ALL HOPE DESTROYED.
I am so well acquainted with despair,
I know not how to hope; I believe all.
DECKAR.
Oh! press me, baby, with thy hand,
It loosens something at my chest;
About that tight and deadly band
I feel thy little fingers prest.
WORDSWORTH.
Although the life of a gamester is full of emotion, full of successes
and reverses, the incidents are all so very similar that I need not
enter into more details. Suffice it, that Cecil made such frequent
applications to Captain Heath, that a point blank refusal came at
last; much to Blanche's satisfaction, for she deeply felt the
humiliation of seeing him plundered in that shameless way to feed the
gaming-table. She knew that it was for her sake Heath gave the
money; and she knew that it only added fresh fuel to her husband's
unhappy passion.
The last few weeks had completely banished from her heart all hope of
an amendment. Not only had Cecil shamelessly applied to Heath for
money in advance on a picture which he had made no attempt even to
commence; but he had, by one act, opened her eyes to the extent of
his reckless infatuation.
It was about a fortnight after Captain Heath's visit, when, as Cecil
sat in his usual attitude over the fire, indolently smoking a cigar,
Blanche said to him,--
"When are you going to paint that picture, dearest, which you have
engaged for?"
"In good time."
"But why not do it at once?"
"He did not stipulate that it was to be done at once, did he?"
"No; but there can be no reason why you should not do it. You have
nothing else in hand. Besides, when that is finished you can paint
another; and you know how badly we want money."
"Badly enough, God knows!"
"I do not like to accept the advances he makes us, when I see you not
working at the picture."
"Bah!"
"You must do it sooner or later; why not now? Come, Cecil, make an
effort--begin it."
"Begin when I haven't even money to buy the necessary materials.
Write to him and tell him I have a splendid subject, but that
really----"
"That is unnecessary. I have money--I will go and get you all you
want."
"You, Blanche! And where did you get money from?'
"Never mind," she replied playfully. "Perhaps it was a little fairy.
Enough that I have some."
"Oh, I'm not curious; so that you have got money, that is all I care
about. How much?"
"There again! Not curious! Why, you are as curious as a woman.
Don't inquire."
"Very well. Get me the things, that's all."
She went into the next room, and he heard her unlock a drawer. He
continued calmly smoking; she put on her bonnet and tripped down
stairs.
No sooner did he hear the street door shut than he rose and walked
into her bed-room to search for the money. He saw a drawer with a
key in it, but on opening it he found nothing there. He next
unlocked all the other drawers, but without result.
There was nothing now in the room likely to conceal any money, and he
began to think that perhaps she had only a few shillings, which she
had carried away with her. Almost mechanically he opened the small
drawer of her wash-hand stand, and there he saw six sovereigns
glittering in the farther corner. His face lighted up with a strange
expression as they met his eye, and rapidly clutching them, and
turning over the drawer to see if it concealed any more, he took his
hat, and was out of the house in an instant.
When Blanche returned and found him gone, her heart misgave her; with
trembling limbs she staggered into the bed-room--opened the
drawer--and saw her fears confirmed. It is impossible to render the
despair which seized her at this discovery. That little incident was
more frightful to her, was more damning evidence of the unconquerable
nature of his vice than any she had yet known; and helpless, hopeless
she sank upon the bed, not to weep, but to brood upon the awful
prospect of her life.
It was not grief which laid her prostrate, it was a stupor: a dull,
heavy agony, like a shroud closing her from life, from hope, from
happiness. Before, her heart had been wrung; she had been
humiliated, she had been tortured; but in the bitterest moments, she
had never been utterly prostrate,--never absolutely without gleam of
hope. Now, her husband stood before her as irreclaimable,--marching
with frightful rapidity to his doom, and dragging with him, a wife
and child.
That child's cries on awaking, partly aroused her. She felt the
necessity for an effort; she felt that another demanded she should
not give way to the stupor which oppressed her. She put the child to
her breast; but, alas! the shock she had received had dried up its
life-giving fountains, and the disappointed infant sucked in vain.
Tears gushed from her, as she became aware of this new
misfortune--tears, scalding yet refreshing tears, which melted down
her stubborn grief into something more like human woe; and relieved
by them, she rose to make some food for the hungry babe, whose
impatient cries recalled her to a sense of duties, which allowed not
the passive indulgence of sorrow. Cecil, meanwhile, had lost the
little treasure he had obtained possession of in so despicable a
manner; and having lost it, remained sauntering about the streets,
without courage to return home to face his wife. Exhausted at last
by fatigue, he came back.
Not a word passed between them. He got into bed feeling humbled and
exasperated, yet not having courage even to put a bullying face on
the matter. She was brushing her hair, and he heard the sighs which
she struggled to suppress, but he feigned sleep, and _would not_ hear
them.
She crept into bed, anxious not to awake him; and through the long
night he heard her weeping, so that it almost broke his heart: yet he
feigned sleep, and dared not speak!
From that time, there was always a sort of barrier between them. A
wall had grown up between their loves, formed out of shame, remorse,
pity and hopelessness. They never alluded to the incident which
caused it; but they both felt that it was constantly present in each
other's minds.
Their existence was wretched indeed. Vyner and Julius took care that
Blanche should want for no necessities--food, clothing, little
articles of necessity were all regularly sent in by them; and the
rent was paid by Vyner himself. But no more money could Cecil extort
from them on any pretext. They knew well enough, that to give him
money was only to give him opportunities of playing, and so they
limited their charity to seeing that Blanche and her child, were not
in absolute want.