The Story of Antony Grace

“No, I don’t think he’ll come back.”

“But you don’t think he has run away, Mary?”

“I don’t know what to think, my dear,” she said; “I only hope that he won’t come to any harm, poor boy. It’s his poor head, and that’s why he turned so strange.”

“Yes,” I said joyfully, as I saw that at last she had taken the common-sense view of the case, “that’s it, depend upon it, Mary; and if he does not come soon, we’ll give notice to the police, and they’ll find him out.”

“No, my dear, don’t do that,” she said piteously; “it would be like shaming the poor boy; for if his mates got to know that he had run away like on his wedding-day, he’d never hear the last of it.”

I was obliged to agree in the truth of this remark, and I began to realise then, in spite of poor Mary’s rough exterior and ignorance, what a depth of patient endurance and thoughtfulness there was in the nature of a woman. Her first outburst of uncontrollable grief past, she was ready to sit down and patiently bear her load of sorrow, waiting for what more trouble might come; for I am fully convinced that the poor woman looked forward to no pleasure in her married life. In spite of her belief that her husband’s strange conduct was in some way due to his late accident, she felt convinced that he was regretting his marriage, and, if that were so now, she had no hope of winning him to a better state.

We were both weary, and when the tea had been finished, Mary carefully washed up the things, saw that there was a sufficiency of water, and kept it nearly on the boil. Then she reset the tea-things in the tidiest way, ready for Revitts if he should like a cup when he came home, and, on second thoughts, put out another cup and saucer.

“It will be more sociable like, Master Antony,” she said, by way of excuse; “for, of course, I don’t want no more, though I do bless them Chinese as invented tea, which is a blessing to our seck.”

These preparations made, and a glance round the sitting-room having been given, Mary uttered a deep sigh, took up her work-basket, placed it on her knees, thrust her hand into a black stocking, and began to darn.

I sat talking to her in a low voice for some time, feeling sincerely sorry for her, and wondering what could have become of Revitts, but at last, in spite of my honest sympathy, I began to nod, and the various objects in the room grew indistinct.

“Hadn’t you better go to bed, my dear?” said a voice near me; and I started into wakefulness, and found Mary standing near me, with the black stocking-covered hand resting on one shoulder, while with the other she brushed my hair off my forehead.

“Bed? No!” I exclaimed, shaking myself. “I couldn’t help feeling sleepy, Mary; but I shan’t go to bed.”

“But it’s close upon twelve o’clock, dear, and you must be tired out.”

“Never mind, Mary; to-morrow’s Sunday,” I said, with a yawn; and I went on once more talking to her about the engineer’s office, and how I got on with young Girtley and his father, till my voice trailed off, and through a mist I could see Mary with that black stocking upon her hand poking about it with a great needle.

Then the black stocking seemed to swell and swell to a mountain’s size, till it was like one huge mass, which Mary kept attacking and stabbing with a long, bright steel lance, but without avail, for it still grew, and grew, and grew, till it seemed about to overwhelm me, and in my horror I was trying vainly to cry to her to stab it again, when I started up into wakefulness, for there was the faint tinkle of a bell.

Mary, too, had leaped to her feet, and was clinging to me.

“Once!” she whispered.

There was another tinkle, very softly given.

“Twice!” whispered Mary.

Then another very faint ring.

“Three?” whispered Mary; “it’s Jones.”

“It’s Revitts come home!” I said joyfully.

“No,” she said, still clinging to me. “He has the latchkey.”

“Lost it,” I said. “Let me run down and let him in.”

“No, no. Wait a moment,” said Mary faintly. “I can’t bear it yet. There’s something wrong with my poor boy.”

“There isn’t,” I cried impatiently.

“There is,” she said hoarsely; “and they’ve come to bring the news.”

She clung to me spasmodically, but loosed me directly after, as she said quietly: “I can bear it now.”

I ran down softly, and opened the door to admit the wandering husband; but to my astonishment, in place of Revitts, there stood Stephen Hallett.

“Hallett!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” he said. “I saw a light in the rooms. Is Revitts there?”

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

“On duty?”

“No; he was married to-day.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, in a strange tone of voice. “I remember now. Who is upstairs?”

“Mrs Revitts – Mary.”

“Let us go up,” he said; “I’ll step up quietly.”

I was the more confused and muddled for having just awakened from a deep sleep, and somehow, all this seemed to be part of the dream connected with the great black mass that had threatened to fall upon me. I should not have been the least surprised if I had suddenly awakened and found myself alone, when, after closing the door, I led Hallett upstairs to the little front room where Mary was standing with dilated eyes, staring hard at the door.

“You, Mr Hallett?” she exclaimed, as he half staggered in, and then, staring round, seemed to reel, and caught my hand as I helped him to a seat.

“Tell me,” gasped Mary, catching at his hand; “is it very bad?”

He nodded.

“Give me – water,” he panted. “I am – exhausted.”

Mary rushed to the little cupboard for a glass, and the brandy that had been kept on Revitts behalf, and hastily pouring some into a glass with water, she held it to him, and he drained it at a draught.

“Now, tell me,” she exclaimed. “Where is he – what is it – have you seen him?”

“No,” he cried hoarsely, as he clenched his fist and held it before him! “no, or I should have struck him dead.”

“Mr Hallett!” she cried, starting. Then, in a piteous voice, “Oh, tell me, please – what has he done? He is my husband, my own dear boy! Pray, pray, tell me – he was half-mad. Oh, what have – what have I done!”

“Is she mad?” cried Hallett angrily. “Where is her husband – where is Revitts?”

“We don’t know,” I said hastily. “We are waiting for him.”

“I want him directly,” he said hoarsely. “I could not go to a stranger.”

“What is the matter, Hallett?” I cried. “Pray, speak out. What can I do?”