There had been something almost approaching to exultation at Babington when the tidings of Caldigate’s alleged Australian wife were first heard there. As the anger had been great that Julia should be rejected, so had the family congratulation been almost triumphant when the danger which had been escaped was appreciated. There had been something of the same feeling at Pollington among the Shands — who had no doubt allowed themselves to think that Maria had been ill-treated by John Caldigate. He ought to have married Maria,— at least such was the opinion of the ladies of the family, who were greatly impressed with the importance of the little book which had been carried away. But in regard to the Australian marriage, they had differed among themselves. That Maria should have escaped the terrible doom which had befallen Mrs. Bolton’s daughter, was, of course, a source of comfort. But Maria herself would never believe the evil story. John Caldigate had not been — well, perhaps not quite true to her. So much she acknowledged gently with the germ of a tear in her eye. But she was quite sure that he would not have married Hester Bolton while another wife was living in Australia. She arose almost to enthusiasm as she vindicated his character from so base a stain. He had been, perhaps, a little unstable in his affections,— as men are so commonly. But not even when the jury found their verdict, could she be got to believe that the John Caldigate whom she had known would have betrayed a girl whom he loved as he was supposed to have betrayed Hester Bolton. The mother and sisters, who knew the softness of Maria’s disposition,— and who had been more angry than their sister with the man who had been wicked enough to carry away Thomson’s ‘Seasons’ in his portmanteau without marrying the girl who had put it there,— would not agree to this. The verdict, at any rate, was a verdict. John Caldigate was in prison. The poor young woman with her infant was a nameless, unfortunate creature. All this might have happened to their Maria. ‘I should always have believed him innocent,’ said Maria, wiping away the germ of the tear with her knuckle.

The matter was very often discussed in the doctor’s house at Pollington,— as it was, indeed, by the public generally, and especially in the eastern counties. But in this house there a double interest attached to it. In the first place, there was Maria’s escape,— which the younger girls were accustomed to talk of as having been ‘almost miraculous;’ and then there was Dick’s absolute disappearance. It had been declared at the trial, on behalf of Caldigate, that if Dick could have been put into the witness-box, he would have been able to swear that there had been no such marriage ceremony as that which the four witnesses had elaborately described. On the other hand, the woman and Crinkett had sworn boldly that Dick Shand, though not present at the marriage, had been well aware that it had taken place, and that Dick, could his evidence have been secured, would certainly have been a witness on their side. He had been outside the tent,— so said the woman,— when the marriage was being performed, and had refused to enter, by way of showing his continued hostility to an arrangement which he had always opposed. But when the woman said this, it was known that Dick Shand would not appear, and the opinion was general that Dick had died in his poverty and distress. Men who sink to be shepherds in Australia because they are noted drunkards, generally do die. The constrained abstinence of perhaps six months in the wilderness is agonising at first, and nearly fatal. Then the poor wretch rushes to the joys of an orgy with ten or fifteen pounds in his pocket; and the stuff which is given to him as brandy soon puts an end to his sufferings. There was but little doubt that such had been the fate of Dick,— unless, perhaps, in the bosom of Maria and of his mother.

It was known too at Pollington, as well as elsewhere in the month of August, that efforts were still to be made with the view of upsetting the verdict. Something had crept out to the public as to the researches made by Bagwax, and allusions had been frequent as to the unfortunate absence of Dick Shand. The betting, had there been betting, would no doubt have been in favour of the verdict. The four witnesses had told their tale in a straightforward way; and though they were, from their characters, not entitled to perfect credit, still their evidence had in no wise been shaken. They were mean, dishonest folk, no doubt. They had taken Caldigate’s money, and had still gone on with the prosecution. Even if there had been some sort of a marriage, the woman should have taken herself off when she had received her money, and left poor Hester to enjoy her happiness, her husband, and her home at Bolton. That was the general feeling. But it was hardly thought that Bagwax, with his envelope, would prevail over Judge Bramber in the mind of the Secretary of State. Probably there had been a marriage. But it was singular that the two men who could have given unimpeachable evidence on the matter should both have vanished out of the world; Allan, the minister,— and Dick Shand, the miner and shepherd.

