came back to
Toonarbin, in what he intended for a furious rage. But, having told Tom
Troubridge the whole affair, and having unluckily caught Tom's eye,
they two went off into such hearty fits of laughter that poor Mary, now
convalescent, but still in bed, knocked at the wall to know what the
matter was.

Chapter XXXII

WHICH IS THE LAST CHAPTER BUT ONE IN THE SECOND VOLUME.

The state of terror and dismay into which poor Mary Hawker was thrown
on finding that her husband, now for many years the BETE NOIR of her
existence, was not only alive, but promising fairly to cause her more
trouble than ever he did before, superadded, let me say, for mere
truth's sake, to a slight bilious attack, brought on by good living and
want of exercise, threw her into a fever, from which, after several
days' delirium, she rose much shattered, and looking suddenly older.
All this time the Doctor, like a trusty dog, had kept his watch, and
done more, and with a better will than any paid doctor would have been
likely to do. He was called away a good deal by the prosecution arising
out of that unhappy affair with the other doctor, and afterwards with a
prosecution for perjury, which he brought against the sawyer; but he
was generally back at night, and was so kind, so attentive, and so
skilful that Mary took it into her head, and always affirmed
afterwards, that she owed her life to him.

She was not one to receive any permanent impression from anything. So
now, as day by day she grew stronger, she tried to undervalue the
mischief which had at first so terrified her, and caused her
illness;--tried, and with success, in broad daylight; but, in the
silent dark nights, as she lay on her lonely bed, she would fully
appreciate the terrible cloud that hung over her, and would weep and
beat her pillow, and pray in her wild fantastic way to be delivered
from this frightful monster, cut off from communion with all honest men
by his unutterable crimes, but who, nevertheless, she was bound to
love, honour, and obey, till death should part her from him.

Mrs. Buckley, on the first news of her illness, had come up and taken
her quarters at Toonarbin, acting as gentle a nurse as man or woman
could desire to have. She took possession of the house, and managed
everything. Mrs. Barker, the house-keeper, the only one who did not
submit at once to her kindly rule, protested, obstructed, protocolled,
presented an ultimatum, and, at last, was so ill