“She didn’t know it was my own husband,” said Nelly. “But that wasn’t the only thing she told me.” “And it wasn’t the only thing _he_ tould _me_.” said Davy. “He tould me all your secrets--that your husband had deserted you because he was a brute and a blackguard.” “I have never said so,” cried Nelly. “Who dares to say I have? I have never opened my lips to any living man against you. But you are measuring me by your own yard, sir; for you led _her_ to believe that I was a cat and a shrew and a nagger, and a thankless wretch who ought to be put down by the law just as it puts down biting dogs.” “Now, begging you pardon, ma’am,” said Davy; “but that’s a damned lie, whoever made it.” After this burst there was a pause and a hush, and then Nelly said, “It’s easy to say that when she isn’t here to contradict you; but wait, sir, only wait.” “And it’s aisy for you to say yonder,” said Davy, “when he isn’t come to deny it--but take your time, ma’am, take your time.” “Who is it?” said Nelly. “No matter,” said Davy. “Who is the man,” demanded Nelly. “My friend Lovibond,” answered Davy. “Lovibond!” cried Nelly. “The same,” groaned Davy. “Mr. Lovibond!” cried Nelly again. “Aw--keep it up, ma’am; keep it up!” said Davy. “And, manewhile, if you plaze, who is the woman?” “My friend Jenny Crow,” said Nelly. Then there was another pause. “And did she tell you that I had agreed to meet her?” said Davy. “She did,” said Nelly. “And did _he_ tell _you_ that I had appointed to meet _him?_” “Yes, did he,” said Davy. “At eight o’clock, did she say?” “Yes, eight o’clock,” said Nelly. “Did _he_ say eight?” “He did,” said Davy. The loud voices of a moment before had suddenly dropped to broken whispers. Davy made a prolonged whistle. “Stop,” said he; “haven’t you been in the habit of meeting him?” “I have never seen him but once,” said Nelly. “But haven’t _you_ been in the habit of meeting _her?_” “Never set eyes on the little skute but twice altogether,” said Davy. “But didn’t he see you first in St. Thomas’s, and didn’t you speak with him on the shore--” “I’ve never been in St. Thomas’s in my life!” said Nelly. “But didn’t you meet her first on the Head above Port Soderick, and to go to Laxey, and come home with her in the coach?” “Not I,” said Davy. “Then the stories she told me of the Manx sailor were all imagination, were they?” said Nelly. “And the yarns _he_ tould _me_ of the girl in the church were all make-ups, eh?” said Davy. “Dear me, what a pair of deceitful people!” said Nelly. “My gough! what a couple of cuffers!” said Davy. There was another pause, and then Davy began to laugh. First came a low gurgle like that of suppressed bubbles in a fountain, then a sharp, crackling breaker of sound, and then a long, deep roar of liberated mirth that seemed to shake and heave the whole man, and to convulse the very air around him.