Mr. Hayes did not join the family the next day; and it appears that the previous night's
reconciliation was not very durable; for when Mrs. Springatt asked Wood for Hayes, Mr.
Wood stated that Hayes had gone away without saying whither he was bound, or how
long he might be absent. He only said, in rather a sulky tone, that he should probably
pass the night at a friend's house. "For my part, I know of no friend he hath," added Mr.
Wood; "and pray Heaven that he may not think of deserting his poor wife, whom he hath
beaten and ill-used so already!" In this prayer Mrs. Springatt joined; and so these two
worthy people parted.
What business Billings was about cannot be said; but he was this night bound towards
Marylebone Fields, as he was the night before for the Strand and Westminster; and,
although the night was very stormy and rainy, as the previous evening had been fine,
old Wood good-naturedly resolved upon accompanying him; and forth they sallied
together.
Mrs. Catherine, too, had HER business, as we have seen; but this was of a very
delicate nature. At nine o'clock, she had an appointment with the Count; and faithfully,
by that hour, had found her way to Saint Margaret's churchyard, near Westminster
Abbey, where she awaited Monsieur de Galgenstein.
The spot was convenient, being very lonely, and at the same time close to the Count's
lodgings at Whitehall. His Excellency came, but somewhat after the hour; for, to say the
truth, being a freethinker, he had the most firm belief in ghosts and demons, and did not
care to pace a churchyard alone. He was comforted, therefore, when he saw a woman
muffled in a cloak, who held out her hand to him at the gate, and said, "Is that you?" He
took her hand,--it was very clammy and cold; and at her desire he bade his confidential
footman, who had attended him with a torch, to retire, and leave him to himself.
The torch-bearer retired, and left them quite in darkness; and the pair entered the little
cemetery, cautiously threading their way among the tombs. They sat down on one,
underneath a tree it seemed to be; the wind was very cold, and its piteous howling was
the only noise that broke the silence of the place. Catherine's teeth were chattering, for
all her wraps; and when Max drew her close to him, and encircled her waist with one
arm, and pressed her hand, she did not repulse him, but rather came close to him, and
with her own damp fingers feebly returned his pressure.
The poor thing was very wretched and weeping. She confided to Max the cause of her
grief. She was alone in the world,--alone and penniless. Her husband had left her; she
had that very day received a letter from him which confirmed all that she had suspected
so long. He had left her, carried away all his property, and would not return!
