“But then,” continued Tim, “I held up, sir, though I could have broken down a score of times, and I spurred myself on by thinking of the way she used to treat poor little Pine, till, seeing me flourish the sleeve-board about in that mad way, sir, the wicked creature was frightened for her life, and, jumping up, and giving me a push, she darted out of the room, and before I got over my surprise, sir, she was gone. And perhaps it was best, sir, or in my rage I might so far have forgotten myself as to have struck her, when, you know, sir, I should never after have forgiven myself—never, so sure as my name is Tim Ruggles.”
“It’s very sad,” said Mrs Jared, for Tim had paused; “but, of course, after the fright is over, she will come back.”
“Never, ma’am, never,” said Tim. “She has opened a gulf between us, ma’am, that there would be no bridging over—authority for saying so. I’m now, ma’am, what I ought always to have been since my poor wife was taken from me—a widower, and I mean to keep so. No, ma’am, I’m not sorry she’s gone; for though a wonderful woman, ma’am, a most strong-minded woman, ma’am, she was not happy in her ways; and since she has left me, I’ve been thinking things over, and seeing them a little clearer than I used to, and I’m afraid I didn’t do my duty by some one who is passed away and gone. But I’m sorry, sir and ma’am, and what more can I say? being only a weak man, and thinking I was doing all for the best; though I don’t mind saying to you, sir, that what some one else said was quite right: Mrs Ruggles did marry me. But it’s all over now, sir: she has gone, and I didn’t strike her, sir; for I never should have forgiven myself if I’d struck a woman, bad as she might be.”
“Well,” said Jared, kindly; “and now suppose we say, let all this be forgotten, and sit down.”
“No, sir, not yet,” said Tim, “not yet. I’m not done, sir, I’ve something else to tell you, but perhaps it would be best that Miss Patty should not stay, and you can tell her yourselves afterwards.”
Patty rose and left the room.
“You see,” said Tim, “I had a visit only yesterday from a decent-looking lady who came with a little quiet knock; and at first I thought she was making a mistake and had come to the wrong room. But no, she knew me well enough, though I did not remember her pale worn face for a minute, until I knew her all at once as little Pine’s mother, when, ma’am, I could have run away if I’d had a chance. It did seem so hard to tell her, when she came almost in a threatening way like to ask me for her child, and when I told her it was dead and gone, it was heartbreaking to see how she took on, and said I’d killed it at first; but the next moment she turned wild and strange, and said the child was not dead, but that I had joined with Mr Richard Pellet to keep her little one from her. And then I was quite frightened, for she told me she was mad, and that she was Mrs Richard Pellet, and that little Pine was her own dear child; and what with wondering whether what she said was true, and puzzling how it could be that my darling was yours too, I got wuzzled; but I told her all I could, and begged of her to listen, but the poor thing seemed quite frantic with her sorrow, and I had to let her go, believing me a cheat and a liar, and that I had been cruel to poor little Pine.
“But there,” said Tim, after a pause, “I could only pity her, poor thing, and hope that Time would make all things come right, as I hope he will, sir. But he seems a terrible long while about it, and I’m afraid it won’t be in my day; at least I can’t seem to see it.”
Then Tim found out that he must go, and he hurried away as if not a moment were to be lost, satisfied now, he said, that he had set himself right, while Jared and his wife stood together thoughtful and silent, the latter with tears in her eyes reproaching herself for not seeing through the mystery sooner.
“For, O Jared!” she said, “if we had only had the poor little thing here, who can tell but its life might have been saved!”