“Still, I think it very natural he should wish to leave Ireland,” said Grace.
“Yes, but would not it have been equally natural for him to wish the same thing eighteen months ago?”
“I cannot see it exactly,” said Scott’s apologist; and disdaining further argument, Mrs. Hartley resumed her perusal of the ‘Times.’
From the foregoing conversation it will be inferred, and rightly, that influence had been at work in the Scott and Hanlon affair. The former was already at liberty, the latter beyond the reach of justice; at least, so far away that justice might be excused for not finding him. Nettie had made her statement, but this was so managed that those parts of the story which might have compromised her were kept in the background, and as no one wished to bring Mr. Hanlon to trial, it was extremely unlikely they would ever be elicited in Court.
To the wretched parents at Hanlon’s-Town John Riley had broken the news himself. He had taken all care and trouble off Nettie, and she clung to him in her distress as a child might have done.
To him, nothing in Ireland seemed so unreal as the sight of Nettie in her widow’s cap and black gown trimmed heavily with crape to express her mourning for the worst man and the worst husband, as Mr. Riley believed, who ever existed.
About Nettie herself, however, there was no pretence.
“I cannot say I am sorry,” she confessed; “I cannot feel sorry. I wish I could, for oh! John, with all my heart and soul I loved him when I was a girl.”
“Poor Nettie! poor little woman! I never repented but once making him marry you,” he answered, stroking her thin face, “and that has been ever since.”
“You did it for the best,” she answered, “and in the worst of my trouble I never doubted that.”