‘I think I have,’ he said, hoarsely.
Then he remembered that he had told much to Robert
Bolton which she had not heard. ’I did tell
her that I would marry her.’
‘You did.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Is not that a marriage in some countries?’
’I think nowhere,—certainly not there.
And the people, hearing of it all, used to call her
by my name.’
‘O John!—will not that be against
us?’
‘It will be against me,—in the minds
of persons like your mother.’
’I will care nothing for that. I know that
you have repented, and are sorry. I know that
you love me now.’
‘I have always loved you since the first moment
that I saw you.’
’Never for a moment believe that I will believe
them. Let them do what they will, I will be your
wife. Nothing shall take me away from you.
But it is sad, is it not; on that the very day that
poor baby has been christened?’ Then they sat
and wept together and tried to comfort each other.
But nothing could comfort him. He was almost prostrated
at the prospect of his coming misery,—and
of hers.
‘Just by Telling Me that I Am’
The thunderbolt had fallen now. Caldigate, when
he left his wife that he might stroll about the place
after the dusk had fallen, told himself again and
again that the thunderbolt had certainly fallen now.
There could be no longer a doubt but that this woman
would claim him as her husband. A whole world
of remorse and regrets oppressed his conscience and
his heart. He looked back and remembered the wise
counsels which had been given him on board the ship,
when the captain and Mrs. Callender and poor Dick
Shand had remonstrated with him, and called to mind
his own annoyance when he had bidden them mind their
own affairs. And then he remembered how he had
determined to break away from the woman at Sydney,
and to explain to her, as he might then have done without
injustice, that they two could be of no service the
one to the other, and that they had better part.
It seemed now, as he looked back, to have been so
easy for him then to have avoided danger, so easy to
have kept a straight course! But now,—now,
surely he would be overwhelmed.
And then how easy it would have been, had he been
more careful at the beginning of these troubles, to
have bought these wretches off! He had been,
he now acknowledged, too peremptory in his first refusal
to refund a portion of the money to Crinkett.
The application had, indeed, been made without those
proofs as to the condition of the mine which had since
reached him, and he had distrusted Crinkett. Crinkett
he had known to be a man not to be trusted. But
yet, even after receiving the letter from Euphemia
Smith, the matter might have been arranged. When
he had first become assured that the new Polyeuka
Company had failed, he should have made an offer,
even though Euphemia Smith had then commenced her
threats. With skill, might he not have done it
on this very day? Might he not have made the
man understand that if he would base his claim simply
on his losses, and make it openly on that ground, then
his claim should be considered? But now it was
too late, and the thunderbolt had fallen.
