The Two Husbands CHAPTER 6
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"Poor Mrs. Wilton!" remarked Mrs. Gray, now a cheerful, intelligent woman of forty, with half-a-dozen grown and half-grown up daughters, "it makes me sad whenever I see her, or think of her."
"Her husband was not kind to her, I believe, while she lived with him," said Mrs. Gray's visitor, whom she had addressed.
"It is said so. But I am sure I do not know. I never liked him, nor thought him a man of principle. I said as much as I thought prudent to discourage her from receiving his attentions. But she was a mirthful girl herself, and was attracted by dashing pretension, rather than by unobtrusive merit."
"It was thought at one time that Mr. Wilton would lead in the profession here. I remember when his name used frequently to get into the newspapers, coupled with high compliments on his brilliant talents."
"Yes. He flashed before the eyes of the crowd for awhile, but it was soon discovered that he had more brilliancy than substance. The loss of two or three important cases, which required solid argument and a well-digested array of facts and authorities, instead of flights of fancy and appeals to the feelings — ruined his standing at the bar. The death of his father-in-law, with an insolvent estate, immediately after, took from the estimation in which he was held. Thrown, thus, suddenly back, and upon his own resources, he sank at once from the point of observation, and lingered around the court-house, picking up petty cases, as a matter of necessity. Long before this, I had noticed that Mrs. Wilton had greatly changed. But now a sadder change took place — a separation from her husband. The cause of this separation, I know not. I never asked her, nor to me has she ever alluded to it. But it is said that his manner towards her became insufferable, and that she sought protection and an asylum among her friends. Be the cause what it may — it is enough to make her a poor, heart-stricken creature."
"How well I remember, when their parties were the most splendid and best attended of the season."
"Yes, I well remember it too. Still, even then, as mirthful and brilliant as Mrs. Wilton was, I never thought her happy. Indeed, seeing her often alone as I did, I could not but mark the painful contrast in her spirits. At home, when not entertaining company — she was listless or unhappy. How often have I come in upon her, and noticed her moistened eyes."
"Ah me! it must be a wrong beginning, which makes so sad an ending."
The truth of the remark, as applicable in this case, struck Mrs. Gray forcibly, and she mused in thoughtful silence for a few moments.
"Have you heard the news, Judge Gray?" said a lawyer, addressing the individual he had named, about the same hour that the conversation, just noted, occurred.
"No. What is it?"
"Why, Wilton has committed a forgery!"
"O no, it cannot be!" said the Judge, in tones of painful surprise.
"It is too true, I fear, Judge."
"Is the amount considerable?"
"Ten thousand dollars is the sum mentioned."
"Has he been arrested?"
"No. But the officers are hard after him. The newspapers will announce the fact tomorrow morning."
Judge Gray leaned his head upon his hand, and, with his eyes cast upon the floor, sat for some moments in painful thought.
"Poor man!" he at length said, looking up. "The end has come at last. I have long feared for him. He started wrong in the beginning."
"I hope they will catch him," remarked the individual he was addressing.
Judge Gray did not reply, but cast his eyes again upon the floor.
"He has lived by gambling these six years," continued the lawyer, "and I suppose he has committed this forgery to pay some 'debt of honor.' Well, I can't say that I am sorry to be rid of him from this bar, for he was not a pleasant man to be forced into contact with."
"And yet he was a man of some talents," remarked the Judge, musingly.
"And when that is said — all is said. Without industry, legal knowledge, or sound principles of action — what was he good for? As a lawyer, in any case of importance, he was not worth a penny."
And thus saying, the lawyer turned away, and left Judge Gray to his own thoughts.
"I have unpleasant news to tell you, Jane," said Judge Gray, coming into the room where sat his wife, an hour afterwards.
"What is that, husband?" asked Mrs. Gray, looking up with a concerned countenance.
"Why, our old friend Charles Wilton has committed a forgery!"
"Poor Cara! It will break her heart," Mrs. Gray said in a sad tone.
"I do not suppose she has much affection for him, Jane."
"No, but she has a good deal of pride left — which is all, in fact, that sustains her. This last blow, I fear, will be too much for one who has no true strength of character."
"Would it not be well for you to call in and see her tomorrow? The papers will all announce the fact in the morning, and she may need the consolation which a true friend might be able to afford her."
"I will go, most certainly, as much as my natural feelings shrink from the task. Where she is, I am sure she has no one to lean upon: for there is not one of her so-called friends, upon whom she feels herself a burden, that can or will sympathize with her truly."
"Go, then. And may mercy's errand find mercy's reward."
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