“Yes, mamma! Yes, papa! It is true as truth. Your landlord and patron, the new Squire of Haymore, for whose home-coming with his bride all these gorgeous preparations have been made, is no other than my husband, your son-in-law, ex-captain of Foot, Kightly Montgomery, who metaphorically fled from before your face by landing at Queenstown, to avoid meeting you at Liverpool.”
“Oh, Hetty! Hetty!” said the curate, appealing to his wife, “what is this world coming to?”
“To judgment one of these days, Jimmy, according to your own preaching! ‘Reck your own read,’ Jimmy. And take comfort, as I do, that whatever has been, or is, or is to be, we have our darling daughter and her babe safe at home!” paid Hetty, closing her arm around Jennie’s waist and squeezing her fondly.
“And what a complication! The scoundrel—Heaven forgive me, the word slipped out!—the man slunk off the steamer at Queenstown for fear of meeting me at Liverpool, and now he is walking unaware into my very arms!”
“And I don’t believe that your arms will fold him in a very fond embrace!” exclaimed Hetty.
“If they had but the strength I fear it would be in the grizzly bear’s hug, or the boa constrictor’s crush!” exclaimed the curate, gasping.
“But the mad audacity of his coming here, where you are! I don’t understand it,” said Hetty.
“My dear, he does not dream that I am here! How should he? He thinks that we are all at Medge, on the south coast, with the length of England between us and Haymore!”
“So! I forgot that! What shall you do, Jimmy?”
“Nothing at present; but wait for his coming; then I will confront him and expose him to the lady he has deceived and feloniously married. Meanwhile, Hetty and Jennie, my dears, breathe not a word of this secret to any one, whoever he or she may be. The effrontery of the man in calling himself Randolph Hay, and claiming the Haymore estates, is nothing less than insanity! And the credulity of lawyers in allowing his claim is past belief!”