“He was tipsy then,” replied Dick, rather tamely, for he could not conceal from himself the fact that he was arguing the case as a lawyer rather than as a just man. “Very likely the remark he made that she was not his wife was only a petulant reply to a sharp question.” “Mary used no sharp words.” “But she reproached him for his neglect. As I understand it, Buckstone is one of those periodical drunkards, who have a spree once or twice a year.” “Do you believe that Buckstone married her, Dick, in Providence?” “To be honest, I do not believe he intended to do so; but the marriage may be legal, if we can prove it. We will supply the omission.” “Omission!” groaned Eugene. “You speak of it as though it were a trifling offence, instead of the most monstrous crime of which a man could be guilty.” “I condemn the crime as strongly as you do. We will redeem him and her as far as we can. Now, Buckstone has written to her; this proves that he has not abandoned her. Probably he has got over his spree, and desires to have her return to him. If so, he shall come to Poppleton, and marry her in the church, so as to remove every doubt. Then you will put her in the way of receiving an income of twelve hundred a year, and the happy couple may go on their way rejoicing.” “He will still be a drunkard; and he may still abuse and neglect her.” “But she has the power in her own hands. With the twelve hundred a year in her own right, she will be independent of him. If he leaves her for a month or two, she will not suffer in his absence.” “What a fate, to be joined to such a man!” “That is her misfortune. She chose him, and she must abide her choice; there is no help for that. You cannot make a bed of roses for her. She accepted the man, and if she does not choose to live with him, she can leave him.” Eugene walked up and down the library, considering this plan. Though, in his estimation, it offered Mary no immunity from the miseries of her unfortunate union with Buckstone, it would partially mitigate them. He doubted whether she would accept his bounty; but Dick was certain that he could manage this part of the business through her brother. On the whole, therefore, he was disposed to adopt this as the only method by which he could do anything to smooth the rough path of the poor girl whom he had so fondly loved, whose sweet face and gentle nature still haunted his thoughts. The more he considered the plan the stronger became his approval, though he still regarded it only as a compromise. This method of healing the wounds of poor Mary, unsatisfactory as it was, had an immediate effect upon the spirits of Eugene. As soon as he had decided to adopt it, he had something to think of--something to turn his thoughts away from the morbid fancies that beset him. “I like your plan very well, Dick; but only because it is the best that can be done,” said he, seating himself in the luxurious arm-chair before his friend.