‘What will she do when he comes out?’ Maria asked. Mrs. Rewble,— Harriet,— the curate’s wife, was there. Mr. Rewble, as curate, found it convenient to make frequent visits to his father-in-law’s house. And Mrs. Posttlethwaite,— Matilda,— was with them, as Mr. Posttlethwaite’s business in the soap line caused him to live at Pollington. And there were two unmarried sisters, Fanny and Jane. Mrs. Rewble was by this time quite the matron, and Mrs. Posttlethwaite was also the happy mother of children. But Maria was still Maria. Fanny already had a string to her bow,— and Jane was expectant of many strings.

‘She ought to go back to her father and mother, of course,’ said Mrs. Rewble, indignantly.

‘I know I wouldn’t,’ said Jane.

‘You know nothing about it, miss, and you ought not to speak of such a thing,’ said the curate’s wife. Jane at this made a grimace which was intended to be seen only by her sister Fanny.

‘It is very hard that two loving hearts should be divided,’ said Maria.

‘I never thought so much of John Caldigate as you did,’ said Mrs. Posttlethwaite. ‘He seems to have been able to love a good many young women all at the same time.’

‘It’s like tasting a lot of cheeses, till you get the one that suits you,’ said Jane. This offended the elder sister so grievously that she declared she did not know what their mother was about, to allow such liberty to the girls, and then suggested that the conversation should be changed.

‘I’m sure I did not say anything wrong,’ said Jane, ‘and I suppose it is like that. A gentleman has to find out whom he likes best. And as he liked Miss Bolton best, I think it’s a thousand pities they should be parted.’

‘Ten thousand pities!’ said Maria enthusiastically.

‘Particularly as there is a baby,’ said Jane,— upon which Mrs. Rewble was again very angry.

‘If Dick were to come home, he’d clear it all up at once,’ said Mrs. Posttlethwaite.

‘Dick will never come home,’ said Matilda mournfully.

‘Never!’ said Mrs. Rewble. ‘I am afraid that he has expiated all his indiscretions. It should make us who were born girls thankful that we have not been subjected to the same temptations.’

‘I should like to be a man all the same,’ said Jane.

‘You do not at all know what you are saying,’ replied the monitor. ‘How little have you realized what poor Dick must have suffered! I wonder when they are going to let us have tea. I’m almost famished.’ Mrs. Rewble was known in the family for having a good appetite. They were sitting at this moment round a table on the lawn, at which they intended to partake of their evening meal. The doctor might or might not join them. Mrs. Shand, who did not like the open air, would have hers sent to her in the drawing-room. Mr. Rewble would certainly be there. Mr. Posttlethwaite, who had been home to his dinner, had gone back to the soap-works. ‘Don’t you think, Jane, if you were to go in, you could hurry them?’ Then Jane went in and hurried the servant.

‘There’s a strange man with papa,’ said Jane, as she returned.

‘There are always strange men with papa,’ said Fanny. ‘I daresay he has come to have his tooth out.’ For the doctor’s practice was altogether general. From a baby to a back-tooth, he attended to everything now, as he had done forty years ago.

‘But this man isn’t like a patient. The door was half open, and I saw papa holding him by both hands.’

‘A lunatic!’ exclaimed Mrs. Rewble, thinking that Mr. Rewble ought to be sent at once to her father’s assistance.

‘He was quite quiet, and just for a moment I could see papa’s face. It wasn’t a patient at all. Oh, Maria!’

‘What is it, child?’ asked Mrs. Rewble.

‘I do believe that Dick has come back.’

They all jumped up from their seats suddenly. Then Mrs. Rewble reseated herself. &lsqu............