THE UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY――HUSBAND AND WIFE.
Mr. William Rawton, after he left the doctor’s establishment, betook
himself to a common lodging-house, where he slept for the remainder of
the night.
He had found a friend, it is true, and the assistance afforded him was
most welcome, as it saved him from perishing from actual want and
privation; but the more he considered the matter over, the more
puzzled he was to account for Dr. Bourne’s manner and demeanour. That
there was something beneath the surface Bill had guessed long before
he took his departure from his patron’s house. What that something was
he could not possibly divine or even guess.
The thought crossed the gipsy’s mind that the certificate of his
marriage was wanted to prove his (the gipsy’s) identity, and possibly
criminal proceedings would follow.
He did not like the doctor’s manner; he did not like his looks, or
indeed the man himself.
Anyway he deemed it expedient not to be in too great a hurry to oblige
his patron, about whom he was desirous of learning a little more.
Rawton’s elopement and marriage with Hester Teige was a sort of
boy-and-girl attachment, which was in reality but little more than a
nine days’ wonder. Both the contracting parties found out their
mistake, and it is likely enough that the gipsy was as glad to be rid
of his bargain as she was to leave him.
Hester Teige was a beauty. In addition to her personal charms, which
were of no mean order, she had grace, and an air of refinement which
went far to commend her to persons in the higher walks of life.
The history of this fair but frail woman would fill a volume.
She had passed through various phases of life――had been the pet and
idol of some of England’s proudest aristocracy.
Then when the sunny days of her youth had passed away she was left to
the tender mercies of one who ruled her with a rod of iron.
As far as Bandy-legged Bill was concerned he had altogether forgotten
the young and attractive girl whom he imprudently chose to marry. The
only wonder was how such an ill-assorted match could ever have taken
place, or how any well-educated young woman could have ever consented
to be led to the altar by such a commonplace personage as our friend
the gipsy. But so it was.
Bill had certainly one quality to recommend him――he was brim full of
good nature, and was at this time one of the best tempered fellows
out. He was good-natured enough to resign his wife to better hands,
and after this had taken place he never afterwards interfered with
her.
The gipsy husbanded his resources as carefully as possible. He could
make a small sum go a long way when it suited his purpose, and the
sovereign he had received from Bourne would last him some little time;
besides, the chances were that a farther advance would be made when
that was gone.
He did not deem it advisable to call the following day; but at about
half-past seven in the evening he presented himself on the succeeding
one. The doctor was in, and the boy who answered the bell showed him
into the surgery.
“Ah――it’s you. Sit down, my man, and I’ll attend to you presently.”
The gipsy seated himself.
“Well,” said the doctor, after the boy had left, “so you are here
again. I hope you have been conducting yourself in a proper and
discreet manner.”
“I’ve done my best, sir; but it’s hard lines with those who cannot get
anything to do. I don’t mind what it is, so long as I can earn an
honest living.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that. But, you see, my man, I am afraid you
have lost your character――is that not so?”
“I won’t deny it, sir――I have.”
“Yes; by dishonest practices. Eh?”
“I don’t deny that. I have been in trouble.”
“Ah, I thought so. Have you brought that certificate?”
“No; I am sorry to say I have not; but of course I can get it if you
wish me to do so.”
“Confound the man! What’s the use of saying if I wish? Haven’t I
already told you what I wished?”
“Very good, sir. The next time I come will do, I suppose?”
“It must do.”
It was very evident that Bourne, for some cause or another, was in a
bad temper.
At this juncture the boy entered the room, and said that Mrs. Moncroft
wished to see his master.
“Oh! Mrs. Moncroft. Eh?” exclaimed the doctor. “Dear me. I will see
the lady.”
“Shall I leave, sir?” inquired the gipsy.
“No; don’t go. I wish to have a little conversation with you, but――ah,
you had better go into the consulting room and wait till I am
disengaged. Walter, show this gentleman upstairs into the back room;
he will wait.”
