DEBATE AND INTERRUPTION.
Rachel beheld the things which were coming to pass
like an awful dream. She had begun to think,
and not without evidence, that Dorcas, for some cause
or caprice, had ceased to think of Stanley as she once
did. And the announcement, without preparation
or apparent courtship, that her brother had actually
won this great and beautiful heiress, and that, just
emerged from the shades of death, he, a half-ruined
scapegrace, was about to take his place among the
magnates of the county, and, no doubt, to enter himself
for the bold and splendid game of ambition, the stakes
of which were now in his hand, towered before her
like an incredible and disastrous illusion of magic.
Stanley’s uneasiness lest Rachel’s conduct
should compromise them increased. He grew more
nervous about the relations between him and Mark Wylder,
in proportion as the world grew more splendid and prosperous
for him.
Where is the woman who will patiently acquiesce in
the reserve of her husband who shares his confidence
with another? How often had Stanley Lake sworn
to her there was no secret; that he knew nothing of
Mark Wylder beyond the charge of his money, and making
a small payment to an old Mrs. Dutton, in London,
by his direction, and that beyond this, he was as
absolutely in the dark as she or Chelford.
What, then, did Rachel mean by all that escaped her,
when he was in danger?
’How the — could he tell? He
really believed she was a little—ever
so little—crazed. He supposed she,
like Dorcas, fancied he knew everything about Wylder.
She was constantly hinting something of the kind; and
begging of him to make a disclosure—disclosure
of what? It was enough to drive one mad, and
would make a capital farce. Rachel has a ridiculous
way of talking like an oracle, and treating as settled
fact every absurdity she fancies. She is very
charming and clever, of course, so long as she speaks
of the kind of thing she understands. But when
she tries to talk of serious business—poor
Radie! she certainly does talk such nonsense!
She can’t reason; she runs away with things.
It is the most tiresome thing you can conceive.’
‘But you have not said, Stanley, that she does
not suspect the truth.’
’Of course, I say it; I have said it.
I swear it, if you like. I’ve said plainly,
and I’m ready to swear it. Upon my honour
and soul I know no more of his movements, plans, or
motives, than you do. If you reflect you must
see it. We were never good friends, Mark and I.
It was no fault of mine, but I never liked him; and
he, consequently, I suppose, never liked me.
There was no intimacy or confidence between us.
I was the last man on earth he would have consulted
with. Even Larkin, his own lawyer, is in the
dark. Rachel knows all this. I have told
her fifty times over, and she seems to give way at
the moment. Indeed the thing is too plain to
be resisted. But as I said, poor Radie, she can’t
reason; and by the time I see her next, her old fancy
possesses her. I can’t help it; because
with more reluctance than I can tell, I at length consent,
at Larkin’s entreaty, I may say, to bank
and fund his money.’
