'I never called her so.'

'Did she herself a.s.sume the name?'

'It was a wild kind of life up there, Robert, and this was apparent in nothing more than in the names people used. I daresay some of the people did call her Mrs. Caldigate. But they knew she was not my wife.'

'And this man Crinkett?'

'He knew all about it.'

'He had a wife. Did his wife know her?'

'He had quarrelled with his wife at that time and had sent her away from n.o.bble. Mrs. Smith was then living at n.o.bble, and Crinkett knew more about her than I did. She was mad after gold, and it was with Crinkett she was working. I gave her a lot of shares in another mine to leave me.'

'What mine?'

'The Old Stick-in-the-Mud they called it. I had been in partnership with Crinkett and wanted to get out of the thing, and go in altogether for Polyeuka. At that time the woman cared little for husbands or lovers.

She had been bitten with the fury of gold-gambling and, like so many of them, filled her mind with an idea of unlimited wealth. And she had a turn of luck. I suppose she was worth at one time eight or ten thousand pounds.'

'But she did not keep it?'

'I knew but little of her afterwards. I kept out of her way; and though I had dealings with Crinkett, I dropped them as soon as I could.' Then he paused,--but Robert Bolton held his peace with anything but a satisfied countenance. 'Now I think you know all about it.'

'It is a most distressing story.'

'All attempts at robbery and imposition are of course distressing.'

'There is so much in it that is--disgraceful.'

'I deny it altogether,--if you mean disgraceful to me.'

'If it had all been known as it is known now,--as it is known even by your own telling, do you think that I should have consented to your marriage with my sister?'

'Why not?' Robert Bolton shrugged his shoulders. 'And I think, moreover, that had you refused your consent I should have married your sister just the same.'

'Then you know very little about the matter.'

'I don't think there can be any good in going into that. It is at any rate the fact that your sister is my wife. As this demand has been made upon me it was natural that I should wish to discuss it with some one whom I can trust. I tell you all the facts, but I am not going to listen to any fault-finding as to my past life.'

'Poor Hester!'

'Why is she poor? She does not think herself so.'

'Because there is a world of sorrow and trouble before her; and because all that you have told to me must probably be made known to her.'

'She knows it already;--that is, she knows what you mean. I have not told her of the woman's lie, nor of this demand for money. But I shall when she is strong enough to hear it and to talk of it. You are very much mistaken if you think that there are secrets between me and Hester.'

'I don't suppose you will be pleased to hear the story of such a life told in all the public papers.'

'Certainly not;--but it will be an annoyance which I can bear. You or any one else would be very much mistaken who would suppose that life out in those places can go on in the same regular way that it does here.

Gold beneath the ground is a dangerous thing to touch, and few who have had to do with it have come out much freer from misfortune than myself.

As for these people, I don't suppose that I shall hear from them again.

I shall send them both word that not a shilling is to be expected from me.'

There was after this a long discussion as to the nature of the messages to be sent. There was no absolute quarrel between the two men, and the attorney acknowledged to himself that it was now his duty to give the best advice in his power to his brother-in-law; but their manner to each other was changed. It was evident that Robert did not quite believe all that Caldigate told him, and evident also that Caldigate resented this want of confidence. But still each knew that he could not do without the other. Their connection was too firm and too close to be shaken off.

And, therefore, though their tones were hardly friendly, still they consulted as to what should be done. It was at last decided that two messages should be sent by Caldigate, one to Crinkett and the other to Mrs. Smith, and each in the same words. 'No money will be sent you on behalf of the Polyeuka mine,' and that this should be all. Any letter, Robert Bolton thought, would be inexpedient. Then they parted, and the two messages were at once sent.

