"You can speak before my friend here," said Trevelyan. Bozzle had taken a great dislike to Hugh Stanbury, regarding the barrister with a correct instinct as one who was engaged for the time in the same service with himself, and who was his rival in that service. When thus instigated to make as it were a party of three in this delicate and most confidential matter, and to take his rival into his confidence, he shook his head slowly and looked Trevelyan hard in the face,--"Mr. Stanbury is my particular friend," said Trevelyan, "and knows well the circ.u.mstances of this unfortunate affair. You can say anything before him."

Bozzle shook his head again. "I'd rayther not, Mr. Trewillian," said he. "Indeed I'd rayther not. It's something very particular."

"If you take my advice," said Stanbury, "you will not hear him yourself."

"That's your advice, Mr. S.?" asked Mr. Bozzle.

"Yes;--that's my advice. I'd never have anything to do with such a fellow as you as long as I could help it."

"I dare say not, Mr. S.; I dare say not. We're hexpensive, and we're haccurate;--neither of which is much in your line, Mr. S., if I understand about it rightly."

"Mr. Bozzle, if you've got anything to tell, tell it," said Trevelyan angrily.

"A third party is so objectionable," pleaded Bozzle.

"Never mind. That is my affair."

"It is your affair, Mr. Trewillian. There's not a doubt of that. The lady is your wife."

"d.a.m.nation!" shouted Trevelyan.

"But the credit, sir," said Bozzle. "The credit is mine. And here is Mr. S. has been down a interfering with me, and doing no 'varsal good, as I'll undertake to prove by evidence before the affair is over."

"The affair is over," said Stanbury.

"That's as you think, Mr. S. That's where your information goes to, Mr. S. Mine goes a little beyond that, Mr. S. I've means as you can know nothing about, Mr. S. I've irons in the fire, what you're as ignorant on as the babe as isn't born."

"No doubt you have, Mr. Bozzle," said Stanbury.

"I has. And now if it be that I must speak before a third party, Mr.

Trewillian, I'm ready. It ain't that I'm no ways ashamed. I've done my duty, and knows how to do it. And let a counsel be ever so sharp, I never yet was so 'posed but what I could stand up and hold my own.

The Colonel, Mr. Trewillian, got,--a letter,--from your lady,--this morning."

"I don't believe it," said Stanbury, sharply.

"Very likely not, Mr. S. It ain't in my power to say anything whatever about you believing or not believing. But Mr. T.'s lady has wrote the letter; and the Colonel,--he has received it. You don't look after these things, Mr. S. You don't know the ways of 'em. But it's my business. The lady has wrote the letter, and the Colonel,--why, he has received it." Trevelyan had become white with rage when Bozzle first mentioned this continued correspondence between his wife and Colonel Osborne. It never occurred to him to doubt the correctness of the policeman's information, and he regarded Stanbury's a.s.sertion of incredulity as being simply of a piece with his general obstinacy in the matter. At this moment he began to regret that he had called in the a.s.sistance of his friend, and that he had not left the affair altogether in the hands of that much more satisfactory, but still more painful, agent, Mr. Bozzle. He had again seated himself, and for a moment or two remained silent on his chair.

"It ain't my fault, Mr. Trewillian," continued Bozzle, "if this little matter oughtn't never to have been mentioned before a third party."

"It is of no moment," said Trevelyan, in a low voice. "What does it signify who knows it now?"

"Do not believe it, Trevelyan," said Stanbury.

"Very well, Mr. S. Very well. Just as you like. Don't believe it.

Only it's true, and it's my business to find them things out. It's my business, and I finds 'em out. Mr. Trewillian can do as he likes about it. If it's right, why, then it is right. It ain't for me to say nothing about that. But there's the fact. The lady, she has wrote another letter; and the Colonel,--why, he has received it. There ain't nothing wrong about the post-office. If I was to say what was inside of that billydou,--why, then I should be proving what I didn't know; and when it came to standing up in court, I shouldn't be able to hold my own. But as for the letter, the lady wrote it, and the Colonel,--he received it."

"That will do, Mr. Bozzle," said Trevelyan.

"Shall I call again, Mr. Trewillian?"

"No;--yes. I'll send to you, when I want you. You shall hear from me."

"I suppose I'd better be keeping my eyes open about the Colonel's place, Mr. Trewillian?"

"For G.o.d's sake, Trevelyan, do not have anything more to do with this man!"

"That's all very well for you, Mr. S.," said Bozzle. "The lady ain't your wife."

"Can you imagine anything more disgraceful than all this?" said Stanbury.

"Nothing; nothing; nothing!" answered Trevelyan.

"And I'm to keep stirring, and be on the move?" again suggested Bozzle, who prudently required to be fortified by instructions before he devoted his time and talents even to so agreeable a pursuit as that in which he had been engaged.

