The Two Wives | Page 7

a week of my experience. You
wouldn't talk any more about trifles."
"You should humour her a great deal, Harry. I am not so sure that you
are not quite as much to blame for these differences and fallings out as
she is."
" I wasn't to blame to-night, I am sure. Didn't I bring home Prescott,
thinking that she would be delighted to have me sit the evening with
her and read so charming an author? But, at the very proposition, she
flared up, and said she didn't want to hear my musty old histories.
Humph! A nice way to make a man love his home. Better for her and
me, too, I'm thinking, that she had listened to the history, and kept her
husband by her side."
"And for me, too," thought Wilkinson. "I should now, at least, be at
home with my loving-hearted wife. Ah, me!"
"Now, what am I to do, Jack--say? Give me your advice."
"The first thing for you to do is to go home, and to go at once. Come!"
And Wilkinson made another effort to rise; but the hand of Ellis bore
him down.
"Stay, stay!" he muttered, impatiently. "Now don't be in such a
confounded hurry. Can't you talk with an old friend for a minute or so?
Look here, I've been thinking--let me see--what was I going to say?"
The mind of Ellis was growing more and more confused; nor was the
head of Wilkinson so clear as when he entered the bar-room. The
strong glass of brandy toddy was doing its work on both of them.
"Let me see," went on Ellis, in a wandering way. I was speaking of
Cara--oh, yes, of Cara. Bless her heart, but confound her crooked

temper! Now, what would you advise me to do, my old friend?"
"Go home, I have said," replied Wilkinson.
"And get my head combed with a three-legged stool? No, blast me if I
do! I've stayed out this long just to make her sensible of her unkindness
to one of the best of husbands--and I'm not going home until I am dead
drunk. I guess that'll bring her to her bearings. Ha! Don't you think so,
Jack?"
"Good heavens!" was just at this instant exclaimed by one of the
inmates of the bar-room, in a low, startled tone of voice.
"Your wife, as I live!" fell from the lips of Ellis, whose face was turned
towards the entrance of the bar-room.
Wilkinson sprang to his feet. Just within the door stood a female form,
her head uncovered, her under person clad in a white wrapper, and her
face colourless as the dress she wore. There was a wild, frightened look
in her staring eyes.
"Is Mr. Wilkinson here?" she asked, just as her husband's eyes rested
upon her, and her thrilling voice reached his ears.
With a bound, Wilkinson was at her side.
"Oh, John! John!" she cried, in a voice of anguish. "Come home! Come
quick! Our dear little Ella is dying!"
An instant more, and, to the inmates of the bar-room, the curtain fell
upon that startling scene; for Wilkinson and his wife vanished almost
as suddenly as if they had sunk together through the floor.
CHAPTER IV.

DURING the day on which our story opened, Henry Ellis had obtained
from a friend the first volume of Prescott's History of Mexico, then just

from the press. An hour's perusal of its fascinating pages awakened in
his mind a deep interest.
"Just the book to read to Cara," said he to himself, closing the volume,
and laying it aside. "She's too much taken up with mere fiction. But
here is that truth which is stranger than fiction; and I am sure she will
soon get absorbed in the narrative."
With his new book, and this pleasant thought in his mind, Ellis took his
way homeward, after the business of the day was over. As he walked
along, a friend overtook him, and said, familiarly, as he touched him on
the shoulder,
"I'm glad to overhaul you so opportunely. Half a dozen times, to-day, I
have been on the eve of running round to see you, but as often was
prevented. All in good time yet, I hope. I want you to come over to my
room, this evening. There are to be three or four of our friends there,
and some good eating and drinking into the bargain."
"A temptation certainly," replied Ellis. "No man likes good company
better than I do; but, I rather think I must forego the pleasure this time."
"Why do you say that?"
I've promised myself another pleasure."
"Another engagement?"
"Not exactly that. Barker has loaned me the first volume of Prescott's
Mexico; and I'm going to spend the evening in reading it