“Yes, sir,” said the lad, who conducted Rawton into a dingy apartment
above what was called the surgery. In a minute or two after this a
fashionably dressed comely-looking woman was shown into the apartment
in which Dr. Bourne was seated.
“He aint altogether what you might call a nice-tempered, amiable sort
of gentleman,” murmured Rawton, as he seated himself on the well-worn
sofa in the room to which he had been conducted. “He’s far from that,
I’m thinking; but then we all of us have our faults and weaknesses.
Shortness of temper seems to be one of his. I confess I can’t quite
tumble to him. However, we shall see how he turns out as time goes on.
It’s jolly hard lines for a cove to be dependent on a stranger, but he
aint the sort of man to do the generous all for nothing; leastways
that’s my private opinion. I hope I don’t do the gentleman an
injustice.”
Mr. Rawton whistled and beat a tattoo on the head of the sofa just to
beguile the tedium of the hour. As he was thus engaged he heard the
sound of voices, which appeared to come from the front parlour of the
establishment. He paused and listened attentively; then he turned
pale, and his heart seemed to sink within him. He listened again――two
persons were conversing. One voice was strangely familiar to him.
He rose from the sofa, and walked hurriedly across the room. He
partially opened the door, and stood spell-bound with astonishment.
“It’s many a long year since I heard that voice, or rather a voice
like it; for I must be mistaken――it aint likely, and it’s well-nigh
impossible; and yet the sound is so unmistakeable that it seems to
knock me over.”
He heard the light step of a female in the passage. He opened the door
and peeped out. A maid-servant was passing along the passage.
“I say, my dear, just a word with you, if you please,” said Mr.
Rawton.
“I am not your dear, sir,” returned the girl, with a pout.
“Beg pardon, meant no offence, but you see I don’t happen to know your
name.”
“Well, what do you want?” cried the girl.
“May I ask who it was I heard talking in yonder room?”
“Who? Why me and missus.”
“Ah, and who might your missus be?”
“Mrs. Bourne, of course, who do you suppose?”
“I don’t suppose anything. She’s the doctor’s wife then?”
“Yes, certainly. What makes you ask such a stupid question? Just mind
your own business.”
“Now don’t be angry. You are a charming girl, as beautiful as the
flowers――I mean, as a butterfly.”
“Get along with your nonsense――do.”
She was about to pass on, but he detained her.
“What on earth do you want?” she ejaculated.
“Only a word――only a word or two.” He drew her into the back parlour.
“Now, then, what do you want?”
“Where is your mistress?”
“In the front parlour.”
“Oh, will you do me a favour?”
“That depends upon what it is.”
“I want you to go back to your mistress and ask her if she knew a man
named William Rawton.”
“And what if she does?”
“Well, then she will remember the name if she is the person I suppose
her to be. Now do as I tell you, like a good girl, as I am sure you
are.”
“You are a queer sort of fellow; ask her yourself.”
“No, I would not think of doing such a thing. I ask you again to
oblige me by doing this.”
“There’s not much difficulty in the matter. I will do as you desire.”
The girl flitted past her questioner, hurried along the passage, and
entered the front room.
When she had reached this Rawton heard a faint scream, and in a few
moments after this the maid servant, pale and flurried, returned to
the gipsy.
“Well!” exclaimed the latter.
“Well――it’s not well. When I mentioned the name of Rawton, my poor
mistress was ready to faint; and when I left she had not recovered.”
“Ah!” said Bandy-legged Bill, “I am not surprised. I am almost
inclined to do a faint on my own account; but did she make any
inquiries――did she say anything else?”
“Yes; she told me to ask who and what you were, and wished to know if
you wanted to see her.”
“I do want to see her,” returned Bill, “if only for a few minutes. I
should like to see her. Tell her so. I don’t know your name.”
“My name is Amy.”
“Well, then, Amy, say I want to see her, if you please.”
The girl went to her mistress and delivered the gipsy’s message.
In a minute or so after this an elegantly dressed aristocratic-looking
female entered the doctor’s consulting room.
