"Oh, Hallett!" I cried, catching his hand, as the poor fellow sat
blankly gazing before him in his mute despair. "It is a mistake; she
could not be so wicked."
"Wicked!" he said with a curious laugh. "Was it wicked, after all her
promises--my forgiveness--my gentle, loving words? I was a fool. I
believed that she was weaning herself from it all, and trying to forget.
A woman would have read her at a glance; but I, a poor, mad dreamer,
always away, or buried in that attic, saw nothing, only that she was
very quiet, and thin, and sad."
"Did she tell you that she would go, Hallett?" I asked, hardly knowing
what I said.
"No, Antony," I replied, in a dreary tone.
"Did you have any quarrel?"
"No; not lately. She was most affectionate--poor child! and her heart
must have been sore with the thought or what she was about to do. Only
this evening, before I went up into the attic to dream over my
invention, she crept to my side, put her little arms round my neck, and
kissed me, as she used when she was a tiny child, and said how sorry she
was that she had given me so much pain. Antony, lad," he cried
passionately, "I went up to my task to-night a happy man, thinking that
one heavy load was taken off my shoulders, and that the future was going
to be brighter for us both. For, Antony, in my cold, dreamy way, I love
her very dearly, and so I have ever since she was a little wilful
child."
He sat gazing at me with such a piteous expression in his face that his
words went to my heart, and I heard Mary give quite a gulp.
"But, Hallett," I said, "you are not sure; she may have gone to some
friend's. She may have come back by this time."
"Come back?" he said fiercely. "No; she has not come back. Not yet.
Some day she will return, poor strayed lamb!" he added, gazing straight
before him, his voice softening and his arms extending, as if he
pictured the whole scene and was about to take her to his heart.
"But are you sure that she has really gone?" I cried.
"Sure? Read that."
I took the crumpled paper with trembling fingers, and saw at a glance
that he was right. In ill-written, hardly decipherable words, the poor
girl told her brother that she could bear it no longer, but that she had
fled with the man who possessed her heart.
I stared blankly at poor Hallett, as he took the note from my hand, read
it once more through, crushed it in his hand with a fierce look, and
thrust it back in his pocket.
"Is it--is it your poor dear sister who has gone?" said Mary excitedly.
"Yes," he cried, with his passion mastering him once more; and his hands
opened and shut, as if eager to seize some one by the throat--"yes; some
villain has led her away. But let me stand face to face with him, and
then--"
He paused in his low, painful utterance, gazing from me to Mary, who
stood with her hand upon his arm.
"And I thought my trouble the biggest in the world," she sobbed; "but
you've done right, sir, to come for my William. He'll find them if
they're anywhere on the face of this earth, and they shall be found.
Poor dear! and her with her pretty girlish gentle face as I was so
jealous of. I'm only a silly foolish woman, sir," she cried, with the
tears falling fast, "but I may be of some good. If I'm along with my
William when he finds 'em, she may listen to me and come back, when she
wouldn't mind him, and I'll follow it out to the end."
"You're--you're a good woman," said Hallett hoarsely, "and may God bless
you. But your husband--where is your husband? We must lose no time."
"Master Antony?" cried Mary, and then, as if awakening once more to her
position, and speaking in tones of bitterness--"Oh, what has come to my
William? He must be found!"
"Send him on to me," said Hallett. "I'll go back now. Antony, will you
come?"
"Why, there's your poor mother, too," cried Mary, "and all alone! I can
help her, at all events!"
As Mary spoke, she hurried to get her work-a-day bonnet and shawl, while
Hallett stood gazing at her in a dazed and helpless way.
"Your pore sister did come and help my pore boy when he was bad, and--
Oh!"
Mary uttered a fierce, angry cry. Bonnet and shawl fell from her hands,
her jaw dropped, her ruddy face grew mottled with patches of white, and
her eyes dilated. Her whole aspect was that of one about to have a fit,
and I took a step towards her.
She motioned me fiercely back, and tore at her throat, as if she were
suffocating.
"I see it now!" she cried hoarsely, "I see it now! Oh, the wretch, the
wretch! Only let me find him again!"
"Mary!" I cried, "what is it?"
"I see it all now!" she cried again. "Then I was right. She come--she
come here, and poisoned him with her soft looks and ways, and he's left
me--to go away with her to-night!"
