Part 97 (1/2)
”Ay; your mother-in-law, that shall never be. Mrs. Dodd.”
”Mrs. Dodd here!” said Alfred, clasping his hands. Then he reflected, and said coolly: ”It is false; what should she come here for?”
”To see your father-in-law.”
”My father-in-law? What, is he here, too?” said Alfred with an incredulous sneer.
”Yes, the raving maniac that calls himself Thompson, and that you took to from the first: he is your precious father-in-law--that shall never be.”
Alfred was now utterly amazed, and bewildered. Mrs. Archbold eyed him in silent scorn.
”Poor man,” said he at last; and hung his head sorrowfully. ”No wonder then his voice went so to my heart. How strange it all is! and how will it all end?”
”In your being a madman instead of an insolent fool,” hissed the viper.
At this moment Beverley appeared at the end of the yard. Mrs. Archbold whistled him to her like a dog. He came running zealously. ”Who was that called while I was out?” she inquired.
”A polite lady, madam: she said sir to me, and thanked me.”
”That sounds like Mrs. Dodd,” said the Archbold quietly.
”Ah, but,” continued Frank, ”there was another with her a beautiful young lady; oh, so beautiful!”
”Miss Julia Dodd,” said the Archbold grimly.
Alfred panted, and his eyes roved wildly in search of a way to escape and follow her; she could not be far off.
”Anybody else, Frank?” inquired Mrs. Archbold.
”No more ladies, madam; but there was a young gentleman all in black. I think he was a clergyman--or a butler.”
”Ah, that was her husband that is to be; that was Mr. Hurd. She can go nowhere without him, not even to see her old beau.”
At these words, every one of them an adder, Alfred turned on her furiously, and his long arm shot out of its own accord, and the fingers opened like an eagle's claw. She saw, and understood, but never blenched. Her vindictive eye met his dilating flas.h.i.+ng orbs unflinchingly.
”You pa.s.s for a woman,” he said, ”and I am too wretched for anger.”
He turned from her with a deep convulsive sob, and, almost staggering, leaned his brow against the wall of the house.
She had done what no man had as yet succeeded in; she had broken his spirit. And here a man would have left him alone. But the rejected beauty put her lips to his ear, and whispered into them, ”This is only the beginning.” Then she left him and went to his room and stole all his paper, and pens, and ink, and his very Aristotle. He was to have no occupation now, except to brood, and brood, and brood.
As for Alfred, he sat down upon a bench in the yard a broken man: up to this moment he had hoped his Julia was as constant as himself. But no; either she had heard he was mad, and with the universal credulity had believed it, or perhaps, not hearing from him at all believed herself forsaken; and was consoling herself with a clergyman. Jealousy did not as yet infuriate Alfred. Its first effect resembled that of a heavy blow. Little Beverley found him actually sick, and ran to the Robin.
The ex-prizefighter brought him a thimbleful of brandy, but he would not take it. ”Ah no, my friends,” he said, ”that cannot cure me; it is not my stomach; it is my heart. Broken, broken!”
The Robin retired muttering. Little Beverley kneeled down beside him, and kissed his hand with a devotion that savoured of the canine. Yet it was tender, and the sinking heart clung to it. ”Oh, Frank!” he cried, ”my Julia believes me mad, or thinks me false, or something, and she will marry another before I can get out to tell her all I have endured was for loving her. What shall I do? G.o.d protect my reason! What will become of me?”
He moaned, and young Frank sorrowed over him, till the harsh voice of Rooke summoned him to some menial duty. This discharged, he came running back; and sat on the bench beside his crushed benefactor without saying a word. At last he delivered this sapient speech: ”I see. You want to get out of this place.”
Alfred only sighed hopelessly.