Volume I Part 21 (2/2)
”With a sympathetic soul,” cried she, ”how little need is there of explanation! You already see what I am pointing at. You have read in my heart my devotion and attachment to that sweet princess, and you see how I am bound by every tie of grat.i.tude and affection to hasten to meet her.”
You may be sure, Molly, that I gave my heartiest concurrence to the arrangement. The very thought of getting rid of her was the best tidings I could hear; since, besides putting an end to all her plots and devices for the future, it would give me the opportunity of settling accounts with K. I., which it would be impossible to do till I had him here alone. It was, then, with real sincerity that my ”sympathetic soul”
fully a.s.sented to all she said.
”I knew you would forgive me. I knew that you would not be angry with me for this sudden flight,” said she.
”Not in the least, ma'am,” said I, stiffly.
”This is true kindness,--this is real friends.h.i.+p,” said she, pressing my band.
”I hope it is, ma'am,” said I, dryly; for, indeed, Molly, it was hard work for me to keep my temper under.
She never, however, gave me much time for anything, for off she went once more about her own plans; telling me how little luggage she would take, how soon we should meet again, how delighted the d.u.c.h.ess would be with me and Mary Anne, and twenty things more of the same sort.
At last we separated, but not till we had embraced each other three times over; and, to tell you the truth, I had it in my heart to strangle her while she was doing it.
The agitation I went through, and my pa.s.sion boiling in me, and no vent for it, made me so ill that I was taking Hoffman and camphor the whole evening after; and I could n't, of course, go down to dinner, but had a light veal cutlet with a little sweet sauce, and a roast pigeon with mushrooms, in my own room.
K. I. wanted to come in and speak to me, but I refused admission, and sent him word that ”I hoped I'd be equal to the task of an interview in the course of a day or so;” a message that must have made him tremble for what was in store for him. I did this on purpose, Molly, for I often remarked that there's nothing subdues K. I. so much as to keep something hanging over him. As he said once himself, ”Life isn't worth having, if a man can be called up at any minute for sentence.” And that shows you, Molly, what I oftentimes mentioned to you, that if you want or expect true happiness in the married state, there's only one road to it, and that is by studying the temper and the character of your husband, learning what is his weakness and which are his defects. When you know these well, my dear, the rest is easy; and it's your own fault if you don't mould him to your liking.
Whether it was the mushrooms, or a little very weak shrub punch that Mary Anne made, disagreed with me, I can't tell, but I had a nightmare every time I went to sleep, and always woke up with a screech. That's the way I spent the blessed night, and it was only as day began to break that I felt a regular drowsiness over me and went off into a good comfortable doze. Just then there came a rattling of horses' hoofs, and a cracking of whips under the window, and Mary Anne came up to say something, but I would n't listen, but covered my head up in the bedclothes till she went away.
It was twenty minutes to four when I awoke, and a gloomy day, with a thick, soft rain falling, that I knew well would bring on one of my bad headaches, and I was just preparing myself for suffering, when Mary Anne came to the bedside.
”Is she gone, Mary Anne?” said I.
”Yes,” said she; ”they went off before six o'clock.”
”Thanks be to Providence,” said I. ”I hope I 'll never see one of them again.”
”Oh, mamma,” said she, ”don't say that!”
”And why wouldn't I say it, Mary Anne?” said I. ”Would you have me nurse a serpent,--harbor a boa-constrictor in my bosom?”
”But, then, papa,” said she, sobbing.
”Let him come up,” said I. ”Let him see the wreck he has made of me. Let him come and feast his eyes over the ruin his own cruelty has worked.”
”Sure he's gone,” said she.
”Gone! Who's gone?”
”Papa. He's gone with Mrs. Gore Hampton!”
With that, Molly, I gave a scream that was heard all over the house.
And so it was for two hours--screech after screech--tearing my hair and destroying everything within reach of me. To think of the old wretch--for I know his age right well; Sam Davis was at school with him forty-eight years ago, at Dr. Bell's, and that shows he's no chicken--behaving this way. I knew the depravity of the man well enough.
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