. His wife clung to his arm, her heart brimming with emotion that she dared not pour out. For he seemed inclined to be reserved even now. “You see,” he added, as they walked along, “I have had some few things to try me.” Agatha pressed his arm. Oh that she could break through that awe of him and his goodness, that shame of her own foolish erring self! “Agatha,” he said, stopping suddenly, “the thing that hurt me was my father. If only he had died a month ago, and never heard of this!”