The misery was not only Ascott's arrest; many a lad has got into debt and got out again--the first taste of the law proving a warning to him for life; but it was this ominous "beginning of the end." The fatal end--which seemed to overhang like a hereditary cloud, to taint as with hereditary disease, the Leaf family.
Another bitterness (and who shall blame it, for when love is really love, have not the lovers a right to be one another's first thought ?)--what would Robert Lyon say?
To his honest Scotch nature poverty was nothing; honor every thing.

She knew his horror of debt was even equal to her own.

This, and her belief in his freedom from all false pride, had sustained her against many doubts lest he might think the less of her because of her present position--might feel ashamed could he see her sitting at her ledger in that high desk, or even occasionally serving in the shop.
Many a time things she would have passed over lightly on her own account she had felt on his; felt how they would annoy and vex him.
The exquisitely natural thought which Tennyson has put into poetry-- "If I am dear to some one else, Then I should be to myself more dear"-- had often come, prosaically enough perhaps, into her head, and prevented her from spoiling her little hands with unnecessarily rough work, or carelessly passing down ill streets and by-ways, where she knew Robert Lyon, had he been in London, would never have allowed her to go.

Now what did such things signify?
What need of taking care of herself?
These were all superficial, external disgraces, the real disgrace was within.

The plague-spot had burst out anew; it seemed as if this day were the recommencement of that bitter life of penury, misery, and humiliation, familiar through three generations to the women of the Leaf family.
It appeared like a fate.