“What orders did she give about forwarding her letters, then?”
“None, sir. My husband did venture to ask her that question, but she told him she did not expect any.”
Colonel Dacre began to understand, at last, that Lady Gwendolyn was fleeing from a temptation she could not resist, and an expression of triumph darkened his handsome eyes. When he found her he would command rather than plead, for she belonged to him by right of their mutual love.
He was so absorbed in this thought that he quite forgot where he was, until old Hannah inquired, tartly, if he was going to stay all night, when he apologized with a pleasant laugh and said, as he proffered the two half-crowns again:
“You may accept them with a clear conscience now, for you have fairly earned them. I would give twenty pounds myself gladly for an hour of good, honest, tranquil sleep, such as I have deprived you of.”
“La! sir,” said old Hannah; “then why don’t you go home and go to bed at once?”
“Because it would be of no use. I should only turn and toss about until morning.”
“How funny! I never turn until I turn out of bed. Perhaps you’ve got something on your mind, sir. There was Joshua Billing, in our village, who murdered his wife; he was that miserable he couldn’t lay of nights, and got up and hanged hisself at last, leaving a letter to say that his wife haunted him, so he couldn’t abide his life.”
“Anyhow, I haven’t murdered my wife,” said Colonel Dacre, in spite of himself. “The fact is, I haven’t a wife to murder.”
“Ah! poor gentleman, that accounts for your looking so bad!” returned Hannah, who had the fullest faith in matrimony. “My husband would be a dreadful poor creature without me.”