After a day or two Caldigate recovered his spirits. We all probably know how some trouble will come upon us and for a period seem to quell all that is joyous in our life, and that then by quick degrees the weight of the trouble will grow less, till the natural spring and vivacity of the mind will recover itself, and make little or nothing of that which a few hours ago was felt to be so grievous a burden. So it had been with John Caldigate. He had been man enough to hold up his head when telling his story to Robert Bolton, and to declare that the annoyance would be one that he could bear easily;--but still for some hours after that he had been unhappy. If by sacrificing some considerable sum of money,--even a large sum of money, say ten thousand pounds,--he could at that moment have insured the silence of Crinkett and the woman, he would have paid his money. He knew the world well enough to be aware that he could insure nothing by any such sacrifice. He must defy these claimants;--and then if they chose to come to England with their story, he must bear it as best he could. Those who saw him did not know that aught ailed him, and Robert Bolton spoke no word of the matter to any one at Cambridge.

But Robert Bolton thought very much of it,--so much that on the following day he ran up to London on purpose to discuss the matter with his brother William. How would it be with them, and what would be his duty, if the statement made by the woman should turn out to be true?

What security had they after the story told by Caldigate himself that there had been no marriage? By his own showing he had lived with the woman, had promised to marry her, had acknowledged his promise in the hearing of a clergyman, and had been aware that she had called herself by his name. Then he had given her money to go away. This had been his own story. 'Do you believe him?' he said to his brother William.

'Yes; I do. In the first place, though I can understand from his antecedents and from his surroundings at the time, that he should have lived a loose sort of life when he was out there, I don't think that he is a rascal or even a liar.'

'One wouldn't wish to think so.'

'I do not think so. He doesn't look like it, or talk like it, or act like it.'

'How many cases do we know in which some abominable unexpected villainy has destroyed the happiness and respectability of a family?'

'But what would you do?' asked the barrister. 'She is married to him.

You cannot separate them if you would.'

'No,--poor girl. If it be so, her misery is accomplished; but if it be so she should at once be taken away from him. What a triumph it would be to her mother!'

That is a dreadful thing to say, Robert.'

'But nevertheless true. Think of her warnings and refusals, and of my persistence! But if it be so, not the less must we all insist upon--destroying him. If it be so, he must be punished to the extent of the law.'

William Bolton, however, would not admit that it could be so, and Robert declared that though he suspected,--though in such a case he found himself bound to suspect,--he did not in truth believe that Caldigate had been guilty of so terrible a crime. All probability was against it;--but still it was possible. Then, after much deliberation, it was decided that an agent should be sent out by them to New South Wales, to learn the truth, as far as it could be learned, and to bring back whatever evidence might be collected without making too much noise in the collection of it. Then there arose the question whether Caldigate should be told of this;--but it was decided that it should be done at the joint expense of the two brothers without the knowledge of Hester's husband.

Chapter XXV

The Baby's Sponsors

'Is there anything wrong between you and Robert?' Hester asked this question of her husband, one morning in January, as he was sitting by the side of her sofa in their bedroom. The baby was in her arms, and at that moment there was a question as to the G.o.dfathers and G.o.dmother for the baby.

The letter from Mrs. Smith had arrived on the last day of October, nearly two months before the birth of the baby, and the telegrams refusing to send the money demanded had been despatched on the 1st November,--so that, at this time, Caldigate's mind was accustomed to the burden of the idea. From that day to this he had not often spoken of the matter to Robert Bolton,--nor indeed had there been much conversation between them on other matters. Robert had asked him two or three times whether he had received any reply by the wires. No such message had come; and of course he answered his brother-in-law's questions accordingly;--but he had answered them almost with a look of offence.

The attorney's manner and tone seemed to him to convey reproach; and he was determined that none of the Boltons should have the liberty to find fault with him. It had been suggested, some weeks since, before the baby was born, that an effort should be made to induce Mrs. Bolton to act as G.o.dmother. And, since that, among the names of many other relatives and friends, those of uncle Babington and Robert Bolton had been proposed.

Hester had been particularly anxious that her brother should be asked, because,--as she so often said to her husband,--he had always been her firm friend in the matter of her marriage. But now, when the question was to be settled, John Caldigate shook his head.

'I was afraid there was something even before baby was born,' said the wife.

'There is something, my pet.'