Victorian Short Stories: Stories of Successful Marriages
General
Victorian Short Stories: Stories of Successful Marriages
Marriage -- Fiction; Short stories
David Heddegan had, indeed, just shown himself at the upper end of the
garden; and the glazier, looking in bewilderment from the husband to
the wife, saw the latter turn pale.
Now that decayed glazier was a far-seeing and cunning man--too
far-seeing and cunning to allow himself to thrive by simple and
straightforward means--and he held his peace, till he could read
more plainly the meaning of this riddle, merely added carelessly,
'Well--marriage do alter a man, 'tis true. I should never ha' knowed
him!'
He then stared oddly at the disconcerted Baptista, and moving on to
where he could again address her, asked her to do him a good turn,
since he once had done the same for her. Understanding that he meant
money, she handed him some, at which he thanked her, and instantly
went away.
VII
She had escaped exposure on this occasion; but the incident had been
an awkward one, and should have suggested to Baptista that sooner or
later the secret must leak out. As it was, she suspected that at any
rate she had not heard the last of the glazier.
In a day or two, when her husband had gone to the old town on the
other side of the island, there came a gentle tap at the door, and
the worthy witness of her first marriage made his appearance a second
time.
'It took me hours to get to the bottom of the mystery--hours!' he said
with a gaze of deep confederacy which offended her pride very deeply.
'But thanks to a good intellect I've done it. Now, ma'am, I'm not a
man to tell tales, even when a tale would be so good as this. But I'm
going back to the mainland again, and a little assistance would be as
rain on thirsty ground.'
'I helped you two days ago,' began Baptista.
'Yes--but what was that, my good lady? Not enough to pay my passage
to Pen-zephyr. I came over on your account, for I thought there was a
mystery somewhere. Now I must go back on my own. Mind this--'twould
be very awkward for you if your old man were to know. He's a queer
temper, though he may be fond.'
She knew as well as her visitor how awkward it would be; and the
hush-money she paid was heavy that day. She had, however, the
satisfaction of watching the man to the steamer, and seeing him
diminish out of sight. But Baptista perceived that the system into
which she had been led of purchasing silence thus was one fatal to her
peace of mind, particularly if it had to be continued.
Hearing no more from the glazier she hoped the difficulty was past.
But another week only had gone by, when, as she was pacing the Giant's
Walk (the name given to the promenade), she met the same personage in
the company of a fat woman carrying a bundle.
'This is the lady, my dear,' he said to his companion. 'This, ma'am,
is my wife. We've come to settle in the town for a time, if so be we
can find room.'
'That you won't do,' said she. 'Nobody can live here who is not
privileged.'
'I am privileged,' said the glazier, 'by my trade.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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