Mary made a clutch at vacancy; and then, tottering, would have fallen,
had not Hallett been close at hand to catch her and help her to the
couch, where the poor woman lay perfectly insensible, having fainted for
probably the first time in her life.
"What does she mean?" cried Hallett, as he made, with me, ineffectual
efforts to restore her.
"She was angry and jealous the night she came and found Linny here
attending on Revitts," I cried in a bewildered way, hardly knowing what
I said. "And now she thinks, because he has left her to-night, that he
has gone away with Linny."
"Poor fool?" he said sadly.
"Revitts was very strange to-day," I said, "and--and--and, Hallett--oh,
forgive me," I said, "I've kept something from you."
"What!" he cried, catching me so fiercely by the arm that he caused me
acute pain. "Don't tell me that I have been deceived, too, in you!"
"No, Hallett, I haven't deceived you," I said. "I kept something back
that I ought to have told you."
"You kept something back!" he cried. "Speak--speak at once, Antony,
or--or--speak, boy; I'm not master of myself!"
"Linny begged me so hard not to tell you, and I consented, on condition
that she would mind what you said."
"Then--then you knew that she was carrying on with this man," he cried
savagely, neither of us seeing that Mary had come to, and was watching
us with distended eyes.
"No, no, Hallett," I cried. "I did not--indeed, I did not; I only knew
it was he who so beat poor Revitts."
"Who was he--what's his name?" cried Mary, seizing my other arm, and
shaking it.
"I don't know; I never knew," I cried, faring badly between them.
"Linny begged me, on her knees, not to tell that it was her friend who
beat Revitts when he interfered, and when she promised me she would
always obey you, Hallett, I said I would keep her secret."
"Then Linny was the girl poor Revitts saved," said Hallett hoarsely.
"Yes!" cried Mary. "The villain! he likes her pretty face. I was
right; and I've been a fool to faint and go on. But that's over now,"
she cried savagely. "I'll wait here till he does come back; for I'm his
lawful wife; and when he does come--Oh!"
Mary uttered that "Oh!" through her closed teeth, and all the revenge
that was in her nature seemed to come to the surface, while Hallett
walked up and down the room.
"You have no idea, Antony, who he is?"
"No, on my word, Hallett," I cried; "I never knew. Pray forgive me! I
thought it was for the best."
"Yes, yes, lad," he said; "you did it from kindness. It has made no
difference. I could not have borne it for you to deceive me, Antony,"
he said, with a sweet, sad smile lighting his face as I caught his hand.
"Come, let us go. Mary, my good soul, you are labouring under a
mistake. Good-night!"
"No, you don't!" cried Mary, setting her back against the door. "You
don't go till he comes back. He'll come and bring your sister here.
And you may take her home. I'll talk to him. What?" she cried
triumphantly; "what did I say?"
She turned, and threw open the door; for just then a heavy step was
heard below, and, as if expecting some strange scene, Hallett and I
stood watching, as step after step creaked beneath a heavy weight, till
whoever was coming reached the landing and staggered into the room.
"You--"
Mary's sentence was never finished; for her husband's look, as he strode
in with Linny in his arms, seemed to crush her.
"I couldn't get him, too, but I marked him," he said, panting, "and I've
stopped his little game."
"Linny!" cried Hallett to the half-insensible girl, who seemed to glide
from Revitts' arms, and sink in a heap at his feet, while I stood gazing
in utter amazement at the turn things had taken.
"Mary, my lass! a drop of something--anything--I'm about done."
Mary's teeth gritted together, and she darted a vindictive look at her
husband; but she obeyed him, fetching out a bottle of gin and a glass,
which he filled and drained before speaking.
"Not so strong as I was," he cried excitedly. "Glad you're here, sir.
I ketched sight of him with her from the 'bus as we come in. I'd a
known him from a thousand--him as give it me, you know. `Look arter
Mary,' I says to Master Antony here, and I was after him like a shot,
hanging on to the hansom cab he'd got her in, and I never left 'em till
it stopped down at Richmond, at a willa by the water-side."
"Richmond?" said Hallett blankly.
