"You are wrong;--absolutely and altogether wrong. Heaven and earth!

Do you mean to tell me now, after all that has taken place, that she did not know my wishes?"

"I have not said that. But you have chosen to place her in such a position, that though your word would go for much with her, she cannot bring herself to respect your wishes."

"And you call that being dutiful and affectionate!"

"I call it human and reasonable; and I think that it is compatible with duty and affection. Have you consulted her wishes?"

"Always!"

"Consult them now then, and bid her come back to you."

"No;--never! As far as I can see, I will never do so. The moment she is away from me this man goes to her, and she receives him. She must have known that she was wrong,--and you must know it."

"I do not think that she is half so wrong as you yourself," said Stanbury. To this Trevelyan made no answer, and they both remained silent some minutes. Stanbury had a communication to make before he went, but it was one which he wished to delay as long as there was a chance that his friend's heart might be softened;--one which he need not make if Trevelyan would consent to receive his wife back to his house. There was the day's paper lying on the table, and Stanbury had taken it up and was reading it,--or pretending to read it.

"I will tell you what I propose to do," said Trevelyan.

"Well."

"It is best both for her and for me that we should be apart."

"I cannot understand how you can be so mad as to say so."

"You don't understand what I feel. Heaven and earth! To have a man coming and going--. But, never mind. You do not see it, and nothing will make you see it. And there is no reason why you should."

"I certainly do not see it. I do not believe that your wife cares more for Colonel Osborne, except as an old friend of her father's, than she does for the fellow that sweeps the crossing. It is a matter in which I am bound to tell you what I think."

"Very well. Now, if you have freed your mind, I will tell you my purpose. I am bound to do so, because your people are concerned in it. I shall go abroad."

"And leave her in England?"

"Certainly. She will be safer here than she can be abroad,--unless she should choose to go back with her father to the islands."

"And take the boy?"

"No;--I could not permit that. What I intend is this. I will give her 800 a year, as long as I have reason to believe that she has no communication whatever, either by word of mouth or by letter, with that man. If she does, I will put the case immediately into the hands of my lawyer, with instructions to him to ascertain from counsel what severest steps I can take."

"How I hate that word severe, when applied to a woman."

"I dare say you do,--when applied to another man's wife. But there will be no severity in my first proposition. As for the child,--if I approve of the place in which she lives, as I do at present,--he shall remain with her for nine months in the year till he is six years old. Then he must come to me. And he shall come to me altogether if she sees or hears from that man. I believe that 800 a year will enable her to live with all comfort under your mother's roof."

"As to that," said Stanbury, slowly, "I suppose I had better tell you at once, that the Nuncombe Putney arrangement cannot be considered as permanent."

"Why not?"

"Because my mother is timid and nervous, and altogether unused to the world."

"That unfortunate woman is to be sent away,--even from Nuncombe Putney!"

"Understand me, Trevelyan."

"I understand you. I understand you most thoroughly. Nor do I wonder at it in the least. Do not suppose that I am angry with your mother, or with you, or with your sister. I have no right to expect that they should keep her after that man has made his way into their house. I can well conceive that no honest, high-minded lady would do so."

"It is not that at all."

"But it is that. How can you tell me that it isn't? And yet you would have me believe that I am not disgraced!" As he said this Trevelyan got up, and walked about the room, tearing his hair with his hands.

He was in truth a wretched man, from whose mind all expectation of happiness was banished, who regarded his own position as one of incurable ignominy, looking upon himself as one who had been made unfit for society by no fault of his own. What was he to do with the wretched woman who could be kept from the evil of her pernicious vanity by no gentle custody, whom no most distant retirement would make safe from the effects of her own ignorance, folly, and obstinacy? "When is she to go?" he asked in a low, sepulchral tone,--as though these new tidings that had come upon him had been fatal--laden with doom, and finally subversive of all chance even of tranquillity.

"When you and she may please."

"That is all very well;--but let me know the truth. I would not have your mother's house--contaminated; but may she remain there for a week?"

Stanbury jumped from his seat with an oath. "I tell you what it is, Trevelyan;--if you speak of your wife in that way, I will not listen to you. It is unmanly and untrue to say that her presence can--contaminate any house."

"That is very fine. It may be chivalrous in you to tell me on her behalf that I am a liar,--and that I am not a man."

"You drive me to it."

"But what am I to think when you are forced to declare that this unfortunate woman can not be allowed to remain at your mother's house,--a house which has been especially taken with reference to a shelter for her? She has been received,--with the idea that she would be discreet. She has been indiscreet, past belief, and she is to be turned out,--most deservedly. Heaven and earth! Where shall I find a roof for her head?" Trevelyan as he said this was walking about the room with his hands stretched up towards the ceiling; and as his friend was attempting to make him comprehend that there was no intention on the part of any one to banish Mrs. Trevelyan from the Clock House, at least for some months to come,--not even till after Christmas unless some satisfactory arrangement could be sooner made,--the door of the room was opened by the boy, who called himself a clerk, and who acted as Trevelyan's servant in the chambers, and a third person was shown into the room. That third person was Mr.

Bozzle. As no name was given, Stanbury did not at first know Mr.

Bozzle, but he had not had his eye on Mr. Bozzle for half a minute before he recognised the ex-policeman by the outward attributes and signs of his profession. "Oh, is that you, Mr. Bozzle?" said Trevelyan, as soon as the great man had made his bow of salutation.

"Well;--what is it?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: That third person was Mr. Bozzle.]

"Mr. Hugh Stanbury, I think," said Bozzle, making another bow to the young barrister.

"That's my name," said Stanbury.

"Exactly so, Mr. S. The ident.i.ty is one as I could prove on oath in any court in England. You was on the railway platform at Exeter on Sat.u.r.day when we was waiting for the 12 express 'buss;--wasn't you now, Mr. S.?"

"What's that to you?"

"Well;--as it do happen, it is something to me. And, Mr. S., if you was asked that question in hany court in England or before even one of the metropolitan bekes, you wouldn't deny it."

"Why the devil should I deny it? What's all this about, Trevelyan?"

"Of course you can't deny it, Mr. S. When I'm down on a fact, I am down on it. Nothing else wouldn't do in my profession."

"Have you anything to say to me, Mr. Bozzle?" asked Trevelyan.

"Well;--I have; just a word."

"About your journey to Devonshire?"

"Well;--in a way it is about my journey to Devonshire. It's all along of the same job, Mr. Trewillian."