“Touch your life! why what the devil does the fellow mean!” Jasper interrupted him, starting to his feet, “I never asked you—never asked any man—to do aught that should affect his life.”
“You never did ask me, right out in words, that is a fact, your honor. You was too deep for that, I’m a thinking! But, lord bless ye, I understood ye, for all, as well as if you had asked me. And so, be sure, I went and did it straight. I’d ha’ done any thing to serve your honor—that I would—and I will again, that’s more.”
“In God’s name, what have you done, then?” exclaimed Jasper, utterly bewildered.
“Why, seeing as your honor didn’t wish to have your marriage with Miss Theresa known, and as there wasn’t no way else of hiding it, when the old parson was dead and gone, and a new one coming, I went and cut the record of it out of the church-register, and I’ve got it here, safe enough. So if your honor fancies any time to get tired like of Miss, why you can e’en take another wife, and no one the wiser. There’s not a soul knows aught about it but me, and black Jem Alderly; and we’ll never say a word about it, not we. Nor it wouldn’t matter if we did, for that, when once you’ve got this here paper. And so I was thinking, if your honor would just give me five hundred guineas down, I’d hand it over, and you could just put it in the fire, if you choosed, and no one the wiser.”
Jasper cast his eyes up to heaven in despair, and wrung his hands bitterly.
“Great God!” he said, “I would give five thousand if you could undo this that you have done. I will give you five thousand if you will replace the leaf where it was, undiscovered.”
“It ain’t possible,” replied the man. “The new vicar he has looked over all the register, and made a copy of it; and he keeps it locked up, too, under his own key, so that, for my life, I could not get it, if I would. And I’d be found out, sure as God—and it’s hanging by the law! nothing less. But what does it signify, if I may be so bold, your honor?”
“When my poor father died, all cause of concealment was at an end; and I wished this very day to acknowledge my marriage with Mrs. St. Aubyn.”
The man uttered a low expressive whistle, as who should say, “Here is a change, with a vengeance!” But he dared not express what he thought, and answered humbly,
“Well, your honor, I don’t see how this alters it. You have nothing to do but to acknowledge madam as your wife, and there’s no one will think of asking when you were married, nor hasn’t no right to do so neither. And if they should, you can say the Doctor married you in his own parlor, and I can swear to that, your honor; if you want me, any time; and so’ll Jem Alderly; and this writing, that I’ll give you, will prove it any time, for it’s in the Doctor’s own hand-writing, and signed by the witnesses. So just you give me the five hundred, and I’ll give you the register; and you can do as you will with it, your honor. But if I was your honor, and you was Peter Verity, I’d just tell the servants, as Madam was my wife, and interduce her as Mistress St. Aubyn like; but I’d not say when nor where, nor nothing about it; and I’d just keep this here paper snug; as I could perduce it, if I wanted, or make away with it, if I wanted; it’s good to have two strings to your bow always.”