The thought that came to Jack Wingfield at the moment of the man’s entrance was that he could easily understand how one might be imposed on by him; but to Priscilla came the thought that she had been right in distrusting him from the first.
He had been shown into the library by the order of Jack; the room was empty; Jack kept him waiting for some minutes before he entered, saying:
“Good morning. Can I do anything for you, Mr. Blaydon?”
“You can,” said the other. “I came here for my wife, and I mean to have her.”
And then Priscilla entered. The man threw out both hands in an artificial, stagey way, and took a step or two toward her.
“Stay where you are,” said Jack imperatively. “You can talk as well standing where you are. Don’t lay so much as a finger upon her. Now, say what you have to say.”
“Isn’t it natural that I should cross the room to meet my own true wedded wife, sir?” said the visitor. “She can’t deny it; if I know anything of her she won’t deny it—we were married according to the rites of God’s holy ordinance in the Church; and those that God hath joined together—but I know she will not deny it.”
“You know nothing of her,” said Jack. “All that you knew of her—all that you cared to know—was that her father had some money which you hoped to get your hands on to cover up the consequence of your fraud. But now you’re going to learn something of her. She escaped by a hair’s breadth from your clutches, and believing you to be dead—the report of your heroic death was another of your frauds, I suppose.”
“I escaped by the mercy of God, sir, and my first thought was for her.”
“Was it? Why was your first thought on getting out of gaol not for her? How was it that you were aboard that vessel?”