CHAPTER VII.

TWO WOMEN’S HEARTS.

The man who aspires to outwit a woman, gifted with the most ordinary characteristics of her sex, should get up very early in the morning. His brain may be larger and heavier than hers, but her instincts are so keen, her wits so sharp, and she knows so well how to draw an inference, that in a game of _finesse_ she has pieced the puzzle and put it together before his slower comprehension has arrived at the conviction that there is anything to find out at all. Godfrey Harland prided himself the following day on the perfect manner in which he had deceived his wife. She believed him to be on his way to Harfleur, and by the time she expected to see him back again he would be on his way to New Zealand and he chuckled inwardly to remember that he had not left a single clue to his destination behind. It is true that he was very much annoyed at discovering the loss of his money, but he did not attribute it to any manœuvering on the part of his wife. He knew that he had drank too freely the night before, and had played at cards after he left Iris, when he scarcely knew if he had lost or won. But any way, he had enough coin left for his purpose, and matters might have been worse. And had it been all gone, he would rather have applied to Mr Vansittart for a further loan, than have returned to look for it in the house at Pimlico. He had cheated them there nicely, he thought, with an idiotic, triumphant chuckle. Iris believed him to be crossing the Channel, and it would never do to disturb her confidence by returning home again. A second set of excuses would not be swallowed so easily as the first. And whilst the poor fool congratulated himself thus, Iris was taking her way, timidly, from the fear of meeting him, but still determinately, to the offices of Messrs Stern & Stales. It was a novel scene in which she found herself. The firm of Stern & Stales was one of the largest in the metropolis. They owned a large number of ships, besides chartering others, so that it was not an uncommon occurrence for seventy vessels, all flying the house flag of the company, to leave the docks for New Zealand and the Colonies in the course of a year. Their office was in Fenchurch Street. At the head of a flight of broad stone steps, with iron railings, was a large room in which a dozen clerks sat scribbling away at their ledgers, or poring over bills of lading, manifests, and invoices. On the walls were ranged half-models of the different vessels in their employ, and nautical almanacks and advertisements were hung in conspicuous positions. As Iris entered this room on the morning in question, and glanced nervously around her, two young men started from their desks simultaneously to ask her pleasure. She was plainly dressed and closely veiled, but her graceful figure and youthful appearance attracted immediate attention, and shipping clerks have their feelings.

‘What can I do for you, miss?’ inquired the elder of the two, shoving the younger to one side.

‘I believe you have some ships going to New Zealand shortly,’ stammered Iris, who was too shy to mention the _Pandora_ all at once. ‘Can I see a list of the passengers?’

‘Certainly, miss. Four of our vessels leave the docks next week. We have the _Hindustan_, the _Trevelyan_, and the _Pandora_, which all carry passengers. Do you require a berth?’

‘Yes!--I think so,’ replied Iris. ‘That is, I want to see the passenger list before I decide.’

‘Very good, miss! Samuels, hand me down the passenger list of the _Hindustan_, Captain Davis. We have four saloon berths vacant here you see, miss, and three second. She will not carry any steerage. This is a plan of the vessel,’ continued the clerk, unrolling a sheet of parchment. ‘These after-cabin berths--’

But Iris pushed it gently to one side.

‘I--I--think I would rather see the passenger list of the _Pandora_,’ she said, with a blush that was visible even through her veil, and the clerk, with a wink at his neighbour, passed the desired paper across the counter.

‘The _Pandora_ has her full complement of first-class passengers, so I’m afraid you won’t find anything to suit you there, as there is only a second cabin vacant, miss,’ continued the clerk. ‘She carries steerage, but, of course, that is no use to you.’

‘I don’t know--I don’t know,’ replied Iris, almost hysterically, as she perused the passenger list of the _Pandora_.

In a moment her quick eye had caught the names of Mr and Mrs Vansittart and Miss Vansittart, and then travelled to the bottom of the paper where that of _Mr Godfrey Harland_ was visibly inscribed. She had expected it, and yet was not prepared for it, and as it met her sight and confirmed her fears, she gave vent to a slight moan, and leant against the counter for support.

‘Are you ill, miss? Can I fetch you a glass of water?’ asked the young man in attendance anxiously.

