“‘Face to face on deck!’” exclaimed Hetty in dismay.
“‘Face to face on deck!’ Then he was actually coming over on the same ship with yourself?” said the curate, losing much of his self-control.
“Yes, papa. Yes, mamma. He was coming over on the same ship with myself. Coming over under his new name, with his new, deceived bride. They had been married with the greatest éclat in one of the most wealthy and fashionable houses in New York. And they were on their wedding tour.”
Then Jennie gave a detailed account of the meeting between the recreant husband and the wronged wife on board the Scorpio. She described his fright, awe, horror on meeting one whom he believed to be in a pauper’s grave in potter’s field, with the stigma of suicide on her name, and then his slow acceptance of the fact that it was herself in the body, and not an optical illusion created by delirium tremens, that was there before him.
“I had not dreamed of meeting him there, or anywhere else on earth,” said Jennie; “but when I saw him before me, so unexpectedly, I was calmer than he was. I bade him leave me and avoid me, and told him that I should not trouble him while we were, unfortunately, on the ship together, but that I should tell you my whole story and take your advice as to my future course.”
“You did wisely so far,” said the curate.
“Then I told him you were to meet me at Liverpool.”
“Well?”
“He had taken tickets for Liverpool, but he got off, with his party, at Queenstown.”
“Ah!” breathed the curate, “that was prudently done. But now, my child, tell me the alias under which this man is now traveling, and which you said would surprise us very much?”