Part 95 (1/2)

Maria went into the bedroom to her husband. He was locking his portmanteau.

”That is all, I believe,” he said, transferring the keys to his pocket, and taking up the small hand-case. ”Remember that it is sent off by to-night's train, Maria. I have addressed it.”

”You are not going now, George?” she said, her heart seeming to fail her strangely.

”Yes, I am.”

”But--there is no train. The express must have pa.s.sed this half-hour.”

”I shall ride over to Crancomb and take the train there,” he answered.

”I have some business in the place,” added he, by way of stopping any questions as to the why and wherefore. ”Listen, Maria. You need not mention that I have gone until you see Thomas on Monday morning. Tell _him_.”

”Shall you not see him yourself in London?” she returned. ”Are you not going to meet him?”

”I may miss him: it is just possible,” was the reply of George, spoken with all the candour in life, just as though his mission to London was the express one of meeting his brother. ”If Thomas should return home without having seen me, I mean.”

”What am I to tell him?” she asked.

”Only that I am gone. There's no necessity to say anything else. I shall--if I miss seeing him in town--write to him here.”

”And when shall you be back again?”

”Soon. Good-bye, my darling.”

He held his wife folded in his arms, as he had recently held Meta. The tears were raining down her cheeks.

”Don't grieve, Maria. It will blow over, I say. G.o.d bless you. Take care of Meta.”

Maria's heart felt as if it were breaking. But in the midst of her own distress, she remembered the claims of others. ”That ten-pound note, George? If you are not back in a day or two, how shall I have it? The woman may come for it.”

”Oh, I shall be back. Or you can ask Thomas.”

In his careless indifference he thought he should be back before long.

He was not going to _run away_: only to absent himself from the brunt of the explosion. That his delinquencies would be patent to Thomas and to others by Monday morning, he knew: it would be just as well to let some of their astonishment and anger evaporate without his presence; be far more agreeable to himself, personally. In his careless indifference, too, he had spoken the words, ”You can ask Thomas.” A moment's consideration would have told him that Thomas would have no ten-pound notes to spare for Maria. George G.o.dolphin was one who never lost heart.

He was indulging, now, the most extravagantly sanguine hopes of raising money in London, by some means or other. Perhaps Verrall could help him?

He strained his wife to his heart, kissed her again, and was gone. Maria sat down in the midst of her blinding tears.

Walking round to the stables, he waited there while his horse was got ready, mounted him, the small black case in front, and rode away alone.

The groom thought his master was only going out for a ride, as he did on other days: but the man did wonder that Mr. George should go _that_ day.

Crancomb was a small place about five miles off: it had a railway station, and the ordinary trains stopped there. What motive induced him to go there to take the train, he best knew. Probably, he did not care to excite the observation and comment, which his going off from Prior's Ash on that day would be sure to excite. Seriously to fear being stopped, he did not.

He rode along at a leisurely pace, reaching Crancomb just before the up-train was expected. Evidently the day's great disaster had not yet travelled to Crancomb. George was received with all the tokens of respect, ever accorded to the G.o.dolphins. He charged the landlord of the inn to send his horse back to Prior's Ash on Monday morning, changed Mrs. Bond's ten-pound note, and chatted familiarly to the employes at the station, after taking his ticket.

Up came the train. Two or three solitary pa.s.sengers, bound for the place, descended, two or three entered. The whistle sounded; the engine shrieked and puffed: and George G.o.dolphin, nodding familiarly around with his gay smile, was carried on his road to London.

Maria had sat on, her blinding tears falling. What an alteration it was!

What a contrast to the happiness of the morning! That a few minutes should have power to bring forth so awful a change! The work she had done so eagerly before, lay on the table. Where had its enjoyment gone?