The Yellow Flag: A Novel. Volume 1 (of 3)Yates, Edmund
General
The Yellow Flag: A Novel. Volume 1 (of 3)
Yates, Edmund
Fiction
Humphrey Statham fell back like a man stunned by a heavy blow. He had
come down there to carry out the wish of his life; to tell the woman
whom, in the inmost depths of his big manly heart he worshipped, that
the hope of his life was at last accomplished, and that he was at
length enabled to take her away, to give her a good position, and to
devote the remainder of his existence to her service. She was not
there to hear his triumphant avowal--she had fled, no one knew where,
and he saw plainly enough that, not merely was all sympathy withheld
from him, but that he was suspected by the neighbours to have been
privy to, and probably the accomplice of, her flight, and that his
arrival there a few days afterwards with the apparent view of making
inquiries was merely an attempt to hoodwink them, and to divert the
search which might possibly be made after her into another direction.
Under such circumstances, an ordinary man would have fallen into a
fury, and burst out into wild lamentation or passionate invective; but
Humphrey Statham was not an ordinary man. He knew himself guiltless of
the crime of which by Emily's friends and neighbours he was evidently
suspected, but he also knew that the mere fact of her elopement, or at
all events of her quitting her home without consulting him on the
subject, showed that she had no love for him, and that therefore he
had no right to interfere with her actions. He told the neighbours
this in hard, measured accents, with stony eyes and colourless cheeks.
But when he saw that even then they disbelieved him, that even then
they thought he knew more of Emily Mitchell's whereabouts than he
cared to say, he instructed the local authorities to make such
inquiries as lay in their power, and, offered a reward for Emily
Mitchell's discovery to the police. He returned, to London an altered
man; his one hope in life had been rudely extinguished, and there was
nothing now left for him to care for. He had a competency, but it was
valueless to him now; the only one way left to him of temporarily
putting aside his great grief was by plunging into work, and busying
his mind with those commercial details which at one time he had so
fervently abhorred, and now, when it was no longer a necessity for
him, business came to him in galore, his name and fame were
established in the great City community, and no man in his position
was more respected, or had a larger number of clients.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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