These men began to grumble at their loss, and to be quite sure that
"t' old squire would nivver hev let 'em lose a farthing;" and to look
so pointedly at Miss Hallam, even on Sundays, that she felt the road
to and from church a way of sorrow and humiliation.
Nor could she wholly blame them. She knew that her father's good name
had induced these men to trust their money with Antony; and she knew,
also, that her father would have been very likely to have done as they
were constantly asserting he would--"mortgage his last acre to pay
them." And she could not explain that terrible first claim to them,
since she had decided to bear every personal disgrace and
disappointment, rather than suffer the name of Hallam to be dragged
through the criminal courts, and associated with a felon.
Not even to Whaley, not even to Richard, would she tell the shameful
secret; therefore she must manage her own affairs, and this would
necessarily compel her to postpone, perhaps relinquish altogether,
her marriage. Her first sorrowful duty was to write to Richard. He
got the letter one lovely morning in November. He was breakfasting
on the piazza and looking over some estimates for an addition to the
conservatory. He was angry and astonished. What could Elizabeth mean
by another and an indefinite delay? He was far from regarding Antony's
failure as a never-to-be-wiped-out stain, and he was not much
astonished at his flight.
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