To these little difficulties must be
added the difference of religion; and though neither of them cared two
pins for that, it was a matter for crossed daggers. A pound of feathers
weighs as much as (and in some poise more than) a pound of lead, and
the leaden-headed Squire and the feather-headed Madame swung always at
opposite ends of the beam, until it broke between them. Tales of rough
conflict, imprisonment, starvation, and even vile blows, were told about
them for several years; and then "Madame la Comtesse" (as her husband
disdainfully called her) disappeared, carrying off her one child, Caryl.
She was still of very comely face and form; and the Squire made known to
all whom it concerned, and many whom it did not concern, that his French
wife had run away with a young Frenchman, according to the habit of
her race and kind. In support of this charge he had nothing whatever to
show, and his friends disbelieved it, knowing him to be the last man in
the world to leave such a wrong unresented.
During the last three generations the fortunes of the Carnes had been
declining, slowly at first, and then faster and faster; and now they
fell with the final crash. The lady of high birth and great beauty had
brought nothing else into the family, but rather had impoverished it by
her settlement, and wild extravagance afterwards. Her husband Montagu
Carne staved off the evil day just for the present, by raising a large
sum upon second mortgage and the security of a trustful friend.
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