Two Sides of the Face | Page 8

devoted and gentle-hearted woman, a loving wife and an
incomparable housekeeper (the news had found her busy in her
still-room), but her judgment of the young fisher-girl who had
wheedled old Humphrey Stephen into matrimony was that of the rest of
her sex; and even good and devout women can be a trifle hard, not to
say inhuman, towards such an offender.
Therefore Lady Piers entered the morning-room with a face not entirely
cordial, and, finding the pretty widow in tears, bowed and said,
"Good-morning, Mrs. Stephen. What can I do for you?"
"He's turned me out!" Mrs. Stephen sobbed.
"Indeed!" Lady Piers was not altogether surprised. "He used no

violence, I hope?"
"I d--don't know what you'd c--call violence, my lady, but he pitched
Mr. Trudgian through the window."
"That seems to border on violence," said Lady Piers with a faint smile.
"But who is Mr. Trudgian?"
"He's my lawyer, and he comes from Penzance."
"I see." Lady Piers paused and added, "Was it not a little rash to
introduce this Mr. Trudgian? In the circumstances,"--she laid a slight
stress here--"I should have thought it wiser to leave the house as quietly
as possible."
"But--but the house is mine, my lady . . . every stick of it willed to me,
and the estate too! Mr. Trudgian had drawn up the will, and was there
to read it."
"You don't mean to tell me--" Lady Piers started up from her chair.
"'Tis atrocious!" she exclaimed, and a pink spot showed itself on each
of her delicate cheeks. "Indeed, Mrs. Stephen, you cannot dare to come
to me for help; and if you have come for my opinion, I must tell you
what I think--that you are a wicked, designing young woman, and have
met with no more than your deserts."
"But he called me a dear wife, and he spoke of my loving care."
"Who did? Mr. Roger?"
"My husband did, my lady."
"Oh!" There was a world of meaning in Lady Piers' "oh!" Even a good
and happy wife may be allowed to know something of men's weakness.
"And Mr. Trudgian, I suppose, put that down on parchment?"
Mrs. Stephen gazed for a moment disconsolately out of the window,
and rose to go.

"Nay," Lady Piers commanded, "you must sit down for a while and rest.
Sir John is in London, as you know, and were he at home I feel sure
you would get little condolence from him. But you are weak and
over-worn, and have few friends, I doubt, between this and Porthleven.
You cannot walk so far. Rest you here, and I will send you some food,
and order John Penwartha to saddle a horse. I can lend you a cloak too,
and you shall ride behind him to Porthleven. A friend I cannot find, to
escort you; but John is a sensible fellow, and keeps his opinions to
himself."

VIII.
Next day Roger went over the house with Jane Trewoofe, the cook, and
collected all his stepmother's belongings. These he did up carefully into
three bales, and had them ready at the gate by six o'clock on the
following morning, when Pete Nancarrow, the carrier between
Helleston and Penzance, passed with his pack-ponies.
"You're to deliver these to the woman's own cottage over to
Porthleven," was his order, conveyed by old Malachi.
Two days later, towards evening, Roger himself happened to be
mending a fence on the slope behind the house, when he looked along
the road, spied Pete returning, and stepped down to meet him.
"You delivered the parcels?"
Pete nodded.
"What's your charge?" asked Roger, dipping his hand in his pocket.
"Bless you, they're paid for. I took the goods round by way of Penzance,
meaning to deliver them on the return journey; but in Market-jew Street
whom should I run up against but the widow herself, sporting it on the
arm of a lawyer-fellow called Trudgian. 'Hullo, mistress!' says I, 'I've a
pack of goods belonging to you that I'm taking round to Porthleven.' So
she asked what they were, and I told her. 'There's no need for you to

drag them round to Porthleven,' said she, 'for I'm lodging here just now
while Mr. Trudgian gets up my case.' And with that they fetched me
over to Trudgian's office and paid me down on the table; 'for,' says the
lawyer, 'we won't put expense on a man so poor as Roger Stephen is
like to be, though he have given these fal-lals a useless journey.' 'Tell
ye what, master; they mean to have you out of Steens if they can, that
pair."
"Let 'em come and try," said Roger grimly.
The packman laughed. "That's what I told the folks over to Penzance.
That's the very speech I used: 'Let 'em come and