English fiction -- 19th century; Victoria, Queen of Great Britain, 1819-1901 -- Fiction
From seven to nine Tarrant sat resolutely at his table, and covered a
few pages with the kind of composition which now came most easily to
him,--a somewhat virulent sarcasm. He found pleasure in the work; but
after nine o’clock his thoughts strayed to matters of personal interest,
and got beyond control. Would the last post of the evening bring him
an answer to a letter he had despatched this morning? At length he laid
down his pen, and listened nervously for that knock which, at one time
or another, is to all men a heart-shaking sound.
It came at the street door, and was quickly followed by a tap at his
own. Nancy had lost no time in replying. What her letter might contain
he found it impossible to conjecture. Reproaches? Joyous welcome? Wrath?
Forgiveness? He knew her so imperfectly, that he could not feel
sure even as to the probabilities of the case. And his suspense was
abundantly justified. Her answer came upon him with the force of a shock
totally unexpected.
He read the lines again and again; he stared at the bank-note. His
first sensation was one of painful surprise; thereupon succeeded fiery
resentment. Reason put in a modest word, hinting that he had deserved
no better; but he refused to listen. Nothing could excuse so gross an
insult. He had not thought Nancy capable of this behaviour. Tested, she
betrayed the vice of birth. Her imputation upon his motive in marrying
her was sheer vulgar abuse, possible only on vulgar lips. Well and
good; now he knew her; all the torment of conscience he had suffered was
needless. And for the moment he experienced a great relief.
In less than ten minutes letter and bank-note were enclosed in a new
envelope, and addressed back again to the sender. With no word of
comment; she must interpret him as she could, and would. He went out,
and threw the offensive packet into the nearest receptacle for such
things.
Work was over for to-night. After pacing in the obscurity of Dean’s Yard
until his pulse had recovered a normal beat, he issued into the peopled
ways, and turned towards Westminster Bridge.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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