"Richmond, as I'd been through twice that very day. When the cab
stops--I'd made the man right with half-a-crown, and--telling him I was
in the police--my gentleman gets out, and I had him like a shot. I
might have got help a dozen times, but I wanted to tackle him myself, as
I allus swore I would," cried Revitts savagely; "but he was too much for
me again. I'm stronger than him, but he's got tricks, and he put me on
my back after a good tussle--just look at my noo things!--and afore I
could get up again, he was off, running like a coward as he is. But I
brought her back, not knowing till I had her under the gas-lamp as it
was Master Ant'ny's friend and your sister, and she'd told me who she
was, and asked me in a curious crying way to take her back to Master
Ant'ny, as she said was the only one who'd help her now."
"You--you brought her home in the cab?" cried Mary hoarsely.
"Yes, my lass, and it's cost me half-a-sov altogether; but I've spoilt
his game, whoever he is. Poor little lass, she's been about mad ever
since I got into the cab, a-clinging to me."
"Yes," hissed Mary.
"And crying and sobbing, and I couldn't comfort her, not a bit."
"No!" said Mary softly, through her teeth.
"It was rather rough on you, Mary, my gal," said Revitts; "but you would
marry a police-officer, and dooty must be done."
Mary was about to speak; but he held up his hand, for Linny seemed to be
coming to, and Hallett was kneeling on the floor by her side.
"Mary--Bill," I whispered; for the right thing to do seemed to be
suggested to me then. "Let us go and leave them."
"Right you are, Master Ant'ny, and always was," said Bill hoarsely; and,
passing his arm round Mary's waist, he drew her into the other room, by
which time the scales seemed to have fallen from poor Mary's eyes, for
the first thing she did, as soon as we were in the room, was to plump
down on her knees, clasp those of her husband, lay her cheek against
them, and cry, ready to break her heart.
Probably the excitement of his adventure had had a good effect upon
Revitts; for the strange fit of petulance and obstinacy had passed away,
and he was all eagerness and smiles.
"Why, what a gal you are, Polly!" he exclaimed. "Don't cry, my lass; I
was obliged to go off. Pleecemen ain't their own masters."
"Oh, Bill dear," sobbed Mary, "and I've been thinking sich things."
"Of course you have, Polly," he said; "and I've been wishing myself at
home, but I knew Ant'ny would take care of you. Poor little lass! I've
had a nice job, I can tell you. I say, Ant'ny, is she quite right in
her head?"
"Oh yes," I said.
"Well, she don't look it then, poor little woman. One minute she was
begging and praying me to take her home, the next she was scolding me
for interfering. Then she'd be quiet for a few minutes, and then she'd
want to jump out of the cab; and it's my belief that if I'd let her go,
she'd have throwed herself into the river."
"Poor soul?" murmured Mary.
"Then she'd take a fit of not wanting to go home, saying that she
daren't never go there any more, and that I wasn't to take her home, but
to you, Ant'ny; and that sorter thing's been going on all the time, till
she seemed to be quite worn out, and I was so puzzled as to what to do,
that I thought I would bring her on here, and let Mary do what she
thought best."
"Did you think that, Bill?" said Mary eagerly.
"Of course I did. I don't understand women-folk, and I hate having jobs
that puts 'em in my care. `Mary'll settle it all right,' I says, `and
know what's best to be done.'"
"Antony," said a voice at the door just then, and I went out to find
Hallett looking very pale, and Linny lying insensible upon the couch.
"Oh, Hallett!" I exclaimed. "Shall Mary come?"
"Yes--directly," he said hoarsely; and there was something very strange
about his manner. "Shut the door, boy," he continued. "Look here,
Antony; this note was inside the neck of her dress, as I opened it to
give her air. You need not read it; but look at it. Tell me whether
you have ever seen the handwriting before."
I took the letter from him, and looked at the bold, free, rather
peculiar hand, which I recognised on the instant.
"Oh yes!" I exclaimed, "often."
"Whose writing is it?" he said, pressing his hand upon his breast to
keep down the emotion that seemed ready to choke him. "Don't speak
rashly, Antony; make sure before you give an answer."
"But I am sure," I exclaimed, without a moment's hesitation. "I have
often seen it--it is Mr Lister's writing. What does it mean?"
"Mean?" cried Hallett, in a low, deep voice, as if speaking to some one
across the room, for he was not looking at me. "My God, what does it
not mean, but that John Lister is a villain!"