“No, Madeline. I see you could not help yourself, poor child, with starvation staring you in the face, and a sick husband and infant to support! Your father has views for you, has he? I wonder how this view”--indicating himself and the cradle--“would strike him. As far as I am concerned, it won’t be for long, and your father will forgive you; but the child Maddie--on his account your marriage----” “Laurence!” she almost screamed, “don’t! Do you think the child would make up for you? Am I not doing all this for _you_--acting a part, clothing myself in deceit, for you--only for _you_? Do not tell me that it is all to go for nothing! If I thought that, I would give it up at once. My sole object is to gain time, and money, until you are yourself once more, and able to earn our living at your profession. Then, having done all to smooth the way, I shall confess my marriage to my father. If he renounces me, I shall still have you, and you will have me. But, without this money to go on with, to get the best advice, plenty of nourishment, and change of air, I don’t know what I should do?” And she surveyed him with a pair of truly tragic eyes. “It has come to me like a reprieve to a condemned criminal. Say, Laurence, that I have done right. Oh, please, say it!” putting out her hands, with a pretty begging gesture. “No, dearest Maddie, I cannot say that; but I will say that, under the circumstances, it was a great, an almost irresistible temptation.” “Then, at least, say you are not angry with me.” “I can say no to that from the bottom of my heart. How can I be angry, when I myself am the cause--when it has all been done for _me_? The only thing is, that there maybe difficulties later on,” looking into the future with his practical lawyer’s eye. “There may be difficulties and a desperate entanglement in store for you, my pretty, reckless Maddie. You know the lines-- “‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave, When once we practise to deceive.’” “At any rate, I shall make the best of _my_ web,” said his wife, springing up. “I am going to take Mr. Jessop into my confidence.” “Are you? Well, I suppose it will be best.” “Yes, of course it will; I am going to write to him now. The very first doctor in London is to come and see you; and, as soon as you can be moved, you go into the country--that I insist upon.” “I go into the country, do I?” with a grim smile. He was saying to himself, as he looked at her eager anxious face, that the only country he would ever go into now would be down to the old burying-place of the Wynne family. At least his relations could not refuse him admission there, or close that door--the door of the family vault--in his face.