A Terrible Temptation (Fiscle Part 3) by Charles Reade (best ereader for manga TXT) 📕

Very Lucky To Be Let Off So Cheap. You Was To Be My Master,  But You

Chose Her Instead: Well,  Then,  You Shall Be My Servant. You Shall Come

Here Every Saturday At Eight O'clock,  And Bring Me A Sovereign,  Which I

Never Could Keep A Lump O' Money,  And I Have Had One Or Two From Rhoda;

So I'll Take It A Sovereign A Week Till I Get A Husband Of My Own Sort,

And Then You'll Have To Come Down Handsome Once For All."

Bassett Knitted His Brows And Thought Hard. His Natural Impulse Was To

Defy Her; But It Struck Him That A Great Many Things Might Happen In A

Few Months; So At Last He Said,  Humbly,  "I Consent. I Have Been To

Blame. Only I'd Rather Pay You This Money In Some Other Way."

"My Way,  Or None."

"Very Well,  Then,  I Will Bring It You As You Say."

"Mind You Do,  Then," Said Mary Wells,  And Turned Haughtily On Her Heel.

Bassett Never Ventured To Absent Himself At The Hour,  And,  At First,

The Blackmail Was Delivered And Received With Scarcely A Word; But

By-And-By Old Habits So Far Revived That Some Little Conversation Took

Place.

Then,  After A While,  Bassett Used To Tell Her He Was Unhappy,  And She

Used To Reply She Was Glad Of It.

Then He Began To Speak Slightingly Of His Wife,  And Say What A Fool He

Had Been To Marry A Poor,  Silly Nonentity,  When Be Might Have Wedded A

Beauty.

Mary Wells,  Being Intensely Vain,  Listened With Complacency To This,

Although She Replied Coldly And Harshly.

By-And-By Her Natural Volubility Overpowered Her,  And She Talked To

Bassett About Herself And Huntercombe House,  But Always With A Secret

Reserve.

Later--Such Is The Force Of Habit--Each Used To Look Forward With

Satisfaction To The Saturday Meeting,  Although Each Distrusted And

Feared The Other At Bottom.

Later Still That Came To Pass Which Mary Wells Had Planned From The

First With Deep Malice,  And That Shrewd Insight Into Human Nature Which

Many A Low Woman Has--The Cooler She Was The Warmer Did Richard Bassett

Grow,  Till At Last,  Contrasting His Pale,  Meek Little Wife With This

Glowing Hebe,  He Conceived An Unholy Liking For The Latter. She Met It

Sometimes With Coldness And Reproaches,  Sometimes With Affected Alarm,

Sometimes With A Half-Yielding Manner,  And So Tormented Him To Her

Heart's Content,  And Undermined His Affection For His Wife. Thus She

Revenged Herself On Them Both To Her Heart's Content.

But Malice So Perverse Is Apt To Recoil On Itself; And Women,  In

Particular,  Should Not Undertake A Long And Subtle Revenge Of This

Sort; Since The Strongest Have Their Hours Of Weakness,  And Are

Surprised Into Things They Never Intended. The Subsequent History Of

Mary Wells Will Exemplify This. Meantime,  However,  Meek Little Mrs.

Bassett Was No Match For The Beauty And Low Cunning Of Her Rival.

Yet A Time Came When She Defended Herself Unconsciously. She Did

Something That Made Her Husband Most Solicitous For Her Welfare And

Happiness. He Began To Watch Her Health With Maternal Care,  To Shield

Her From Draughts,  To Take Care Of Her Diet,  To Indulge Her In All Her

Whims Instead Of Snubbing Her,  And To Pet Her,  Till She Was The

Happiest Wife In England For A Time. She Deserved This At His Hands,

For She Assisted Him There Where His Heart Was Fixed; She Aided His

Hobby; Did More For It Than Any Other Creature In England Could.

To Return To Huntercombe Hall: The Loving Couple That Owned It Were No

Longer Happy. The Hope Of Offspring Was Now Deserting Them,  And The

Disappointment Was Cruel. They Suffered Deeply,  With This

Difference--That Lady Bassett Pined And Sir Charles Bassett Fretted.

The Woman's Grief Was More Pure And Profound Than The Man's. If There

Had Been No Richard Bassett In The World,  Still Her Bosom Would Have

Yearned And Pined,  And The Great Cry Of Nature,  "Give Me Children Or I

Die," Would Have Been In Her Heart,  Though It Would Never Have Risen To

Her Lips.

Sir Charles Had,  Of Course,  Less Of This Profound Instinct Than His

Wife,  But He Had It Too; Only In Him The Feeling Was Adulterated And At

The Same Time Imbittered By One Less Simple And Noble. An Enemy Sat At

His Gate. That Enemy,  Whose Enduring Malice Had At Last Begotten Equal

Hostility In The Childless Baronet,  Was Now Married,  And Would Probably

Have Heirs; And,  If So,  That Hateful Brood--The Spawn Of An Anonymous

Letter-Writer--Would Surely Inherit Bassett And Huntercombe,  Succeeding

To Sir Charles Bassett,  Deceased Without Issue. This Chafed The

Childless Man,  And Gradually Undermined A Temper Habitually Sweet,

Though Subject,  As We Have Seen,  To Violent Ebullitions Where The

Provocation Was Intolerable. Sir Charles,  Then,  Smarting Under His

Wound,  Spoke Now And Then Rather Unkindly To The Wife He Loved So

Devotedly; That Is To Say,  His Manner Sometimes Implied That He Blamed

Her For Their Joint Calamity.

