“That’s it—eh?” said he.
“Yes, it is,” answered Mrs. Bourne. “He married for the handsome dowry he had with me. Nothing else induced him to make me his wife.”
“And who gave the dowry—if I may make so bold as to inquire?” said Rawton.
“Oh, it’s no secret; I’ll tell you—Lord Fullerton. It answered Bourne’s purpose, for at that time he was a poor man. With the money he had with me he was enabled to make a good appearance, without which a doctor has but little chance of getting on. He is mercenary, cold, cruel, and crafty, and is desirous of espousing the rich widow you saw in the carriage with him the other day. I am the only stumbling-block in the way. Now do you understand why he wanted the marriage certificate?”
“Well, not exactly. How is it possible that he could connect my marriage with you?”
“Doubtless he has heard of something of the sort. Perhaps he is better acquainted with my past history than either you or I imagine. There is no telling. If the idea once entered his head he would cling to it as a drowning man is said to cling to a straw.”
“Well, this quite gets over me—I never heard of such a thing. I wish I had died of starvation before I saw the varmint. That’s all I wish, and bad luck to him! I’m knocked clean out of time, and no mistake.”
“I have told you all, because I believe I can trust you. If he could prove a former marriage, he would have no scruples in casting me adrift without a shilling in the world.”
“He’d never do that, surely.”
“Aye, but he would. Too well I know it. It was a most fatal night for me when you met the doctor, for it will bring ruin and disgrace upon me.”