“Walk on—hoot! nonsense, Mr. Charles; ’tisn’t come to that; giving up your house to a one like her.”
“I wish I was dead, Mildred. I don’t know whether it was a good or an evil angel that turned me in here. I’d have been easier by this time if I had gone on, and had my leap from the scaur to the bottom of the glen.”
“None o’ that nonsense, man!” said Mildred, sternly; “ye ha’ brought that poor young lady into a doubtful pass, and ye must stand by her, Charles. You’re come of no cowardly stock, and ye sha’n’t gi’e her up, and your babe that’s comin’, poor little thing, to shame and want for lack of a man’s heart under your ribs. I say, I know nout o’ the rights of it; but God will judge ye if ye leave her now.”
High was Mrs. Tarnley’s head, and very grim she looked as with her hand on his shoulder she shook up “Master Charles” from the drowse of death.
“I won’t, old Tarnley,” he said at last. “You’re right—poor little Alice, the loving little thing!”
He turned suddenly again to the window and wept in silence strange tears of agony.
Old Tarnley looked at him sternly askance. I don’t think she had much pity for him, she was in nowise given to the melting mood, and hardly knew what that sort of whimpering meant.
“I say,” she broke out, “I don’t know the rights of it, how should I? but this I believe, if you thought you were truly married to that woman that’s come to-night, you’d never a found it in your heart to act such a villain’s part by the poor, young, foolish creature upstairs, and make a sham wife o’ her.”
“Never, never, by heaven. I’m no more that wretched woman’s husband than I’m married to you.”
“Mildred knew better than marry any one; there’s little I see but tears and wrinkles, and oftentimes rags and hunger comes of it; but ’twill be done, marryin’ and givin’ in marriage, says the Scriptures, ’tis so now, ’twas so when Noah went into the ark, and ’twill be so when the day of judgment breaks over us.”