When a Man's Single: A Tale of Literary Life

Rob looked up with sudden misgiving.

'Why not?' he cried.

'Papa,' she said, 'will never consent, and I – I knew that; I have known it all along.'

'I am not going to give you up now,' Rob said passionately, and he looked as if he would run away with her at that moment.

'I had no right to listen to you,' said Mary. 'I did not mean to do so, but I – I' – her voice sank into a whisper – 'I wanted to know – '

'To know that I loved you! Ah, you have known all along.'

'Yes,' said Mary, 'but I wanted – I wanted to hear you say so yourself.'

Rob's arms went over her like a hoop.

'Rob, dear,' she whispered, 'you must go away, and never see me any more.'

'I won't,' cried Rob; 'you are to be my wife. He shall not part us.'

'It can never be,' said Mary.

'I shall see him – I shall compel him to consent.'

Mary shook her head.

'You don't want to marry me,' Rob said fiercely, drawing back from her. 'You do not care for me. What made you say you did?'

'I shall have to go back now,' Mary said, and the softness of her voice contrasted strangely with the passion in his.

'I shall go with you,' Rob answered, 'and see your father.'

'No, no,' said Mary; 'we must say good-bye here, now.'

Rob turned on her with all the dourness of the Anguses in him.

'Good-bye,' he said, and left her. Mary put her hand to her heart, but he was already turning back.

'Oh,' she cried, 'do you not see that it is so much harder to me than to you?'

'Mary, my beloved,' Rob cried. She swayed in her saddle, and if he had not been there to catch her she would have fallen to the ground.

Rob heard a footstep at his side, and, looking up, saw Colonel Abinger. The old man's face was white, but there was a soft look in his eye, and he stooped to take Mary to his breast.

'No,' Rob said, with his teeth close, 'you can't have her. She's mine.'

'Yes,' the colonel said sadly; 'she's yours.'

CHAPTER XIX

THE VERDICT OF THRUMS

On a mild Saturday evening in the following May, Sandersy Riach, telegraph boy, emerged from the Thrums post-office, and, holding his head high, strutted off towards the Tenements. He had on his uniform, and several other boys flung gutters at it, to show that they were as good as he was.

'Wha's deid, Sandersy?' housewives flung open their windows to ask.

'It's no a death,' Sandersy replied. 'Na, na, far frae that. I daurna tell ye what it is, because it's agin' the regalations, but it'll cause a michty wy doin' in Thrums this nicht.'

'Juist whisper what it's aboot, Sandersy, my laddie.'

'It canna be done, Easie; na, na. But them 'at wants to hear the noos, follow me to Tammas Haggart's.'

Off Sandersy went, with some women and a dozen children at his heels, but he did not find Tammas in.

'I winna hae't lyin' aboot here,' Chirsty, the wife of Tammas, said, eyeing the telegram as something that might go off at any moment; 'ye'll better tak it on to 'imsel. He's takkin a dander through the buryin' ground wi' Snecky Hobart.'

Sandersy marched through the east town end at the head of his following, and climbed the steep, straight brae that leads to the cemetery. There he came upon the stone-breaker and the bellman strolling from grave to grave. Silva McQuhatty and Sam'l Todd were also in the burying-ground for pleasure, and they hobbled toward Tammas when they saw the telegram in his hand.

'"Thomas Haggart,"' the stone-breaker murmured, reading out his own name on the envelope, '"Tenements, Thrums."' Then he stared thoughtfully at his neighbours to see whether that could be looked upon as news. It was his first telegram.

'Ay, ay, deary me,' said Silva mournfully.

'She's no very expliceet, do ye think?' asked Sam'l Todd.

Snecky Hobart, however, as an official himself, had a general notion of how affairs of state are conducted.

'Rip her open, Tammas,' he suggested. 'That's but the shell, I'm thinkin'.'

'Does she open?' asked Tammas, with a grin.

He opened the telegram gingerly, and sat down on a prostrate tombstone to consider it. Snecky's fingers tingled to get at it.

'It begins in the same wy,' the stone-breaker said deliberately; '"Thomas Haggart, Tenements, Thrums."'

'Ay, ay, deary me,' repeated Silva.

'That means it's to you,' Snecky said to Tammas.

'Next,' continued Tammas, 'comes, "Elizabeth Haggart, 101, Lower Fish Street, Whitechapel, London."'

'She's a' names thegether,' muttered Sam'l Todd, in a tone of remonstrance.

'She's a' richt,' said Snecky, nodding to Tammas to proceed. 'Elizabeth Haggart – that's wha the telegram comes frae.'

'Ay, ay,' said the stone-breaker doubtfully, 'but I ken no Elizabeth Haggart.'

'Hoots,' said Snecky; 'it's your ain dochter Lisbeth.'

'Keep us a',' said Tammas, 'so it is. I didna un'erstan' at first; ye see we aye called her Leeby. Ay, an' that's whaur she bides in London too.'