"Al Demmons met him on the Rim road," she continued, not choosing,
apparently, to answer my question directly, "and this man wanted to know
where a man named Weston lived who'd married a woman from the West
called something Al Demmons couldn't remember. Al Demmons said that
George Weston was the only Weston in town, and that he had married a
girl named West. Then the man said something about 'that used to be her
name.' It's all pretty queer, I think."
To this I did not respond. I would not get into a discussion which would
give Aunt Naomi more material for talk. After a moment of silence, she
said:--
"Well, the man's dead now, and I suppose that's the end of him. I don't
suppose Mrs. Weston's likely to tell much about him."
"Aunt Naomi," I returned, feeling that even if all the traditions of
respect for my elders were broken I must speak, "doesn't it seem to you
harm might come of talking about this tramp as if he were some
mysterious person connected with Mrs. Weston's life before she came to
Tuskamuck? It isn't strange that somebody should have known her, and
when once a tramp has had help from a person he hangs on."
She regarded me with a shrewd look.
"You wouldn't take up cudgels for her that way if you didn't know
something," she observed.
After that there was nothing for me to say. I simply dropped the
subject, and refused to talk about the affairs of the Westons at all. I
am so sorry, however, that gossip has got hold of a suspicion. It was to
be expected, I suppose, and indeed it has been in the air ever since the
man came. I am sorry for the Westons.
October 30. After the earthquake a fire,--I wonder whether after the
fire will come the still, small voice! It is curious that out of all
this excitement the feeling of which I am most conscious after my dismay
and my pity is one of irritation. I am ashamed to find in my thought so
much anger against George. He had perhaps a right to think as he did
about my affection for him, though it is inconceivable any gentleman
should say the things he said to me last night. Even if he were crazy
enough to suppose I could still love him, how could he forget his wife;
how could he be glad of an excuse to be freed from her; how could he
forget the little child that is coming? Oh, I am like Jonah when he was
so sure he did well to be angry! I am convinced I can have no just
perception of character at all, for this George Weston is showing
himself so weak, so ungenerous, so cruel, that he has either been
changed vitally or I did not really know him. I was utterly deceived in
him. No; I will not believe that. We have all of us possibilities in
different directions. I wish I could remember the passage where Browning
says a man has two sides, one for the world and one to show a woman when
he loves her. Perhaps one side is as true as the other; and what I knew
was a possible George, I am sure.
He came in yesterday afternoon with a look of hard determination. He
greeted me almost curtly, and added in the same breath:--
"The man is dead. She's confessed it all. He was her husband, and she
was never my wife legally at all. She says she thought he was dead."
"Then there's only one thing to do," I answered. "You can get Mr.
Saychase to marry you to-day. Of course it can be arranged if you tell
him how the mistake arose, and he won't speak of it."
He laughed sneeringly.
"I haven't any intention of marrying her," he said.
"No intention of marrying her?" I repeated, not understanding him. "If
the first ceremony wasn't legal, another is necessary, of course."
"She cheated me," he declared, his manner becoming more excited. "Do you
suppose after that I'd have her for my wife? Besides, you don't see. She
was another man's wife when she came to live with me, and"--