I know that I went back to drink, like the beast
that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as
close to me a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our
door. For Sarah Cushing loved me—that's the root of the business—she
loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that
I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole
body and soul.
"'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good
woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was
thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as
happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all
Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked
Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led
to another, until she was just one of ourselves.
"'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money
by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have
thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it?
"'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the
ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and
in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine
tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying
her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when
little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as
I hope for God's mercy.
"'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or
to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of
that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship
and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked.
"Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up
and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary,
Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be
contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my
lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she
had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a
fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no
need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand
away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up
her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she,
and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room.
"'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul,
and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on
biding with us—a besotted fool—but I never said a word to Mary, for I
knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a
time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself.
She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became
queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had
been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my
pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and
more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly
puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just
inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and
poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that
I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and
began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had
been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now,
and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec
Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker.
"'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was
to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends
wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled,
who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen.
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