‘No, no! I am quite well. It is only the heat!’ exclaimed Iris, as she took up the list again to make sure she had not been mistaken. ‘I--I will take a berth, please, in _this_ vessel--the _Pandora_.’

‘There is only a second-class vacant, miss,’ returned the clerk. ‘We could accommodate you better in the _Hindustan_, which is quite as fine a ship.’

‘No, I prefer the _Pandora_, thank you. What is the price of the berth?’

‘Twenty-five guineas, if you please.’

Iris placed the money on the counter, with a sigh. She had imagined it would be less. But if she sold the dress off her back she felt that she _must_ go.

‘Thank you,’ said the clerk, as he received the money. ‘What name shall I book?’

Iris started. She had never thought about changing her name, but in a moment she saw the expediency of it. She was so long, however, before she answered the question, that the clerks looked at one another, and stuck their tongues in their cheeks, to intimate that this was a ‘rum go--’

‘Miss Douglas,’ said Iris at length, in a low voice.

‘There is your ticket, miss,’ said the booking-clerk, when he had filled in her name. ‘You see there is a plan of the cabin on the back. Your berth will be No. 12, and the _Pandora_ will probably sail with the early tide on Wednesday next, therefore it is advisable you should be on board not later than six o’clock on Tuesday evening.’

‘Will--will--_all_ the passengers (the first-class passengers, I mean) go on board on Tuesday evening, too?’ asked Iris hesitatingly.

‘I expect so, miss. Most of them like to settle down before nightfall, as there is little assistance to be got when the ship’s starting.’

‘And might I--do you think--go on board a little earlier than the others?--to avoid the bustle and confusion, I mean.’

‘No; I wouldn’t do that, miss, if I were you,’ replied the clerk. ‘Not that they’d refuse to let you go aboard an hour or so previously; but they don’t care to see the passengers before six o’clock, when they’ll be all ready to receive you. I’d go a little later, rather than sooner, if I were you.’

‘Thank you,’ replied Iris gently, as she turned away.

‘Queer street,--eh?’ said the clerk rapidly to his companions, before he was called to book by another customer.

Meanwhile Iris hurried homewards with her ticket in her hand. It was all settled then. She had cast the die. She was to sail in the _Pandora_ with Godfrey. But she felt very nervous now it was done, and uncertain if she had acted rightly. She longed for a confidant to tell her trouble and her intentions to, and she found it, naturally, in Maggie, with whom she had promised to be explicit.

‘Lor’! mistress!’ cried the latter, as she opened the door to her, ‘where on earth have you been? How dusty and hot you do look. I began to think as you was lost.’

‘Come in here, Maggie, and I will tell you all,’ said Iris, as she passed into the parlour.

Maggie shut the door carefully, and followed her mistress, and stood beside her chair, looking the very incarnation of dirt and good humour.

‘Now, what is it, my pretty? Nothing new to vex you, I do hope.’

‘It is something very serious, Maggie. Mr Harland told me last night that he was going to France till his affairs were settled, and he should be back again in a few weeks. I find it is not true.’

‘Lor’! that’s no news. He’s always a-lying,’ said Maggie.

‘He left a letter behind him, by which I discovered he was thinking of going to New Zealand. I have been to the shipping office this morning, and I saw his name down in the passengers’ list. He sails on the 24th. He is going to desert us, Maggie.’

‘What!’ cried the servant; ‘is he a-going right across the sea, and leave you here, without no money to buy bread or anythink?’

‘Indeed he is, Maggie. Isn’t it base of him?--isn’t it cruel? I wouldn’t treat a dog that depended on me as he has treated me. What crime have I been guilty of, to be punished in so inhuman a fashion?--to be left to starve or to do worse! Oh, my God! it is too hard, it is too bitterly hard!’

And Iris broke down, and sobbed with her face in her hands. When she lifted her head again, Maggie was kneeling at her feet.

‘Don’t you cry, dear mistress,’ she was saying, in her rough manner; ‘you shall never starve whilst I have two hands to work for you. Don’t you cry. Oh! I’ve bin a bad gal. Sometimes I think I must tell you all, but there--it wouldn’t make matters better, and it might make ’em worse. For you lets me serve you now (don’t you, my pretty?), and then you mightn’t. But don’t talk of starving, for while I live, you shall never want for bread and meat.’

