‘Who else would have written it?’

’She wrote it.  I know her hand.  And these are her words,—­because they are properly expressed.  But it is all his doing,—­the man’s doing.  He has got her in his power, and he is using her in this way.’

‘If you sent her money—?’

’Not a shilling;—­not though she were starving; not now.  A man who gives money under a threat is gone.  If I were to send her money, everyone would believe this tale that she tells.  Your brother Robert would believe it.’

‘He knows it?’

’I took the letter to him instantly, but I made up my mind that I would not show it you till baby was born.  You can understand that?’ She only pressed closer to him as he said this.  ’I showed it to Robert, and, altogether we are not quite such friends since as we were before.’

‘You do not mean that he believes it?’

’No; not that.  He does not believe it.  If he did, I do not see how he and I could ever speak to each other again.  I don’t think he believes it at all.  But I had to tell him the whole story, and that, perhaps, offended him.’  The ‘whole story’ had not been told to Hester, nor did he think it necessary that it should be told.  There was no reason why these details which Robert had elicited by his questions should be repeated to her,—­the promise of marriage, the interference of the Wesleyan minister, the use made of his name,—­of all this he said nothing.  But she had now been told that which to her had been very dreadful, and she was not surprised that her brother should have been offended when he heard the same sad story.  She, of course, had at once pardoned the old offence.  A young wife when she is sure of her husband, will readily forgive all offences committed before marriage, and will almost be thankful for the confidence placed in her when offences are confessed.  But she could understand that a brother could not be thankful, and she would naturally exaggerate in her own mind the horror which he would feel at such a revelation.  Then the husband endeavoured to lighten the effect of what he had said.  ’Offence, perhaps, is the wrong word.  But he was stiff and masterful, if you know what I mean.’

‘You would not bear that, certainly, John?’

’No.  I have to own that I do not love the assumption of authority,—­except from you.’

‘You do not like it from anybody, John.’

‘You would not wish me to submit myself to your brother?’

‘No; but I think I might ask him to be baby’s godfather.’

‘As you please; only you would be unhappy if he refused.’

Then there came a little wail from the cradle and the baby was taken up, and for some minutes his little necessities occupied the mother to the exclusion even of that terrible letter.  But when Caldigate was about to leave the room, she asked him another question.  ’Will she do anything more, John?’

‘I can hardly say.  I should think not.’