It was said at the beginning of the last chapter that things had gone on smoothly, or with apparent smoothness, at Folking since the return of the Caldigates from their wedding tour; but there had in truth been a small cloud in the Folking heavens over and beyond that Babington haze which was now vanishing, and the storm at Chesterton as to which hopes were entertained that it would clear itself away. It will perhaps be remembered that Caldigate’s offer for the sale of his interest in the Polueuka mine had been suddenly accepted by certain enterprising persons in Australia, and that the money itself had been absolutely forthcoming. This had been in every way fortunate, as he had been saved from the trouble of another journey to the colony; and his money matters had been put on such a footing as to make him altogether comfortable But just when he heard that the money had been lodged to his account,— and when the money actually had been so paid,— he received a telegram from Mr. Crinkett, begging that the matter might be for a time postponed. This, of course, was out of the question. His terms had been accepted,— which might have gone for very little had not the money been forthcoming. But the cash was positively in his hands. Who ever heard of a man ‘postponing’ an arrangement in such circumstances? Let them do what they might with Polyeuka, he was safe! He telegraphed back to say that there could be no postponement As far as he was concerned the whole thing was settled. Then there came a multiplicity of telegrams, very costly to the Crinkett interest;— costly also and troublesome to himself; for he, though the matter was so pleasantly settled as far as he was concerned, could not altogether ignore the plaints that were made to him. Then there came very long letters, long and loud; letters not only from Crinkett, but from others, telling him that the Polyeuka gold had come to an end, the lode disappearing altogether, as lodes sometimes do disappear The fact was that the Crinkett Company asked to have back half its money, offering him the Polyeuka mine in its entirety if he chose to accept it.

John Caldigate, though in England he could be and was a liberal gentleman, had been long enough in Australia to know that if he meant to hold his own among such men as Mr. Crinkett, he must make the best of such turns of fortune as chance might give him. Under no circumstances would Crinkett have been generous to him. Had Polyeuka suddenly become more prolific in the precious metal than any mine in the colony the Crinkett Company would have laughed at any claim made by him for further payment. When a bargain has been fairly made, the parties must make the best of it. He was therefore very decided in his refusal to make restitution though he was at the same time profuse in his expressions of sorrow.

Then there came a threat,— not from Crinkett, but from Mrs. Euphemia Smith. And the letter was not signed Euphemia Smith,— but Euphemia Caldigate. And the letter was as follows:—-

‘In spite of all your treachery to me I do not wish to ruin you, or to destroy your young wife, by proving myself in England to have been married to you at Ahalala. But I will do so unless you assent to the terms which Crinkett has proposed. He and I are in partnership in the matter with two or three others, and are willing to let all that has gone before be forgotten if we have means given us to make another start. You cannot feel that the money you have received is fairly yours, and I can hardly think you would wish to become rich by taking from me all that I have earned after so many hardships. If you will do as I propose, you had better send out an agent. On paying us the money he shall not only have the marriage-certificate, but shall stand by and see me married to Crinkett, who is now a widower. After that, of course, I can make no claim to you. If you will not do this, both I and Crinkett, and the other man who was present at our marriage, and Anne Young, who has been with me ever since, will go at once to England, and the law must take its course.

‘I have no scruple in demanding this as you owe me so much more.

‘Allan, the Wesleyan who married us, has gone out of the colony, no one knows where,— but I send you the copy of the certificate; and all the four of us who were there are still together. And there were others who were at Ahalala at the time, and who remember the marriage well. Dick Shand was not in the chapel, but Dick knew all about it. There is quite plenty of evidence.

‘Send back by the wire word what you will do, and let your agent come over as soon as possible.

‘EUPHEMIA CALDIGATE.’

However true or however false the allegations made in the above letter may have been, for a time it stunned him greatly. This letter reached him about a month before the birth of his son, and for a day or two it disturbed him greatly. He did not show it to his wife, but wandered about the place alone thinking whether he would take any notice of it, and what notice. At last he resolved that he would take the letter to his brother-in-law Robert, and ask the attorney’s advice. ‘How much of it is true?’ demanded Robert, when he read the letter twice from beginning to end.

‘A good deal,’ said Caldigate,—‘as much as may be, with the exception that I was never married to the woman.’

‘I suppose not that.’ Robert Bolton as he spoke was very grave, but did not at first seem disposed to be angry. ‘Had you not better tell me everything do you think?’

‘It is for that purpose that I have come and brought you the letter. You understand about the money.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘There can be no reason why I should return a penny of it?’

‘Certainly not, now. You certainly must not return it under a threat,— even though the woman should be starving. There can be no circumstances —’ and as he spoke he dashed his hand down upon the table,—‘no circumstances in which a man should allow money to be extorted from him by a threat. For Hester’s sake you must not do that.’

‘No;— no; I must not do that, of course.’

‘And now tell me what is true?’ There was something of authority in the tone of his voice, something perhaps of censure, something too of doubt, which went much against the grain with Caldigate. He had determined to tell his story, feeling that counsel was necessary to him, but he wished so to tell it as to subject himself to no criticism and to admit no fault. He wanted assistance, but he wanted it on friendly and sympathetic terms. He had a great dislike to being —‘blown up,’ as he would probably have expressed it himself, and he already thought that he saw in his companion’s eye a tendency that way. Turning all this in his mind, he paused a moment before he began to tell his tale. ‘You say that a good deal in this woman’s letter is true. Had you not better tell me what is true?’

‘I was very intimate with her.’

‘Did she ever live with you?’

‘Yes, she did.’

‘As your wife?’

‘Well; yes. It is of course best that you should know all.’ Then he gave a tolerably true account of all that had happened between himself and Mrs. Smith up to the time at which, as the reader knows, he found her performing at the Sydney theatre.

‘You had made her a distinct promise of marriage on board the ship?’

‘I think I had.’

‘You think?’

‘Yes. I think I did. Can you not understand that a man may be in great doubt as to the exact words that he may have spoken at such a time?’

‘Hardly.’

‘Then I don’t think you realise the man’s position. I wish to let you know the truth as exactly as I can. You had better take it for granted that I did make such a promise, though probably no such promise was absolutely uttered. But I did tell her afterwards that I would marry her.’

‘Afterwards?’

‘Yes, when she followed me up to Ahalala.’

‘Did Richard Shand know her?’

‘Of course he did,— on board the ship;— and he was with me when she came to Ahalala.’

‘And she lived with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you promised to marry her?’

‘Yes.’

‘And was that all?’

‘I did not marry her, of course,’ said Caldigate.

‘Who heard the promise?’

‘It was declared by her in the presence of that Wesleyan minister she speaks of. He went to her to rebuke her, and she told him of the promise. Then he asked me, and I did not deny it. At the moment when he taxed me with it I was almost minded to do as I had promised.’

‘You repeated your promise, then, to him?’

‘Nothing of the kind. I did not deny it, and I told him at last to mind his own business. ............