‘So we all said,’ assented Miss Marjory—‘all but Nelly, who was convinced that some evil chance had befallen him. There had been a bad coaching accident somewhere in the country on the day he had left her, and she was fully persuaded that he had been killed in it. Nobody else believed this theory, for we had none of us liked the young man, who was vulgar and pretentious, without having anything to recommend him. I told Nelly that no doubt his movements could be traced, and her suspicion either verified or overthrown; and that if he was still living he could be made to support her. But her pride revolted against such a course. She showed what I considered a very proper spirit, and said that if he had left her of his own free will, he might leave her. She would never force herself where she was not wanted, and make him support her, now that he was tired of her, and despised her love. If he was dead, as she believed, search would be useless; and if not, she would still not have him found. He could come back to her of his own accord if he would; if not, he might stay away, and she would never trouble him more. We Whitbury people believed she had judged wisely for herself—such a marriage could only end in unhappiness—and we all pitied and helped her, for she was an orphan, poor child, and had no relatives in the neighbourhood.’
Tor was listening intently, an uncomfortable feeling growing up in his mind.
‘Did she live long?’ he asked. ‘I suppose she is not alive now?’
‘No. She lived several years though, and brought up her little boy, Alfred, well and respectably; but when he was about four or five years old, as nearly as I can remember, her health failed very much, and the charge of the child became more of a burden than she could undertake. I found a home for the boy in an institution, where he would be well cared for, and taught a useful trade; and his mother, quite satisfied, went to live with some relatives in the South of England, who had offered her a home. I heard from her from time to time, and then I went abroad for a couple of years, during which period her letters quite ceased. When I came back, and could make inquiries, I found out that she had died, though how and when, I do not exactly know.’
When she had died was, in Tor’s mind, an important point. Miss Marjory and he were both thinking the same thing.
‘Do you know when your uncle’s second marriage took place?’ asked Miss Marjory abruptly.
‘I have been considering—I think it must have been in or very much about the year 1850.’
‘Nelly Belassis was living in November, 1849,’ remarked Miss Marjory—‘living, and in fair health, for I heard from her then. I do not know how long she lived afterwards.’
‘But surely Belassis knew,’ said Tor. ‘He is a villain, and a clumsy villain, too; but I think he knows better than to perpetrate bigamy. He must have kept his eye upon her, and verified her death.’
‘It is possible, of course; but I do not know how he managed it, if he did. Nelly never heard one syllable from him during the years that followed the desertion, and you may be sure he would not let his face be seen in Whitbury. He had left too many bad debts behind him, perpetrated too many questionable actions, in addition to his conduct towards poor Nelly, ever to care to appear here again in a hurry. When Nelly left, I believe nobody but myself knew whither she had gone; so that, even if he did start an inquiry after her, there is every probability he would have been baffled. It is my very firm impression that he just looked upon his doings here as a crop of wild oats that he had sown in his youth; and trusted to the thousand and one chances of life, that if ever there came to be a harvest, it would not be his hand that would reap it.’