A dialogue then proceeded between the two men outside the wall, which Baptista could not help hearing.
‘Ay, I signed the book that made her one flesh,’ repeated the decayed glazier. ‘Where’s her good-man?’
‘About the premises somewhere; but you don’t see’em together much,’ replied the sailor in an undertone. ‘You see, he’s older than she.’
‘Older? I should never have thought it from my own observation,’ said the glazier. ‘He was a remarkably handsome man.’
‘Handsome? Well, there he is—we can see for ourselves.’
David Heddegan had, indeed, just shown himself at the upper end of the garden; and the glazier, looking in bewilderment from the husband to the wife, saw the latter turn pale.
Now that decayed glazier was a far-seeing and cunning man—too far-seeing and cunning to allow himself to thrive by simple and straightforward means—and he held his peace, till he could read more plainly the meaning of this riddle, merely added carelessly, ’Well—marriage do alter a man, ‘tis true. I should never ha’ knowed him!’
He then stared oddly at the disconcerted Baptista, and moving on to where he could again address her, asked her to do him a good turn, since he once had done the same for her. Understanding that he meant money, she handed him some, at which he thanked her, and instantly went away.
She had escaped exposure on this occasion; but the incident had been an awkward one, and should have suggested to Baptista that sooner or later the secret must leak out. As it was, she suspected that at any rate she had not heard the last of the glazier.
In a day or two, when her husband had gone to the old town on the other side of the island, there came a gentle tap at the door, and the worthy witness of her first marriage made his appearance a second time.
‘It took me hours to get to the bottom of the mystery—hours!’ he said with a gaze of deep confederacy which offended her pride very deeply. ’But thanks to a good intellect I’ve done it. Now, ma’am, I’m not a man to tell tales, even when a tale would be so good as this. But I’m going back to the mainland again, and a little assistance would be as rain on thirsty ground.’
‘I helped you two days ago,’ began Baptista.
’Yes—but what was that, my good lady? Not enough to pay my passage to Pen-zephyr. I came over on your account, for I thought there was a mystery somewhere. Now I must go back on my own. Mind this—’twould be very awkward for you if your old man were to know. He’s a queer temper, though he may be fond.’
She knew as well as her visitor how awkward it would be; and the hush-money she paid was heavy that day. She had, however, the satisfaction of watching the man to the steamer, and seeing him diminish out of sight. But Baptista perceived that the system into which she had been led of purchasing silence thus was one fatal to her peace of mind, particularly if it had to be continued.