IN THE HOUSE.
NOTICING Mr. Bashwood's confusion (after a moment's glance at the change in his personal appearance), Midwinter spoke first.
"I see I have surprised you," he said. "You are looking, Isuppose, for somebody else? Have you heard from Allan? Is he on his way home again already?"The inquiry about Allan, though it would naturally have suggested itself to any one in Midwinter's position at that moment, added to Mr. Bashwood's confusion. Not knowing how else to extricate himself from the critical position in which he was placed, he took refuge in ****** denial.
"I know nothing about Mr. Armadale--oh dear, no, sir, I know nothing about Mr. Armadale," he answered, with needless eagerness and hurry. "Welcome back to England, sir," he went on, changing the subject in his nervously talkative manner. "I didn't know you had been abroad. It's so long since we have had the pleasure--since I have had the pleasure. Have you enjoyed yourself, sir, in foreign parts? Such different manners from ours--yes, yes, yes--such different manners from ours! Do you make a long stay in England, now you have come back?""I hardly know," said Midwinter. "I have been obliged to alter my plans, and to come to England unexpectedly." He hesitated a little; his manner changed, and he added, in lower tones: "Aserious anxiety has brought me back. I can't say what my plans will be until that anxiety is set at rest."The light of a lamp fell on his face while he spoke, and Mr.
Bashwood observed, for the first time, that he looked sadly worn and changed.
"I'm sorry, sir--I'm sure I'm very sorry. If I could be of any use--" suggested Mr. Bashwood, speaking under the influence in some degr ee of his nervous politeness, and in some degree of his remembrance of what Midwinter had done for him at Thorpe Ambrose in the by-gone time.
Midwinter thanked him and turned away sadly. "I am afraid you can be of no use, Mr. Bashwood--but I am obliged to you for your offer, all the same." He stopped, and considered a little, "Suppose she should _not_ be ill? Suppose some misfortune should have happened?" he resumed, speaking to himself, and turning again toward the steward. "If she has left her mother, some trace of her _might_ be found by inquiring at Thorpe Ambrose."Mr. Bashwood's curiosity was instantly aroused. The whole *** was interesting to him now, for the sake of Miss Gwilt.
"A lady, sir?" he inquired. "Are you looking for a lady?""I am looking," said Midwinter, simply, "for my wife.""Married, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Bashwood. "Married since I last had the pleasure of seeing you! Might I take the liberty of asking--?"Midwinter's eyes dropped uneasily to the ground.
"You knew the lady in former times," he said. "I have married Miss Gwilt."The steward started back as he might have started back from a loaded pistol leveled at his head. His eyes glared as if he had suddenly lost his senses, and the nervous trembling to which he was subject shook him from head to foot.
"What's the matter?" said Midwinter. There was no answer. "What is there so very startling," he went on, a little impatiently, "in Miss Gwilt's being my wife?""_Your_ wife?" repeated Mr. Bashwood, helplessly. "Mrs.
Armadale--!" He checked himself by a desperate effort, and said no more.
The stupor of astonishment which possessed the steward was instantly reflected in Midwinter's face. The name in which he had secretly married his wife had passed the lips of the last man in the world whom he would have dreamed of admitting into his confidence! He took Mr. Bashwood by the arm, and led him away to a quieter part of the terminus than the part of it in which they had hitherto spoken to each other.
"You referred to my wife just now," he said; "and you spoke of _Mrs. Armadale_ in the same breath. What do you mean by that?"Again there was no answer. Utterly incapable of understanding more than that he had involved himself in some serious complication which was a complete mystery to him, Mr. Bashwood struggled to extricate himself from the grasp that was laid on him, and struggled in vain.
Midwinter sternly repeated the question. "I ask you again," he said, "what do you mean by it?""Nothing, sir! I give you my word of honor, I meant nothing!" He felt the hand on his arm tightening its grasp; he saw, even in the obscurity of the remote corner in which they stood, that Midwinter's fiery temper was rising, and was not to be trifled with. The extremity of his danger inspired him with the one ready capacity that a timid man possesses when he is compelled by main force to face an emergency--the capacity to lie. "I only meant to say, sir," he burst out, with a desperate effort to look and speak confidently, "that Mr. Armadale would be surprised--""You said _Mrs._ Armadale!"
"No, sir--on my word of honor, on my sacred word of honor, you are mistaken--you are, indeed! I said _Mr._ Armadale--how could Isay anything else? Please to let me go, sir--I'm pressed for time. I do assure you I'm dreadfully pressed for time!"For a moment longer Midwinter maintained his hold, and in that moment he decided what to do.
He had accurately stated his motive for returning to England as proceeding from anxiety about his wife--anxiety naturally caused (after the regular receipt of a letter from her every other, or every third day) by the sudden cessation of the correspondence between them on her side for a whole week. The first vaguely terrible suspicion of some other reason for her silence than the reason of accident or of illness, to which he had hitherto attributed it, had struck through him like a sudden chill the instant he heard the steward associate the name of "Mrs.
