A CRUEL DESERTION.
A WEEK or two before these painful events happened at "Norston's Rest," Judith Hart had been expecting to see Storms day after day till disappointment kindled into fiery impatience, and the stillness of her home became intolerable. Had he, in fact, taken offence at her first words of reproach, and left her to the dreary old life? Had her rude passion of jealousy driven him from her forever, or was there some truth in the engagement that woman spoke of?
Again and again Judith pondered over these questions, sometimes angry with herself, and again filled with a burning desire to know the worst, and hurl her rage and humiliation on some one else.
She was a shrewd girl, endowed with a sharp intellect and a will, that stopped at nothing in its reckless assumption. To this was added a vivid imagination, influenced by coarse reading, uncurbed affections, and, in this case, an intense passion of love, that lay ready to join all these qualities into actions as steam conquers the inertia of iron. One day, when her desire for the presence of that man had become a desperate longing, her father came home earlier than usual, and in his kindly way told her that he had seen young Storms in the village where he had loitered half the morning around the public house.
Judith was getting supper for the old man when he told her this; but she dropped the loaf from her hands and turned upon him, as if the news so gently spoken had offended her.
"You saw Mr. Storms in the village, father? He stayed there hour after hour, and, at last, rode away up the hill-road, too, without stopping here? I don't believe it; if you told me so a thousand times, I wouldn't believe it!"
The old man shook his head, and replied apologetically, as if he wished himself in the wrong, "You needn't believe it, daughter, if you'd rather not. I shall not mind."
"But is it true? Was it Mr. Storms, the young gentleman, who took tea with us, that you saw?"
"Of course, I don't want to contradict you, daughter Judith, but the young man I saw was Richard Storms. He stayed a long time at the public house talking with the landlord; then rode away on his blood horse like a prince."
"Hours in the village, within a stone's throw from the house, and never once turned this way," muttered the girl, between her teeth; and seizing upon the loaf, she pressed it to her bosom, cutting through it with a dangerous sweep of the knife.