"Not a bit of it. Are you sorry? You can pinch us if you like—we are really flesh and blood; and you shall see us eat, for here comes dinner. The Richmond air has given us an appetite."
After dinner I heard their wonderful story. Early in life they had loved each other, but a malicious friend, in the interests of Murray, separated them. When they again met, a few words of explanation from both sides showed them that they had been made the victims of a clever plot; but, unfortunately, Isabella Crighton had in the interval—in a mad fit of jealousy—changed her name, and given herself to a man nearly thrice her age.
They agreed that the proper thing to do was not to refer to the past again, and meet as seldom as possible. But such resolutions, wherever they were recorded, were soon broken; and now that it was necessary that there should be restraint, the old passion revived with redoubled force. The husband originally intended to accompany his wife to the theatre on that eventful evening, but was prevented, owing to a sharp attack of gout. The piece—it was "Othello"—did not have much of their attention, their conversation was to them of far deeper interest. Graham told Mrs. Murray of his desperate circumstances, and that in a day or two he would be off to Australia.
There were tears shed, as is usual on such occasions, and the lady never expected to see her lover again, when such a vast waste of waters lay between them. As many of my readers probably remember, when the fire did break out, the theatre was consumed in an incredibly short space of time. Graham saw his opportunity—I told you he was good at getting out of scrapes—and when his startling proposal was whispered into the ear of his fair companion, I am afraid there was not much resistance. In the confusion they got to the Waverley Station unobserved, and took the first train going south.
In Australia Graham soon recovered his position, and when the death of Mr. Murray was announced he immediately married the partner of his flight. He was now arranging with his solicitor to pay his creditors in full, and settle down in the neighbourhood of London. I spent a gay and pleasant evening with my two "defunct" friends, and rated them soundly for not letting me into their secret. On rising to depart, at a very late hour, Graham said, with all the old mischief beaming in his eyes—
"We have often laughed over your evidence in the Scotsman. We are deeply indebted to you. You settled us both in the most conclusive manner. By the way, I owe you some recompense."
"What for?"
"I kept the programme, but sacrificed your glasses."