‘It was silly of me, Maggie, to say such a thing, for I can work as well as you, though not perhaps in the same way, and I would never eat your bread whilst I could make my own. Thank you, my dear girl, all the same, and I shall never forget you have been a true, good friend to me. But, Maggie, I have settled on another plan. I will _not_ be left here behind in England. I am Mr Harland’s wife, and I have a right to be where he is. So when I had made sure he was to sail in the _Pandora_, I took a second-class berth in the same vessel, and I shall go out to New Zealand with him.’

Maggie leapt to her feet with surprise.

‘Lor’, mistress! you don’t never mean what you say?’

‘I do, Maggie. Why not? Mr Harland gave me some money last night to keep us whilst he was away, and I have spent it on a ticket for the _Pandora_. It cost a lot,’ continued Iris, with a sigh,--twenty-five guineas, and I have only a few shillings left. But I couldn’t help it. I _must_ go with him.’

‘And what will you do when you gets on board, mistress?’

‘Oh! I sha’n’t discover myself to him till we get to land, Maggie. He is going first class with some rich friends, who have given him an appointment out there, and I don’t want them to know about me. But when we get to New Zealand, I shall tell Mr Harland he must either take me with him, or make me an allowance to live on; and if he refuses, I shall appeal to his employers to see me righted. Why should he make money, and I derive no benefit from it? I have suffered enough, Heaven knows! since I have married him, without being cast off, as if I were some guilty creature not fit to be his wife. I will not stand it any longer. I have sworn that I will not.’

Maggie had been listening to this tirade with wide open, glistening eyes, and at its close she threw herself prostrate on the hearthrug.

‘And you will go away from England to live across the sea and maybe never come back again, and leave poor Maggie here all alone. Oh, mistress I cannot bear it. It will kill me if I don’t go too!’

‘My poor Maggie!’ cried Iris, with genuine distress. ‘I never thought of you. But what _can_ I do? I can only just pay for my own passage and my fare to Liverpool. It leaves me nothing even to buy another dress.’

‘But what will become of you without me?’ wailed the woman. ‘Do you know what that brute will do when he finds out you’ve tricked him? He’ll half kill you, as he’s tried to often and often in this very room; and you’d have been dead now, if it hadn’t been for me. I _can’t_ let you go alone, mistress. You’ll never come back. He’ll find some means of making away with you out there.’

‘Oh, Maggie! what can I do?’ exclaimed her mistress. ‘I should love to take you with me--indeed, my troubles have been so many I never thought what an additional one parting with you would prove, till you mentioned it to me. But how can I raise the money, dear? I have only seven shillings left.’

‘You shan’t go alone,’ said Maggie fiercely; ‘I won’t trust you with him alone. I ain’t fit to be your protector, but I’m the only one you’ve got, and it’s the only way I can make up to you for all the harm I’ve done you.’

‘How strangely you talk, Maggie. What harm have you ever done me?’

‘Ah, don’t mind my chatter, dear; I’m half crazy with grief and fear, and I don’t know what I’m saying. But you sha’n’t fall into that devil’s clutches if I can save you. Don’t all this furniture belong to you, mistress?’

‘Yes, Maggie, such as it is, it is ours--and we only have the rooms by the week.’

‘Well, mistress, I have a few shillings saved out of my wages, and if you’ll leave it all to me, I’ll manage it.’

‘But how, Maggie?’ demanded Iris.

‘I’ll give Mrs Barton notice at once, and move you out into other rooms on Saturday, and then I’ll get rid of the sticks and things, and they’ll pull us through.’

‘Oh, Maggie, they will never fetch more than a few pounds at the outside. There is hardly a sound piece of furniture amongst them.’

‘Yes! thanks to his tantrums. But there will be enough for our purpose. Mistress, you _must_ give in to me in this, for if I steals the money I shall sail in that ship with you. Oh, my dear, my dear! Don’t you know as I’d lay down my worthless life to save you pain.’

And with that the two poor creatures fell into each other’s arms and wept. They were as different to look at as light from darkness, but they possessed one great virtue in common, a true and genuine woman’s heart.

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