“Ho! Simon.” And laying down the reins, George drew out his wallet, and taking therefrom a bit of silk goods, he turned upon my astonished gaze a woe-begone look, and said,—
“Ad, she’s mum-mum-married—”
“Married!”
“Yes, married; and there’s a piece of her wedding gown. The fellow you saw come in while there, with the bundle on a stick,—the land-lubberish-looking fellow,—was her husband. O my God! Did you ever?” And so relieving his mind, he caught the reins and whip, and away darted Simon at a fearful rate of speed.
At Bangor I said to George,—
“Well, there probably is no love lost on either side. She sold out at the first bid, and you never had the least hold on her affections.”
“Ah, I have had her confidence in too many moonlight walks to believe that,” was his reply.
“And it was all moonshine,—that’s evident,” I said.
“No, no; I wish it was. I never shall love again,” said George, with a deep sigh, and a sorry-looking cast of countenance.