Lady Bassett Submitted To These Stings In Silence. They Were Rare,  And

Speedily Followed By Touching Regrets; And Even Had It Not Been So She

Would Have Borne Them With Resignation; For This Motherless Wife Loved

Her Husband With All A Wife's Devotion And A Mother's Unselfish

Patience. Let This Be Remembered To Her Credit. It Is The Truth,  And

She May Need It.

Her Own Yearning Was Too Deep And Sad For Fretfulness; Yet Though,

Unlike Her Husband's,  It Never Broke Out In Anger,  The Day Was Gone By

When She Could Keep It Always Silent. It Welled Out Of Her At Times In

Ways That Were Truly Womanly And Touching.

When She Called On A Wife The Lady Was Sure To Parade Her Children. The

Boasted Tact Of Women--A Quality The Narrow Compass Of Which Has

Escaped Their Undiscriminating Eulogists--Was Sure To Be Swept Away By

Maternal Egotism; And Then Poor Lady Bassett Would Admire The Children

Loudly,  And Kiss Them,  To Please The Cruel Egotist,  And Hide The Tears

That Rose To Her Own Eyes; But She Would Shorten Her Visit.

When A Child Died In The Village Mary Wells Was Sure To Be Sent With

Words Of Comfort And Substantial Marks Of Sympathy.

Scarcely A Day Passed That Something Or Other Did Not Happen To Make

The Wound Bleed; But I Will Confine Myself To Two Occasions,  On Each Of

Which Her Heart's Agony Spoke Out,  And So Revealed How Much It Must

Have Endured In Silence.

Since The Day When Sir Charles Allowed Her To Sit In A Little Room

Close To His Study While He Received Mr. Wheeler's Visit She Had Fitted

Up That Room,  And Often Sat There To Be Near Sir Charles; And He Would

Sometimes Call Her In And Tell Her His Justice Cases. One Day She Was

There When The Constable Brought In A Prisoner And Several Witnesses.

The Accused Was A Stout,  Florid Girl,  With Plump Cheeks And Pale Gray

Eyes. She Seemed All Health,  Stupidity,  And Simplicity. She Carried A

Child On Her Left Arm. No Dweller In Cities Could Suspect This Face Of

Crime. As Well Indict A Calf.

Yet The Witnesses Proved Beyond A Doubt That She Had Been Seen With Her

Baby In The Neighborhood Of A Certain Old Well On A Certain Day At

Noon; That Soon After Noon She Had Been Seen On The Road Without Her

Baby,  And Being Asked What Had Become Of It,  Had Said She Had Left It

With Her Aunt,  Ten Miles Off; And That About An Hour After That A Faint

Cry Had Been Heard At The Bottom Of The Old Well--It Was Ninety Feet

Deep; People Had Assembled,  And A Brave Farmer's Boy Had Been Lowered

In The Bight Of A Cart-Rope,  And Had Brought Up A Dead Hen,  And A Live

Child,  Bleeding At The Cheek,  Having Fallen On A Heap Of Fagots At The

Bottom Of The Well; Which Child Was The Prisoner's.

Sir Charles Had The Evidence Written Down,  And Then Told The Accused

She Might Make A Counter-Statement If She Chose,  But It Would Be Wiser

To Say Nothing At All.

Thereupon The Accused Dropped Him A Little Short Courtesy,  Looked Him

Steadily In The Face With Her Pale Gray Eyes,  And Delivered Herself As

Follows:

"If You Please,  Sir,  I Was A-Sitting By Th' Old Well,  With Baby In My

Arms; And I Was Mortal Tired,  I Was,  Wi' Carring Of Him; He Be Uncommon

Heavy For His Age; And,  If You Please,  Sir,  He Is Uncommon Resolute;

And While I Was So He Give A Leap Right Out Of My Arms And Fell Down

Th' Old Well. I Screams,  And Runs Away To Tell My Brother's Wife,  As

Lives At Top Of The Hill; But She Was Gone Into North Wood For Dry

Sticks To Light Her Oven; And When I Comes Back They Had Got Him Out Of

The Well,  And I Claims Him Directly; And The Constable Said We Must

Come Before You,  Sir; So Here We Be."

This She Delivered Very Glibly,  Without Tremulousness,  Hesitation,  Or

The Shadow Of A Blush,  And Dropped Another Little Courtesy At The End

To Sir Charles.

Thereupon He Said Not One Word To Her,  But Committed Her For Trial,  And

Gave The Farmer's Boy A Sovereign.

The People Were No Sooner Gone Than Lady Bassett Came In,  With The

Tears Streaming,  And Threw Herself At Her Husband's Knees. "Oh,

Charles! Can Such Things Be? Does God Give A Child To A Woman That Has

The Heart To Kill It,  And Refuse One To Me,  Who Would Give My Heart's

Blood To Save A Hair Of Its Little Head? Oh,  What Have We Done That He

Singles Us Out To Be So Cruel To Us?"

Then Sir Charles Tried To Comfort Her,  But Could Not,  And The Childless

Ones Wept Together.

It Began To Be Whispered That Mrs. Bassett Was In The Family Way.

Neither Sir Charles Nor Lady Bassett Mentioned This Rumor. It Would

Have Been Like Rubbing Vitriol Into Their Own Wounds. But This Reserve

Was Broken Through One Day. It Was A Sunny Afternoon In June,  Just

Thirteen Months After Mr. Bassett's Wedding--Lady Bassett Was With Her

Husband In His Study,  Settling Invitations For A Ball,  And Writing

Them--When The Church-Bells Struck Up A Merry Peal. They Both Left Off,

And Looked At Each Other Eloquently. Lady Bassett Went Out,  But Soon

Returned,  Looking Pale And Wild.

_"Yes!"_ Said She,  With Forced Calmness. Then,  Suddenly