The gipsy hesitated.
“Well,” he observed, after a long pause, “perhaps you are right, marm. I may need a little ready rhino to carry out a little bit of business on my own account.
“I hope it is not a dishonest one,” cried Mrs. Bourne, with some concern.
“You’ve no call to be alarmed. What I am agoing to do is right enough—leastways what I hope to do.”
Mrs. Bourne had no very exalted notion of her companion’s honesty, or way of life, about which, however, she knew nothing, but she guessed rightly enough that he had fallen into evil courses, and was therefore a discredit to her, and all who might happen to be acquainted with him; nevertheless she felt assured that he would not willingly harm her by word or deed. It was a terrible thing that he had become acquainted with her husband, as from this very fact ruin and disgrace might fall upon her in a way that she had never for a moment contemplated.
“I will not make any further inquiries,” said she. “All I might say would not alter your course of action, and therefore the least said the better, but I am free to confess that I tremble for the future. Your presence here has been most fatal to my happiness and peace of mind. If this man, my husband, could find any means of getting rid of me he would be but too glad to avail himself of the same, for I feel assured that I am a stumbling block in his way, which doubtless he will find some means of removing. Oh, no one knows but myself what I have suffered—what daily, what hourly dread I am in of this man. What if he should find out the church in which we were married? What if he should produce the certificate of the same? Oh, why has all this come to pass? I deemed you dead; could have sworn it.”
“You have not seen or heard anything of me for over twenty years, and you had a right to conclude I was dead. He can do nothing, rest assured of that. Hang him, I’ll take very good care that he won’t have it in his power. Be of good cheer, marm; when next we meet I hope to bring you good news, and so farewell for the present.”
Rawton rose from his seat, and, taking four sovereigns from the heap of gold before him, he descended the stairs and passed out of the house.
“Oh, heaven save me,” ejaculated Mrs. Bourne, “I am now in his power, but still I think I may trust him. I hope so, lost and fallen man as he is. Oh, Amy, it’s you?”
“Yes, marm,” answered the girl, who had crept into the room immediately after she heard the gipsy take his departure. “But how troubled you look!” cried the maid, as she glanced at her mistress. “What does that dreadful man want?”