No Name - Wilkie Collins (free e books to read online .TXT) 📗

In the course of conversation he asked how much older his friend might be than his friend’s wife. There was six years’ difference between them. “I suppose that’s difference enough?” said Kirke. “Yes,” said his friend; “quite enough. Are you looking out for a wife at last? Try a seasoned woman of thirty-five⁠—that’s your mark, Kirke, as near as I can calculate.”

The time passed smoothly and quickly⁠—the present time, in which she was recovering so happily⁠—the present time, which he was beginning to distrust already.

Early one morning Mr. Merrick surprised Kirke by a visit in his little room on the second floor.

“I came to the conclusion yesterday,” said the doctor, entering abruptly on his business, “that our patient was strong enough to justify us at last in running all risks, and communicating with her friends; and I have accordingly followed the clue which that queer fellow, Captain Wragge, put into our hands. You remember he advised us to apply to Mr. Pendril, the lawyer? I saw Mr. Pendril two days ago, and was referred by him⁠—not overwillingly, as I thought⁠—to a lady named Miss Garth. I heard enough from her to satisfy me that we have exercised a wise caution in acting as we have done. It is a very, very sad story; and I am bound to say that I, for one, make great allowances for the poor girl downstairs. Her only relation in the world is her elder sister. I have suggested that the sister shall write to her in the first instance, and then, if the letter does her no harm, follow it personally in a day or two. I have not given the address, by way of preventing any visits from being paid here without my permission. All I have done is to undertake to forward the letter, and I shall probably find it at my house when I get back. Can you stop at home until I send my man with it? There is not the least hope of my being able to bring it myself. All you need do is to watch for an opportunity when she is not in the front room, and to put the letter where she can see it when she comes in. The handwriting on the address will break the news before she opens the letter. Say nothing to her about it⁠—take care that the landlady is within call⁠—and leave her to herself. I know I can trust you to follow my directions, and that is why I ask you to do us this service. You look out of spirits this morning. Natural enough. You’re used to plenty of fresh air, captain, and you’re beginning to pine in this close place.”

“May I ask a question, doctor? Is she pining in this close place, too? When her sister comes, will her sister take her away?”

“Decidedly, if my advice is followed. She will be well enough to be moved in a week or less. Good day. You are certainly out of spirits, and your hand feels feverish. Pining for the blue water, captain⁠—pining for the blue water!” With that expression of opinion, the doctor cheerfully went out.

In an hour the letter arrived. Kirke took it from the landlady reluctantly, and almost roughly, without looking at it. Having ascertained that Magdalen was still engaged at her toilet, and having explained to the landlady the necessity of remaining within call, he went downstairs immediately, and put the letter on the table in the front room. Magdalen heard the sound of the familiar step on the floor. “I shall soon be ready,” she called to him, through the door.

He made no reply; he took his hat and went out. After a momentary hesitation, he turned his face eastward, and called on the shipowners who employed him, at their office in Cornhill.

III

Magdalen’s first glance round the empty room showed her the letter on the table. The address, as the doctor had predicted, broke the news the moment she looked at it.

Not a word escaped her. She sat down by the table, pale and silent, with the letter in her lap. Twice she attempted to open it, and twice she put it back again. The bygone time was not alone in her mind as she looked at her sister’s handwriting: the fear of Kirke was there with it. “My past life!” she thought. “What will he think of me when he knows my past life?”

She made another effort, and broke the seal. A second letter dropped out of the inclosure, addressed to her in a handwriting with which she was not familiar. She put the second letter aside and read the lines which Norah had written:

“Ventnor, Isle of Wight, August 24th.

“My Dearest Magdalen⁠—When you read this letter, try to think we have only been parted since yesterday; and dismiss from your mind (as I have dismissed from mine) the past and all that belongs to it.

“I am strictly forbidden to agitate you, or to weary you by writing a long letter. Is it wrong to tell you that I am the happiest woman living? I hope not, for I can’t keep the secret to myself.

“My darling, prepare yourself for the greatest surprise I have ever caused you. I am married. It is only a week today since I parted with my old name⁠—it is only a week since I have been the happy wife of George Bartram, of St. Crux.

“There were difficulties at first in the way of our marriage, some of them, I am afraid, of my making. Happily for me, my husband knew from the beginning that I really loved him: he gave me a second chance of telling him so, after I had lost the first, and, as you see, I was wise enough to take it. You ought to be especially interested, my love, in this marriage, for you are the cause of it. If I had not gone to Aldborough to search for the lost