In a day or two after this it was returned to the post-office at Sheffield.
On the envelope was marked, “Gone away. Not known where.”
His worst fears were confirmed. He uttered anathemas loud and deep not only against Bessie Dalton, but the whole sex generally. He was wild with fury, and, like M. Mallet, tore up the letter in a thousand pieces.
“The perfidious, worthless, little hussy,” he ejaculated. “The ungrateful, deceitful minx to serve me like this. Gone away, and not known where. Oh, she’s made a bolt of it, that’s quite certain. There’s no dependence to be placed on women—they are all alike. Once out of your sight you stand but a poor chance. Still, hang it all, I never expected she would have served me like this.”
He had a burning desire to know the reason for her leaving Bradford, and as the days passed over this feeling became intensified.
He could not rest without making an effort to clear up the “mystery,” as he termed it.
He took the train to Bradford, and hastened at once to his old quarters in that town.
Bristow was not at home. This he was glad of. He inquired for the landlord, who at once made his appearance.
“So Bessie Dalton’s left, I hear?” said Peace, after the usual civilities had been exchanged.
“Yes, Mr. Peace, she’s gone. So also has Mrs. Bristow, and I don’t expect her husband will remain long. He’ll have to ‘bunk’ if he goes on as he has been of late.”