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Updated: May 3, 2025
George Jernam asked if Captain Duncombe had been in England during that spring in which Valentine met his death. After a moment's reflection, Rosamond replied in the affirmative. "I remember his coming to see me that spring," she said. "He came early in March, and again in April, and it was then he began first to talk of settling in England."
"I promise, with all my heart," answered Captain Jernam; "I should no more think of doubting your goodness or your love for us, than I should think of doubting that there's a sun shining up aloft yonder. But why do you speak of this?" "Because, George, the truth of the matter is, I'm going to leave you." "You are going to leave us?" "Yes, old fellow.
The time seemed very long to him, watching and listening. The minute-hand of the Dutch clock moved slowly on. He turned every now and then towards the dusky corner where the clock hung, to see what progress that slow hand had made upon the discoloured dial. He waited thus for an hour. "What does it mean?" he thought. "Valentine Jernam so faithfully promised to be punctual.
Fair as the scene of her life was, to poor Rosamond it seemed as if the earth were overshadowed by dark clouds, through which no ray of sunlight could penetrate. The affection which had sprung up between her and Susan Jernam was deep and strong, and the only gleam of happiness which Rosamond experienced in her melancholy existence came from the affection of her husband's aunt.
The time had passed slowly and wearily for Rosamond Jernam, and all the efforts conscientiously made by her husband's aunt, who liked the girl better the more she saw of her, and entirely acquitted her of blame in the mysterious estrangement of the young couple, failed to make her cheerful.
It was a pale, oval face, framed in bands of smooth black hair, and lighted by splendid black eyes; the face of a Roman empress rather than a singing-girl at a public-house in Shadwell. Never before had Valentine Jernam looked on so fair a woman. He had never been a student or admirer of the weaker sex.
The man called Joe Dermot paid his score, and went away. The captain and his factotum retired to the two dingy little apartments which were to accommodate them for the night. All through that night, sleeping or waking, Valentine Jernam was haunted by the vision of a beautiful face, the sound of a melodious voice, and the face and the voice belonged alike to the singing-girl.
Joseph Buncombe was delighted to encounter a sea-faring friend, and insisted on taking George Jernam down to River View Cottage to eat what he called a homely bit of dinner. The homely bit of dinner turned out to be a very excellent repast; for Mrs. Mugby prided herself upon her powers as a cook and housekeeper, and to produce a good dinner at a short notice was a triumph she much enjoyed.
The wedding took place within a month of the sailor's return; and, after some discussion, George Jernam consented that he and his wife should continue to live at the cottage. "I can't come here to take possession of your house," he had said, addressing himself to his future father-in-law; "that would be rather too much of a good thing.
You went to sleep in an uncomfortable position, and you had an uncomfortable dream, with no more sense nor reason in it than such dreams generally have. What do you say to a hand at cards, and a drop of something short? You want cheering up a bit, captain; that's what you want." Valentine Jernam assented.
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