One of Our Conquerors - World eBook Library

One of Our Conquerors
shall—I shall pray for her in my grave. Tell her she has done
all a woman can, an angel can, to save my soul. I speak truth:
my very soul! I could never go to the utter bad after knowing
her. I don’t—you know the world—I’m a poor helpless
woman!—don’t swear to give up my Ned if he does break
the word he promised once; I can’t see how I could. I haven’t
her courage. I haven’t—what it is! You know her: it’s in her
eyes and her voice. If I had her beside me, then I could starve
or go to execution—I could, I am certain. Here I am, going
to do what you men hate. Let me sit.’
‘Here’s a chair,’ said Dartrey. ‘I’ve no time to spare; good
day, for the present. You will permit me to call.’
‘Oh! come’; she cried, out of her sobs, for excuse. They
were genuine, or she would better have been able to second
her efforts to catch a distinct vision of his retreating figure.
She beheld him, when he was in the street, turn for the
district where Major Worrell had his lodgeings. That set her
mind moving, and her tears fell no longer.
Major Worrell was not at home. Dartrey was informed
that he might be at his Club.
At the Club he heard of the major as having gone to London
and being expected down in the afternoon. Colonel
Sudley named the train: an early train; the major was engaged
to dine at the Club. Dartrey had information supplied
to him concerning Major Worrell and Captain Marsett,
also Mrs. Marsett. She had a history. Worthy citizens read
the description of history with interest when the halo of
Royalty is round it. They may, if their reading extends, perceive,
that it has been the main turbid stream in old
Mammon’s train since he threw his bait for flesh. They might
ask, too, whether it is likely to cease to flow while he remains
potent. The lady’s history was brief, and bore recital in a
Club; came off quite honourably there. Regarding Major
Worrell, the tale of him showed him to have a pass among
men. He managed cleverly to get his pleasures out of a small
income and a ‘fund of anecdote.’ His reputation indicated
an anecdotist of the table, prevailing in the primitive societies,
where the art of conversing does not come by nature,
and is exercised in monosyllabic undertones or grunts until
the narrator’s well-masticated popular anecdote loosens a
digestive laughter, and some talk ensues. He was Marsett’s
friend, and he boasted of not letting Ned Marsett make a
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