"You shall hear from me," said Trevelyan.

"Very well;--very well. I wish you good-day, Mr. Trewillian. Mr. S., yours most obedient. There was one other point, Mr. Trewillian."

"What point?" asked Trevelyan, angrily.

"If the lady was to join the Colonel--"

"That will do, Mr. Bozzle," said Trevelyan, again jumping up from his chair. "That will do." So saying, he opened the door, and Bozzle, with a bow, took his departure. "What on earth am I to do? How am I to save her?" said the wretched husband, appealing to his friend.

Stanbury endeavoured with all his eloquence to prove that this latter piece of information from the spy must be incorrect. If such a letter had been written by Mrs. Trevelyan to Colonel Osborne, it must have been done while he, Stanbury, was staying at the Clock House. This seemed to him to be impossible; but he could hardly explain why it should be impossible. She had written to the man before, and had received him when he came to Nuncombe Putney. Why was it even improbable that she should have written to him again? Nevertheless, Stanbury felt sure that she had sent no such letter. "I think I understand her feelings and her mind," said he; "and if so, any such correspondence would be incompatible with her previous conduct."

Trevelyan only smiled at this,--or pretended to smile. He would not discuss the question; but believed implicitly what Bozzle had told him in spite of all Stanbury's arguments. "I can say nothing further," said Stanbury.

"No, my dear fellow. There is nothing further to be said, except this, that I will have my unfortunate wife removed from the decent protection of your mother's roof with the least possible delay. I feel that I owe Mrs. Stanbury the deepest apology for having sent such an inmate to trouble her repose."

"Nonsense!"

"That is what I feel."

"And I say that it is nonsense. If you had never sent that wretched blackguard down to fabricate lies at Nuncombe Putney, my mother's repose would have been all right. As it is, Mrs. Trevelyan can remain where she is till after Christmas. There is not the least necessity for removing her at once. I only meant to say that the arrangement should not be regarded as altogether permanent. I must go to my work now. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Stanbury."

Stanbury paused at the door, and then once more turned round. "I suppose it is of no use my saying anything further; but I wish you to understand fully that I regard your wife as a woman much ill-used, and I think you are punishing her, and yourself, too, with a cruel severity for an indiscretion of the very slightest kind."

CHAPTER XXVII.

MR. TREVELYAN'S LETTER TO HIS WIFE.

Trevelyan, when he was left alone, sat for above a couple of hours contemplating the misery of his position, and endeavouring to teach himself by thinking what ought to be his future conduct. It never occurred to him during these thoughts that it would be well that he should at once take back his wife, either as a matter of duty, or of welfare, for himself or for her. He had taught himself to believe that she had disgraced him; and, though this feeling of disgrace made him so wretched that he wished that he were dead, he would allow himself to make no attempt at questioning the correctness of his conviction. Though he were to be shipwrecked for ever, even that seemed to be preferable to supposing that he had been wrong.

Nevertheless, he loved his wife dearly, and, in the white heat of his anger endeavoured to be merciful to her. When Stanbury accused him of severity, he would not condescend to defend himself; but he told himself then of his great mercy. Was he not as fond of his own boy as any other father, and had he not allowed her to take the child because he had felt that a mother's love was more imperious, more craving in its nature, than the love of a father? Had that been severe? And had he not resolved to allow her every comfort which her unfortunate position,--the self-imposed misfortune of her position,--would allow her to enjoy? She had come to him without a shilling; and yet, bad as her treatment of him had been, he was willing to give enough not only to support her, but her sister also, with every comfort. Severe! No; that, at least, was an undeserved accusation. He had been anything but severe. Foolish he might have been, in taking a wife from a home in which she had been unable to learn the discretion of a matron; too trusting he had been, and too generous,--but certainly not severe. But, of course, as he said to himself, a young man like Stanbury would take the part of a woman with whose sister he was in love. Then he turned his thoughts upon Bozzle, and there came over him a crushing feeling of ignominy, shame, moral dirt, and utter degradation, as he reconsidered his dealings with that ingenious gentleman. He was paying a rogue to watch the steps of a man whom he hated, to pry into the home secrets, to read the letters, to bribe the servants, to record the movements of this rival, this successful rival, in his wife's affections! It was a filthy thing,--and yet what could he do? Gentlemen of old, his own grandfather, or his father, would have taken such a fellow as Colonel Osborne by the throat and have caned him, and afterwards would have shot him, or have stood to be shot. All that was changed now,--but it was not his fault that it was changed. He was willing enough to risk his life, could any opportunity of risking it in this cause be obtained for him. But were he to cudgel Colonel Osborne, he would be simply arrested, and he would then be told that he had disgraced himself foully by striking a man old enough to be his father!