Beaple Yeo sulkily went back to his place. Philip with a sign, showed Artemisia that he desired her to follow. She obeyed. When they were beyond earshot of Mrs. Sidebottom, Salome, and the rest, Philip said, standing by the little table, ’Mr. Schofield, I also wish to ask of you a question.’
’I am ready, my dear boy, to be put through my catechism,’ answered Yeo, with recovered assurance. ’If you want the pedigree of Schofield, I have it at my fingers’ ends.’
’It is not the pedigree so much as the alliances of Earle Schofield that interest me,’ said Philip.
’Oh, the Schofields have been allied with the best blood in the land, better than your twopenny-ha’penny manufacturers.’
’I must ask you to tell me whether, before you married Miss Durham at the Embassy to-day, you had ascertained that an alliance—not a very high one—was at an end.’
’What do you mean?’ asked Yeo, with his face slightly changing colour.
’You may happen to remember Ann Dewis, the coal-barge woman, whom you married at Hull some sixteen years ago?’
’I have reason to know,’ continued Philip, ’that she is alive—and you know that she is so, as well as I do. Miss Durham, this fellow had no right to marry you. His legitimate wife is still alive; no countess, but a vulgar old woman who owns and works a coal-barge on the Keld-dale Canal. He has a son by her. One good turn deserves another, and as you did me a real kindness at the hospice I repay it by freeing you from a degrading union just contracted with this wretched man, who is a mere adventurer and swindler. And now, one word with you, Schofield. The evidence of your bigamy is at hand. Take care that you never show your face at Mergatroyd to annoy me or my wife, or that you trouble Janet—if you do I shall have you immediately arrested on a charge of felony, for what you have done to-day.’
In Carisbrooke Castle is a deep well, three hundred feet in depth, and, in order to draw the water, there is contrived a great wooden drum or wheel, which, when turned, draws up the bucket. Within the wheel stands a donkey, and it turns it by stepping on as if walking, although, in fact, the animal never advances an inch, for, as it moves, the wheel revolves under its feet. One ass was known to perform this task for fifty years, and another for forty years. There is, unless we guard against it, a tendency in ourselves to fall into the same routine—tramping, tramping on, over the same ground, in the same unambitious manner, neither advancing in our course, nor varying our horizon.