He might as well go home, and take his place meekly by the fireside. He was beaten. Soon to be a useless old man, a burden and annoyance to whosoever had pity on him.
It was a curious effect of the imagination that since coming into the open air again his eyesight seemed to be far worse than before. He irritated his nerves of vision by incessant tests, closing first one eye then the other, comparing his view of nearer objects with the appearance of others more remote, fancying an occasional pain--which could have had no connection with his disease. The literary projects which had stirred so actively in his mind twelve hours ago were become an insubstantial memory; to the one crushing blow had succeeded a second, which was fatal. He could hardly recall what special piece of work he had been engaged upon last night. His thoughts were such as if actual blindness had really fallen upon him.
At half-past eight he entered the house. Mrs Yule was standing at the foot of the stairs; she looked at him, then turned away towards the kitchen. He went upstairs. On coming down again he found breakfast ready as usual, and seated himself at the table.
Two letters waited for him there; he opened them.
When Mrs Yule came into the room a few moments later she was astonished by a burst of loud, mocking laughter from her husband, excited, as it appeared, by something he was reading.
'Is Marian up?' he asked, turning to her.
'Yes.'
'She is not coming to breakfast?'
'No.'
'Then just take that letter to her, and ask her to read it.'
Mrs Yule ascended to her daughter's bedroom. She knocked, was bidden enter, and found Marian packing clothes in a trunk. The girl looked as if she had been up all night; her eyes bore the traces of much weeping.
'He has come back, dear,' said Mrs Yule, in the low voice of apprehension, 'and he says you are to read this letter.'
Marian took the sheet, unfolded it, and read. As soon as she had reached the end she looked wildly at her mother, seemed to endeavour vainly to speak, then fell to the floor in unconsciousness. The mother was only just able to break the violence of her fall. Having snatched a pillow and placed it beneath Marian's head, she rushed to the door and called loudly for her husband, who in a moment appeared.
'What is it?' she cried to him. 'Look, she has fallen down in a faint. Why are you treating her like this?'
'Attend to her,' Yule replied roughly. 'I suppose you know better than I do what to do when a person faints.'
The swoon lasted for several minutes.
'What's in the letter?' asked Mrs Yule whilst chafing the lifeless hands.
'Her money's lost. The people who were to pay it have just failed.'
'She won't get anything?'
'Most likely nothing at all.'
The letter was a private communication from one of John Yule's executors. It seemed likely that the demand upon Turberville &Co. for an account of the deceased partner's share in their business had helped to bring about a crisis in affairs that were already unstable. Something might be recovered in the legal proceedings that would result, but there were circumstances which made the outlook very doubtful.
As Marian came to herself her father left the room. An hour afterwards Mrs Yule summoned him again to the girl's chamber; he went, and found Marian lying on the bed, looking like one who had been long ill.
'I wish to ask you a few questions,' she said, without raising herself. 'Must my legacy necessarily be paid out of that investment?'
'It must. Those are the terms of the will.'
'If nothing can be recovered from those people, I have no remedy?'
'None whatever that I can see.'
'But when a firm is bankrupt they generally pay some portion of their debts?'
'Sometimes. I know nothing of the case.'
'This of course happens to me,' Marian said, with intense bitterness. 'None of the other legatees will suffer, I suppose?'
'Someone must, but to a very small extent.'
'Of course. When shall I have direct information?'
'You can write to Mr Holden; you have his address.'
'Thank you. That's all.'
He was dismissed, and went quietly away.
