Presently the doctor emerged from the portico of his residence, jumped into the carriage by the side of the lady, and the vehicle rumbled over the stones.
CHAPTER XCIV.
BILL AND THE DOCTOR’S WIFE—A TALE OF SORROW AND MISERY.
Mr. William Rawton, when he left the doctor’s residence, returned to the wretched lodging-house where he had taken up his quarters for a brief period during his sojourn in the metropolis. The events of the last two or three days had made a deep impression on him.
He was not a man given to sentimental or moral reflections upon either the past, present, or future, but he was, nevertheless, forcibly impressed with the remarkable series of coincidences which had recently taken place, and the appearance and manner of the woman whom he had wooed and won in the outset of his career gave unmistakable indication of the dark mystery which was hanging over her and enshrouding her even as a funeral pall.
Bandy-legged Bill was puzzled—there was evidently something lying beneath the surface, but what that something was he was at a loss to divine.
He felt abashed and humiliated when in the presence of Mrs. Bourne, and had it not been for his strong desire to learn something more about her, the chances were that he would never have sought her again; but he was “down upon his luck,” as he termed it, and did not know which way to turn. He had never in the whole course of his life been at so low an ebb as at this particular period; nevertheless, to do him justice, it was not for himself that he was so much concerned, as for the woman whom he had known in an earlier day as Hester Teige.
Bill Rawton, beyond a certain amount of good nature, had but little to recommend him. He had been a dodger and a cheat from boyhood, and his moral principles had in no way improved as he grew older. Nevertheless, deep down in the bottom of the heart of this coarse, common man there was one touch of honour and good feeling. Under any circumstances he would not of his “own free will” round upon the girl whom he had once loved; nay, more, he would not harm her by word or deed; and if he had thought she was happy in her present position he had sufficient respect for her never to trouble her again with his presence. For he had sunk so low in the social scale that he felt he was a disgrace to her. When he thought of this his dark, swarthy face wore a troubled expression, and something like a tear stood in his eyes. Many of my readers will find it difficult to believe that anything good and pure could be found left in the callous and hardened nature of the gipsy. My answer to this is, that it is nevertheless a fact. Bandy-legged Bill is sketched from nature, and many of the incidents I have described in his course are founded on actual facts, and are in short real occurrences.
Bill pondered over the words which had fallen from the lips of Doctor Bourne, and as he did so he felt they had a significant meaning. What this was he could not at present determine.
“He thinks me a bad lot, of course,” muttered the gipsy. “And I suppose he’s not far out in his reckoning. I look about as great a wretch as it is well possible to conceive—so people tell me. They seldom flatter a bloke who is so low down as I am at present. The fact is, I’m ashamed to present myself at a respectable house. That’s not to be wondered at.”