Much Darker Days | Page 3

uncle) had conveniently left me his vast property. I cared only because it enabled me to withdraw from the profession. I disposed of my exhibition, or rather I let it go for a song. I simply handed over the Tattooed Man, the Artillery Twins, and the Double-headed Serpent to the first-comer, who happened to be a rural dean. Far in the deeps of the country, near the little town of Roding, on a lonely highway, where no man ever came, I took a 'pike. Here I dwelt like a hermit, refusing to give change to the rare passers-by in carts and gigs, and attended by a handy fellow, William Evans, stolid as the Sphynx, which word, for reasons that may or may not appear later in this narrative, I prefer to spell with a y, contrary to the best authorities and usual custom.
It was midwinter, and midnight. My room lay in darkness. Heavy snow was falling. I went to the window and flattened my nose against the pane.
'What,' I asked myself, 'is most like a cat looking out of a window?'
'A cat looking in at a window,' answered a silvery voice from the darkness.
Flattened against the self-same pane was another nose, a woman's. It was the lovely organ of mixed architecture belonging to Philippa! With a low cry of amazement, I broke the pane: it was no idle vision, no case of the 'horrors;' the cold, cold nose of my Philippa encountered my own. The ice was now broken; she swept into my chamber, lovelier than ever in her strange unearthly beauty, and a new sealskin coat. Then she seated herself with careless grace, tilting back her chair, and resting her feet on the chimney-piece.
'Dear Philippa,' I exclaimed politely, 'how is your husband?'
'Husband! I have none,' she hissed. 'Tell me, Basil, did you ever hate a fellow no end?'
'Yes,' I answered, truly; for, like Mr. Carlyle, I just detested most people, and him who had robbed me of Philippa most of all.
'Do you know what he did, Basil? He insisted on having a latch-key! Did you ever hate a man?'
I threw out my arms. My heart was full of bitterness.
'He did more! He has refused to pay my last quarter's salary. Basil, didn't you ever hate a man?'
My brain reeled at these repeated outrages.
'And where are you staying at present, Philippa? I hope you are pretty comfortable?' I inquired, anxiously.
Philippa went on: 'My husband as was has chucked me. I was about to have a baby. I bored him. I was in the way--in the family-way. Basil, did you ever hate a fellow? If not, read this letter.'
She threw a letter towards me. She chucked it with all her old gracious dexterity. It was dated from Monte Carlo, and ran thus:--
'As we don't seem quite to hit it off, I think I may as well finish this business of our marriage. The shortest way to make things clear to your very limited intelligence is to assure you that you are not my wife at all. Before I married you I was the husband of the Live Mermaid. She has died since then, and I might have married you over and over again; but I was not quite so infatuated. I shall just run across and settle up about this little affair on Wednesday. As you are five miles from the station, as the weather is perfectly awful, as moreover I am a luxurious, self-indulgent baronet and as this story would never get on unless I walked, don't send to meet me. I would rather walk.'
Here was a pretty letter from a fond husband. 'But, ha! proud noble,' I whispered to my heart, 'you and me shall meet to-morrow.'
'And where are you staying, Philippa?' I repeated, to lead the conversation into a more agreeable channel.
'With a Mrs. Thompson,' she replied; 'a lady connected with Sir Runan.'
'Very well, let me call for your things tomorrow. I can pass myself off as your brother, you know.'
'My half-brother,' said Philippa, blushing, 'on the mother's side.'
The brave girl thought of everything. The child of white parents, I should have in vain pretended to be Philippa's full brother. They would not have believed me had I sworn it.
'Don't you think,' Philippa continued, as a sudden thought occurred to her, 'that as it is almost midnight and snowing heavily it would be more proper for me to return to Mrs. Thompson's?'
There was no contesting this.
We walked together to the house of that lady, and at my suggestion Philippa sought her couch. I sat down and awaited the advent of Mrs. Thompson. She soon appeared.
A woman of about five-and-thirty, with an aquiline face, and a long, dark, silky beard sweeping down to her waist. Whatever this woman's charms might have been for me when I was still in