“So soon, Cis, that the time will seem like nothing. And now I must be off—they’ll be waiting. Say good-bye to your husband....”
It seemed as if hot weather or hot pork, or both, had wrought deleteriously again on Eastwood Ellah. Whether these iggs of his were (as Monjoy had upbraided him) assumed or not made very little difference in the result; for you may reckon a man crazed who is crazy enough to desire to appear so. What Cicely had not told Arthur was of another of these attacks, in which, soothing his head with her hands, she had found herself suddenly laid hold of again; and she now went in fear of him, and barred the door of her chamber at night. Once, though she had not heard him ascend, she had seen, from the inside, the sneck of the door lift noiselessly of itself; and for hours, lying awake and clothed and trembling, she had listened to the furious racket of his loom in the adjoining chamber.
About that time there befell a sequel to the parson’s wedding of which Pim o’ Cuddy, none other, was the hero. The renewal of lease (so to speak) that his second wedding had given to his connubial bliss lapsed, and again his wife left him. But this leaving was different.
That is to say, the leaving itself was much the same, for Pim carried her basket as far as her mother’s doorstep and there bade her a dejected farewell; but this occasion was remarkable for what followed after Pim had returned home, locked his door, and betaken him to his reft couch.
He had not closed his eyes before he heard a soft whistle outside. It was the whistle of a neighbour, who, through the keyhole, informed him of something that had taken place down the street.
“What!” cried Pim hoarsely, and the neighbour repeated his tidings. It seemed that there had been words between Mrs. Pim and her mother, and for temper, the choice of the pair of them was between vinegar and vinegar.
“Tell me again what shoo said,” whispered Pim, incredulously through the keyhole.
“Shoo said, shoo could pack off back. Shoo were fooil eniff to wed him th’ first time, shoo said, but th’ second, shoo’d ha’ to stand tul it. ‘Trot,’ shoo said, and slammed th’ window down. Shoo’s sitting on her basket now.”
Pim returned to bed.
Never had sheets seemed so delicious nor pillows so downy-soft. Pim hugged and loved himself in his glee. Twice he heard soft steps approach beneath his window—his wife was struggling with the humiliation of return; and the bed shook with his silent merriment. “Shoo were fooil eniff th’ first time, shoo can stand tul it now!” Pim o’ Cuddy had to gag himself with a pillow. It is not often we have the chance to live a score of years over again with everything come to pass exactly as we would have had it.