The Mysteries of Montreal | Page 7

bed, one in love
and the other with a toothache, that the man with the toothache will fall
asleep first. Here, however, were two men; one, past the prime of life,
afflicted with the most bitter remorse; the other, young and susceptible,
with all the fever of a youthful passion springing up within his breast.
Dombey could not sleep, the thought that what at first was barely
possible was now become highly probable goaded him almost to
madness. He rose and dressed himself, going quietly out of the front
door into Sherbrooke street. Along the street he went at a fearful pace,
till, almost faint from want of breath, he turned down the hill towards
the city, habit bringing him along the route he was accustomed to take
to his office. As he turned the corner of St. James street, he saw (for
there were few persons abroad) a young man walking moodily up and
down on the side opposite the St. Lawrence Hall; he turned as if he had
seen an apparition, and ran rather than walked in the direction of his
own home.
Next day Miss Montague departed for the West, Mrs. and Miss
Dombey accompanied by Charles went to see her off at the Depot, and
with many assurances of a future meeting, should she ever return to
Montreal, they separated as the train moved slowly past the platform.
As the drawing-room car was just clearing the station, Miss Montague
held a piece of paper out of the window, which Charles caught eagerly
and placed in his pocket-book. His mother and sister chaffing him on
receiving tender messages from the fair artiste, he laughingly produced
it.

It was nothing more nor less than a page of an old timetable, and both
Mrs. and Miss Dombey laughed at the strange souvenir Miss Montague
had left behind her. When they got home, however, Charles carefully
opened the paper and observed that opposite each of the cities on her
route Miss Montague had placed a figure in pencil thus:--Chicago, 4;
Detroit, 2; Toledo, 2; Toronto, 3; New York; 6, Boston, 6. This, though
unintelligible to his mother and sister, informed Charles that Miss
Montague would go first to Chicago and remain four days, and
afterwards to the other cities mentioned, and that he might write or
meet her there as opportunity afforded.
That day matters resumed their normal condition in the Dombey family;
Jacob breathed freely now that his child had returned to the country of
her adoption, and his wife and family were happy because of his
improved spirits and appearance. Charles had apparently settled down
to business as usual, and Mesdames Trotter and Dombey drove out
together as of old. In a few weeks, however, Charles asked his father
permission to go for his holidays; a friend having invited him to spend
a few weeks at Nahant an island near Boston. There being nothing to
keep him in Montreal he had no difficulty in procuring consent, and he
departed, taking fishing tackle enough to have supplied the whole
Atlantic coast for a season. When his father learned the real object of
his visit to Boston, he raved like a madman; he came to see me, and
told me the whole story, most of which I had learnt before from other
sources and he persuaded me to go to Boston and to take on my self the
painful duty of informing Miss Montague who and what she really was,
and why it was impossible that she could ever marry Charles Dombey.
The poor girl was almost heart-broken, for she had learnt to love her
stepbrother dearly, and now she would have to be separated from him
entirely. It was not for herself, however, that she mourned the most, it
was for him, when he should learn of the wide gulf which separated
them from each other. He never did learn it, however; Miss Montague
consented (for his sake) to accept an engagement in England, and to
trust in years to soften the blow which had smitten her so severely. She
wrote to Charles, telling him that, for reasons unexplained, she never
could be his wife, although she loved him dearly, and that as there was
no use striving against fate, she had bowed to the inevitable, and taken

a foreign engagement. At first Charles was desperately cut up, but time,
that physician par excellence, healed his wounds, and he is now
married to a respectable lady of this city; deservedly successful in his
business, and with a stainless reputation. Jacob Dombey staggered
along under his load for years, but, unable to contain himself, he one
day confessed the affair to his wife, who, instead of denouncing him as
the wretch he was, pitied and sympathized with; aye, and not only that,