Catherine, lying wakeful in her bed on the night of the
Marylebone fete, exert in gloomy triumph.
It must, however, be confessed, that nothing could be more just than
Mrs. Hayes's sense of her husband's scoundrelism and meanness; for
if we have not proved these in the course of this history, we have
proved nothing. Mrs. Cat had a shrewd observing mind; and if she
wanted for proofs against Hayes, she had but to look before and
about her to find them. This amiable pair were lying in a large
walnut-bed, with faded silk furniture, which had been taken from
under a respectable old invalid widow, who had become security for a
prodigal son; the room was hung round with an antique tapestry
(representing Rebecca at the Well, Bathsheba Bathing, Judith and
Holofernes, and other subjects from Holy Writ), which had been many
score times sold for fifty pounds, and bought back by Mr. Hayes for
two, in those accommodating bargains which he made with young
gentlemen, who received fifty pounds of money and fifty of tapestry
in consideration of their hundred-pound bills. Against this
tapestry, and just cutting off Holofernes's head, stood an enormous
ominous black clock, the spoil of some other usurious transaction.
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