She could not
think of him as being brought down on a level with herself, the sister
of a known drunkard. It seemed a horrible thing to her; this sorrow
hanging over him, of which he was so utterly unconscious. Mr. Chantrey
had fastened his eyes upon her as if he would read her inmost thoughts.
His voice trembled a little too, when he spoke.
"What has this to do with my wife?" he asked, "for what reason have my
aunt and Mr. Warden lost patience with her?"
"Oh! it's best for me to tell you, not them," she said, the tears
streaming down her cheeks; "it will be very hard for you to hear,
whoever says it. Everybody knows it; and it could never be kept from
you. But you can save her, Mr. Chantrey, if anybody can. It's best for
me to tell you at once. She was so ill, and low, and miserable; and the
doctors kept on ordering her wine, and things like that; and it was the
only thing that comforted her, and kept her up; and she got to depend
upon it to save her from loneliness and wretchedness, and now she can't
break herself of taking it--of taking too much.
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