"Ha! and how is she a-doing, sir?"
"She is mad—undoubtedly driven mad by the outrage that has been perpetrated upon her and hers."
"Tom was saying she was off her head, and why, 'cause he heard her sing and laugh. Singing and laughing ain't no sign of madness. I asked Mariana the question plain, and he says 'No' to it—'No,' in the hearing of us all; but now you've seen her, sir, and she is mad?"
"She is utterly mad. Mad as from a broken heart. She sits like a figure-head, without a stir."
I paused. "She is no more Don Christoval's wife than I am," said I.
"Are you sure of that?" he cried, sharply.
"I have been almost sure of it for some time—I am quite sure of it now."
He looked as alarmed as a man with strong bushy whiskers and a skin veneered with mahogany by the weather could well appear. "How have ye made sure, Mr. Portlack?"
"She has no wedding ring."
He chewed upon this and then said: "But a wedding ring ben't no infallible sign of marriage, is it, sir? I've heered my mother say that she once lost her wedding ring and was always going to buy another, but didn't, and for years she went without a wedding ring, though father was alive most of the time, and a perticlar man, too."