“Who is the bride?” he asked eagerly. “Is it Miss Huntington?” and the young man who knew none of the particulars, and who had once heard that Frederic was to marry a lady of that name, replied: “Yes, I believe it is, or at all events she was his governess.”
Rudolph waited for no more, but started at once for Redstone Hall, chuckling with delight as he thought of the consternation his visit would create. He did not at first recognize Ben, neither did Ben know him, so bloated had he become with drink, and so rough and red with exposure upon the sea.
“Where is the woman they call Mrs. Raymond?” he asked with a sneer; and Ben replied: “Gone with her husband to Ohio.”
“Her husband!” repeated Rudolph. “He isn’t her husband. She has no right to be his wife, and I have come to tell her so.”
“You say that again if you dare!” said Ben, bristling up in Marian’s defense. “You say that Marian ain’t Frederic’s lawful wife, and I’ll show you the door, plaguy quick. I’m boss here now.”
As Ben was speaking, Rudolph remembered that they had met before, but he scarcely heeded that, so intent was he upon the name which Ben had uttered.
“Marian!” he repeated, a light breaking over him; “Is not Isabel Huntington the bride?”
“No, sir,” answered Ben, snapping his fingers almost in the stranger’s face. “She didn’t come that game, though she tried it hard enough. But what do you know about it, any way?”
“I know I’ve been a fool,” answered Rudolph, explaining, in a few words, what he once had done.
“So you wrote that letter, you scullion,” returned Ben. “But it didn’t do no good; and the smartest trick you ever done was to sign yourself green. Ugh!” and Ben’s voice was quite expressive of his contempt. “I don’t blame you so much though,” he continued, “for wantin’ to pester that Isabel, but you’d better let the Lord ’tend to such critters in his own way. He can fix ’em better’n we can,” and Ben proceeded to give an account of the accident in which Isabel’s beauty had been seriously impaired.