The Story of Antony Grace Part 67

"That's all? Ah, my dear! it's a very great all. He's tired of me, that's what he is; and I shall never forgive my self for being so rash."

"But you have been engaged several years, haven't you, Mary?"

"Yes, my dear; but years ain't long when you're busy and always hard at work. I dessay they're a long time to gentlefolks as has to wait, but it never seemed long to me, and I've done a very rash thing; but I didn't think the punishment was coming quite so soon."

"Oh, nonsense, Mary; Bill will be all right again soon," I said, as I could see, by the light of a gas-lamp we pa.s.sed, that the poor disappointed woman had been crying till she had soaked and spoiled her showy bonnet-strings.

"No, my dear, I don't think so; I feel as if it was all a punishment upon me, and that I ought to have waited till he was quite well and strong."

It was of no avail to try and comfort, so I contented myself with sitting still and pressing poor Mary's rough honest hand, while the horses rattled merrily along, and we gradually neared the great city.

I was obliged to own that if this was a specimen of a wedding-day, it was anything but a joyous and festive time; and it seemed to me that the day that had begun so unsatisfactorily was to be kept in character to the end.

For, before reaching Hammersmith, one of the horses s.h.i.+ed and fell, and those at the pole went right upon it before the omnibus could be stopped, with the consequence that the vehicle was nearly upset, and a general shriek arose.

No harm, however, was done, and in a quarter of an hour we were once more under weigh, but Mary said, with a sigh and a rub of the back of my hand against the b.u.t.tons of her dress, that it was a warning of worse things to come; and though very sorry for her, I could not help longing for our journey's end.

"Just you come over here, Ant'ny," said Revitts suddenly; and I had to change places and sit between him and his wife, of whom he seemed not to take the slightest notice.

"Are you better, Bill?" I said.

"Better?" he said sharply; "what do you mean by better? I'm all right."

"That's well," I said.

"Of course it is. Now look here, Ant'ny, I've been thinking a good deal about that there big-a-mee as we come along, and I'll just tell you what I should have done."

I heard Mary give a gulp; but I thought it better not to try and thwart him, so prepared to listen.

"You see, Ant'ny," he said, in a very didactic manner, "when a fellow is in the force, and is always taking up people and getting up cases, and attending at the police-courts, and Old Bailey sessions and coroners'

inquests, he picks up a deal of valuable information."

"Of course, Bill."

"He do; it stands to reason that he do. Well, then, I ought to know just two or three things."

"Say two or three thousand, Bill."

"Well," he said, giving his head an official roll, as if settling it in his great stock, "we won't say that. Let's put it at 'undreds--two or three 'undreds. Now, if I'd had such a case as that big-a-mee in hand, I should have begun at the beginning.--Where are we now?" he said, after a pause, during which he had taken off his hat, and rubbed his head in a puzzled way.

"You were talking about the case," I said, "and beginning at the beginning."

"Don't you try to be funny, young fellow," he said severely. "I said, where are we now?"

"Just pa.s.sing Hyde Park Corner, Bill."

"Yes, of course," he said. "Well, look here, my lad, there's no doubt about one thing: women, take 'em all together, are--no, I won't say a bad lot, but they're weak--awful weak. I've seen a deal on 'em at the police-courts."

"I suppose so," I said, as I heard Mary give a low sigh.

"They're not what they should be, Ant'ny, by a long chalk, and the way they'll tell lies and deceive and cheat 's about awful, that it is."

"Some women are bad, I daresay," I said, in a qualifying tone.

"Some?" he said, with a short, dry laugh; "it's some as is good. Most women's bad."

"That's a nice wholesale sort of a charge," said a pa.s.senger behind him, in rather a huffy tone.

"You mind your own business," said Revitts sharply. "I wasn't talking to you;" and he spoke in such a fierce way that the man coloured, while Mary leaned forward, and looked imploringly at me, as much as to say, "Pray, pray, don't let him quarrel."

"I say it, and I ought to know," said Revitts dictatorially, "that women's a bad lot, and after hearing of that case this morning, I say as every woman afore she gets married ought to go through a reg'lar cross-examination, and produce sittifikits of character, and witnesses to show where she's been, and what she's been a-doing of for say the last seven years. If that was made law, we shouldn't have poor fellows taken in and delooded, and then find out afterwards as it's a case of big-a-mee, like we heerd of this morning. Why, as I was a-saying, Ant'ny, if I'd had that case in hand--eh? Oh, ah, yes, so it is. I'll get down first. I didn't think we was so near."

For poor Bill's plans about the bigamy case were brought to an end by the stopping of the omnibus in Piccadilly, and I gave a sigh of relief as we drew up in the bright, busy thoroughfare, after a look at the dark sea of s.h.i.+ning lights that lay spread to the right over the Green Park and Westminster.

Carriages were pa.s.sing, the pavement was thronged, and it being a fine night, all looked very bright and cheery after what had been rather a dull ride. Revitts got down, and I was about to follow, offering my hand to poor, sad Mary, when just as my back was turned, Revitts called out to me:

"Ant'ny, Ant'ny, look after my wife!" and as I turned sharply, I just caught sight of him turning the corner of the street, and he was gone.

CHAPTER FORTY.

HALLETT'S NEWS.

I was so staggered by this strange behaviour that I did not think of pursuit. Moreover, I was in the act of helping poor Mary to the ladder placed for her to descend, while she, poor thing, gave vent to a cutting sigh, and clung tightly to my hand.

As we stood together on the pavement, our eyes met, and there was something so piteous in the poor woman's face, that it roused me to action, and catching her hand, I drew it through my arm.

"He has gone to get a gla.s.s of ale, Mary," I said cheerfully. "Let's see if we can see him."

"No," she said huskily; "he has gone: he has left me for good, Master Antony, and I'm a miserable, wretched woman."

"Oh, nonsense," I cried. "Come along. We shall find him."

"No," she said, in a decisive way; "he has gone. He's been regretting it ever since this morning."

"Don't, pray; don't cry, Mary," I whispered in alarm, for I was afraid of a scene in the streets.

"No, my dear; don't you be afraid of that," she said, with a sigh.

"I'll try and bear it till we get home; but I won't promise for any longer."

"Don't you be foolish, Mary," I said sharply. "He has not left you.

He's too fond of you. Let's see if he is in the bar."

Mary sighed; but she allowed herself to be led where I pleased, and for the next half-hour we stood peering about in every likely place for the truant husband, but in vain; and at last, feeling that it was useless to search longer, I reluctantly turned to poor, patient, silent Mary, wondering greatly that she had not burst out into a "tantrum," and said that we had better go home.

"Go where?" she said dolefully.

"Home," I replied, "to your lodgings."