Dutch the Diver: or, A Man's Mistake. Fenn George Manville

I’m sure Hester loves and respects you, Mr Parkley.”

      “Yes, yes, of course; and that’s what makes me so wild about it.”

      “I don’t understand you, Mr Parkley,” said Dutch, uneasily.

      “There, that’s what I was afraid of when I spoke. But I must say it now, Pugh. I’m afraid I made a mistake in asking you to invite that Cuban hero. I’ll tell him to come and stay with me.”

      “Indeed, I beg you will do no such thing, Mr Parkley,” said Dutch hotly, as his face burned with mortification. “I understand what you mean, sir, and can assure you that your suspicions are unjust.”

      “I’m very glad to hear you say so, Pugh, I am indeed,” said Mr Parkley earnestly. “Don’t be angry with me, my dear boy. I’m getting old – stupid, I suppose. There, don’t take any more notice of what I said.”

      Under these circumstances it was hard work for Dutch Pugh to preserve an unclouded face before his guests, but he strove hard – the harder that he was annoyed at people for having the same fancies as those he had tried so hard to banish. It was, then, with no small feeling of pleasure that he welcomed the time when his guests departed, but even then he was not to be spared a fresh wound, for on taking Bessy Studwick down to the fly she said to him in a low voice:

      “Dutch, I have been trying so hard to-night to love your wife. I do so hope you will be very happy.”

      “Thank you, Bessy, thank you,” he said warmly. “I’m sure you wish me well.”

      “I do, I do, indeed,” she whispered earnestly, “and therefore I say I do not like your new friend, that foreign gentleman. He is treacherous: I am sure he is. Good-night.”

      “Good-night!” said Dutch to himself as he stood on the gravel path with the gate in his hand listening to the departed wheels; and then in spite of his determination the flood of evil fancies came rolling back, sweeping all before it.

      “They all see it, and think me blind,” he groaned as he literally reeled against the gate. “Those thoughts, then, were a warning – one I would not heed. Hester – Hester – my love,” he moaned as he pressed his hands to his forehead. “Oh, my God, that it should come to this!”

      He stood leaning against the gate post for a few minutes in a stunned, dazed way, but recovering himself he clenched his hands and exclaimed through his teeth:

      “I will not believe it. She could not be no false.”

      He strode in, apparently quite calm, to find Hester standing by the fire-place, looking very scared and pale, while Lauré, who had thrown himself back upon the couch, began to laugh in a peculiar way.

      “Ah, you English husbands,” he said, banteringly, “how you do forsake your beautiful wives. But there, the fair visitor was very sweet and gracious. I almost fell in love myself.”

      Dutch Pugh’s eyes flashed for a moment, but he said nothing, only glanced at his wife, who met his look in a troubled way, and then let her eyes fall to the carpet, while Lauré went on talking in a playful, bantering manner.

      Story 1-Chapter VII.

      More Shadows

      From that night a complete change seemed to have come upon the home of Dutch Pugh. He had more than once determined upon putting an end to the Cuban’s stay, feeling at the same time as if he would like to end his life; but reason told him that his were, after all, but suspicions, and that perhaps they were unjust. Under the circumstances, he sought for relief in work, and strove night and day to perfect the arrangements which now fast approached completion. Captain Studwick was to be in command of the large yacht-like schooner that had been secured, and was being carefully fitted with the necessaries in stores and machinery. Two of the divers engaged in raising the copper had volunteered to go, and a capital crew had been selected. The cabins were comfortably furnished, there being plenty of space, and places were set apart for the captain’s son and daughter, while a gentleman friend – a naturalist – had, on learning from Captain Studwick the part of the world to which the ship was to sail, petitioned hard, and obtained permission to go.

      This last gentleman said his object was to collect specimens of the wonderful birds of Central America; but the probabilities are that if he had not been aware that Bessy Studwick was to be of the party, he, being a very bad sailor, would have stayed at home.

      By degrees everything necessary was put on board the handsome vessel, and though the ship’s destination was kept a secret, and the real object of her mission confided to few, she formed the general topic of conversation in the port, and plenty of exaggerations flew about.

      The energetic way in which Dutch worked served to lull to a certain extent the sense of pain that he endured; but he suffered bitterly; and at last it had come to this: that he spent as little of his time at home as possible, returning there, however, at night faint and weary, but with a heart sickness that drove away the needful sleep.

      It afforded him some gratification, though, to find that Miss Studwick often called at his home; and when, on more than one occasion, she came with her brother to the office, he read in her eyes the deep sympathy that she felt for him, and asked himself why he had not made this woman his wife.

      He sat often quite late in the office, long after Rasp had grumblingly gone off with a final stoke at the fire, which afterwards sank and died out; and at such times, in the semi-darkness, with the goggle-eyed helmets seeming to stare at him and rejoice in his sufferings, he asked himself what he should do? Whether he should leave home for ever? Whether he should put her away from him, and wait till some time in the far-off distance of life when she might, perhaps, come to him, and ask his pardon for the wrong she had done.

      “No!” he would exclaim, “I will not believe such evil of her. She is dazzled by this polished scoundrel, and poor, rough, I compare badly with him, for she cannot see our hearts.”

      Should he end the matter at once?

      No, he felt that he could not, for he had nothing but his bare, cruel suspicions to go upon, the greatest of which was that before long Hester would flee with this man, and his home would be wretched.

      Wretched? If not wretched already, for all was wretched at home: Hester was low-spirited; for his own part, he rarely spoke; and the Cuban avoided him.

      So far, Dutch had indulged in the hope that he might, after all, be deceiving himself, when one evening, on entering the little drawing-room suddenly, Hester started up, looking confused, and left the room, while the Cuban turned away with a short nod, and walked to the window.

      From that hour every spare moment was devoted to watching: for the suspicion grew stronger now that before long, if he did not stay it, his home would be left desolate.

      This lasted for some days, when the idea was checked by Lauré himself, who, as the time approached for the departure of the expedition, suddenly began to display great interest in the proceedings, so that Dutch felt compelled to own that his ideas of flight must be wrong; in fact, it was as if Lauré had divined his thoughts just as he was about to speak to Mr Parkley, and tell him his suspicions that the Cuban evidently meant to give up the expedition, and, much as it would tear his heart to speak, give the reasons for his belief.

      Hardly, though, had he come to the conclusion that he was wrong, when a trifle set him off back in his former way of thinking, for his mind was now a chaos of wildering fancies, and the slightest thing set his jealous feelings in a blaze.

      He would not speak to Hester; he would not take an open, manly way of seeing whether his suspicions were just; but, submitting his better parts to his distorted reason, he nursed his anguish, and so it fell out that one night he found himself watching his own house, in the full belief that his wife’s illness in the morning before he left for the office was a subterfuge, and that the time had come for her to take some step fatal to her future.

      “But I will stop it,” muttered Dutch to himself, as with throbbing pulse and beating temples he avoided the gate, so as not to have his footsteps heard on the gravel, and, climbing the fence, entered his own garden like a thief.

      He had