CHAPTER II.
IN THE EARLY DAYS.
I was not a girl, but a woman, when I married Tom. He, a man incapable of grossness in any shape or form, was still a man, healthily natural, of ripe experience in the ways of men. Whatever our faults in the past—if they were faults—the result was to teach us what we could never otherwise have learned, the meaning of wedlock in its last perfection. Don't let any one run down second marriages to me! The way to them must necessarily be painful and troubled, and one always desires passionately to keep one's children out of it; but the end of the journey, bringing together, open-eyed to all the conditions, educated to discriminate and understand, two born mates like Tom and me—ah, well! One mustn't say all one thinks about these matters—except, of course, to him.
Talking of being open-eyed, I was so blind at one time as actually to fancy that he was in no hurry to have me. When I gave him to understand—hardly knowing what I did—that I should die or something without him to take care of me, he said he asked nothing better than to take care of me, God knew, but that how to do it for the best was what bothered him. It did not bother me in the slightest degree. I depended on him—only on him of all the world—and I told him so; and yet he wanted, after that, to send me back to my father with some old woman whom I had never seen, in another ship, while he took the Racer home—which never would have got home, nor he either. And I a married woman, independent in my own right, and over twenty-one! However, I flatly refused to go, except with him, as I had come. He said he would not trust my life to that rotten tub again, and I said—I forget what I said; but I hurt his feelings by it; and then I cried bitterly, and said I would go out and be a housemaid.
The deadlock was suddenly ended by the Racer being condemned by the authorities of the port as unfit for sea again. When that happened we both decided to stay in the new country, and, having him near me, I was quite content to postpone matrimony until things became a little settled. It was soon plain enough that he was not anxious to postpone for the mere sake of doing so; he only wanted a clear understanding with father first, as well as with his owners, and to give me time for second thoughts, and for considering the advice of my family.
It took long for letters to come and go, and I began to be haunted in my walks by a strange man, who—I suppose—admired me. Tom found this out on the same day that he accepted an appointment as chief officer with a Melbourne shipping company. I could not imagine what had happened when he came to see me at my poor lodging with such a resolute face.
"Mary," he said, "who's that fellow hanging round outside? I've seen him several times."
"Tom," I protested sincerely, "I don't know any more than you do. But he is a rude man; he stares at me and follows me, and I can't get rid of him. Of course, he sees that I am——" I was going to say "unprotected," and hastily substituted "alone," which was not much better.
"Well, now, look here—I've got a ship, Mary"—he did not pain me with further explanations on that head; later I wept to think of his subservient position in that ship—"and this means an income, dear. Not much, but perhaps enough——"
"Does it mean that you are going away?" I cried, terrified.