“You wished to see me, sir,” she observed, with hauteur, addressing
herself to the gipsy.
For a moment Bill was so taken aback that he could not find words to
express himself. He stood gazing abstractedly on the wan features of
the fair creature before him, and found it difficult at that moment to
feel assured as to her identity.
“I beg your pardon, madam,” he stammered, “but you see I thought, as I
listened to the conversation which was going on in the opposite room,
I recognised a voice I had heard afore, though it be ever so many
years back since I heard it.”
“I do not quite understand your meaning, sir,” observed his companion.
“Pray may I inquire whom I am addressing?”
“You do not know me, then?”
“I confess I do not.”
“I am Bill Rawton, the gipsy.”
Had a bombshell exploded in the room Mrs. Bourne could not possibly
have been more astonished. She staggered back several paces and sank
into a chair; she became deathly pale, and her whole appearance was
indicative of terror intermingled with despair.
“You, William Rawton?” she presently ejaculated. “It is not――it cannot
be possible. Rawton has been dead for more than fifteen years.”
The gipsy slowly shook his head.
“You are mistaken, madam,” he said in a tone of abject humiliation, “I
am that man.”
“But he was drowned in Harcott’s Mill, I heard, years and years ago.”
“A man, supposed to be Rawton, was drowned there, and there was an
inquest on the body, but it was not me.”
“I am ruined, undone, and the most miserable of mortals,” exclaimed
Mrs. Bourne, wringing her hands. “What has brought you here, and what
is the object of this visit?”
“Do not be alarmed. It has not been my own seeking. I am here by the
merest accident, and the very last person in the world I expected to
meet here is yourself.”
“I am appalled! Gracious heaven, what am I to do? And you――are in the
depths of poverty, I presume?”
“That is so; but do not suppose I mean you any harm. We have been
strangers for twenty years――let us continue to be so.”
“And my husband――do you know him? But of course you do, else you would
not be here.”
“I know something of him.”
The miserable woman shuddered, and pressed her hands to her throbbing
temples.
“My cup of sorrow is full to overflowing,” said she with extreme
bitterness. “Exposure, disgrace, ignominy are before me. Oh! why have
you come hither? and in such a garb too! Oh! but this is indeed
terrible! Does the doctor know who and what you are?”
The gipsy hung down his head.
“I am answered,” she cried. “For mercy’s sake tell me what you want.
If it be money, I will give you what you need, provided you do not
come here again.”
“I shall not trouble you,” he exclaimed; “and I will not accept any
money from you, seeing that I have forfeited all claim upon you; but I
should like to have half an hour or so’s conversation with you, not on
account of myself, but on your account. Is this man kind to you?”
“What man?”
“Doctor Bourne.”
She approached the speaker, and whispered into his ear the
monosyllable, “No.”
The gipsy nodded significantly.
“Tell me when I can see you without fear of interruption. I’ve
something to tell you; but it’s likely enough you’ve a bit to tell
me.”
“May I trust you?”
“You may, as heaven is my judge.”
“On Thursday next the doctor will be away. He has to attend a patient
in the country. You can see me on that day any time after five. But,
hush! that’s his footstep.”
And with these words Mrs. Bourne hurried back into the front room. She
had done so but just in time, for the doctor ascended the stairs
immediately after she had disappeared, and, putting his head into the
room where the gipsy was, he said, in a loud, pompous tone――
“I shall not have time to attend to you to-day, my man; so you had
better call again. Do you hear?”
“Oh, yes; I hear, sir,” returned Bill. “I will call to-morrow or next
day, whichever will suit you best.”
“Either will suit me; but I am busy just now.”
Bill Rawton passed out of the house. When he gained the street he saw
that there was an open carriage at the front door of Bourne’s house.
In this was seated a fashionably-dressed lady.
Presently the doctor emerged from the portico of his residence, jumped
into the carriage by the side of the lady, and the vehicle rumbled
over the stones.