But he was rich. He did not need the money she wanted so sorely. What of
that? Did his abundance alter the everlasting conditions of right and
wrong? Perhaps if she had not attempted to play Providence for the sake
of her family, and let things follow their natural course, Mr. Errington
might have spared a few crumbs from his rich table--a reasonable
dole--to patch up the ragged edges of their frayed fortunes. Then she
would not be oppressed with the sense of shame, this weight of riches
she shrank from using. She had murdered her own happiness; she had
killed her own youth. Never again could she know the joyousness of
light-hearted girlhood, while nothing the world might give her could
atone for the terrible trespass which had broken the harmony of her
moral nature by the perpetual sense of unatoned wrong-doing. How she
wished she had never come to Castleford! True, her seeing Mr. Errington
did not make her guilt a shade darker, but oh, how much more keenly she
felt it under his eyes! And now she could not rush away. She must avoid
all eccentricities lest they might possibly arouse suspicion. Suspicion?
What was there to suspect? No one would dream of suspicion. Then that
will! She would try and nerve herself to destroy it, though it seemed
sacrilege to do so.
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