Holwood had enjoined the strictest secrecy on Jane; he had assured her that his relatives would throw him over, do nothing for him to obtain a situation under Government should they get wind of his marriage. Later on he assured her that so soon as he had his foot on the ladder and was independent of his family he would acknowledge his marriage.
The only man in the secret had been Olver Dench, a comrade of Jane's father.
For a while Holwood had been intoxicated by his happiness, but reflection returned with sobering effect.
He received a summons to return to town. His appointment had been gazetted. He left Lyme with many assurances to Jane that he would shortly be back.
Not till he reached London, and was among his friends and kinsfolk, did he realise how grave had been the step he had taken. He had left Lyme full of generous resolution that became limp directly he arrived in town. Surrounded by old associations, in the cultured drawing-rooms of the capital, he felt the incongruity of his marriage. He dared not bring Jane to London. To do so would be to affront his kindred, to exclude himself from society, and to bar his prospects of advancement.
He could not pluck up courage to acknowledge what he had done; he postponed doing so till more convenient. The cowardice which interfered with his doing what was right induced boldness in doing that which was wrong. He returned to Lyme more than once, but was no longer happy with his wife, and under the plea that his duties recalled him, made but short stays with her. He dared not even hint his unwillingness to acknowledge her. His restless manner, his decay of cheerfulness, filled her with apprehension.
One day, on this very stone, she had told him of her expectations, thinking thereby to give him pleasure, and to bring from his heart a new wave of tenderness. Then he had sworn to her to stand by her and her child, and he had taken this oath after having already arranged with Dench to forsake her. He had talked over his embarrassment with Olver, and had settled with him to be his paymaster, and give quarterly to Jane such sums as would be forwarded to him.
Jane had sufficient sense to recognise that the social conditions of herself and her husband were very different, and she had plucked up sufficient courage to speak to him about it.
'Joseph,' she said, 'I understand that you are a gentleman and a scholar, and have grand relations. I should be miserable among them. They would laugh at me and my country ways. That would make you angry, and in defending me you would get across with them. Joseph,' she continued, and laid her hand on his arm, and looked into his face with tear-brimming eyes, 'Joseph, let it be thought that I am not your wife, only come often to me; come to me and to your child. I do not ask for more. I know that I am an honest woman: but it is no odds to me if my good name suffer rather than that you should be put into difficulties. I can bear that, but I cannot bear to lose you.'
It was on her saying this that he had protested fidelity whilst falsehood was in his heart, and from that hour he had not set eyes on her.