“I don’t like to give up after progressing so far. It isn’t my disposition.”
“A wise man foresees evil, and gets out of its way.”
“True; and my better course is to step aside, I suppose. But what shall we do with her?”
“Open the cage-door, as I said, and let her escape.”
“Where will she go?”
“Have you any concern on that head?”
“Some. Moreover, I don’t just comprehend the meaning of her visit here alone at night, and without money. I wonder if, after all, there isn’t a lover in the case, who has failed to meet her.”
“Most likely,” returned the woman.
“In that event, why may not I take his place?”
“It will require her consent. Better have nothing more to do with her, and thus keep out of the way of trouble.
“Her husband, if she be the wife of the man I think she is,” said Bond, “will hardly stop at half-way measures in an affair like this.”
“So much the more reason for keeping out of his way.”
“Perhaps so; and yet I like adventure, especially when spiced with a little danger. Upon second thought, I’ll let her remain here until to-morrow.”
“Just as you like. But I’ve been unable to get her up-stairs; and she can’t stay in the parlour all night.”
“No. She must go to the chamber you have prepared for her.”
“How will we get her there?”
“Use every effort you can to induce her to comply with our wishes in this respect. I will come in after nightfall, and, if you have not been successful, will remove her by force.”
With this understanding, the partners in evil separated.
Soon after parting with Mr. Edmondson, who had informed Mr. Lane that his wife was no longer at his house, and when the latter had begun to feel exceedingly anxious, he met a gentleman who said to him, “When do you expect Mrs. Lane back?”
It was with difficulty that the deserted husband could refrain from the exhibition of undue surprise at such an unexpected question.
“I was over the river yesterday afternoon with a friend who was on his way to Philadelphia,” added the man, “and saw your lady in the cars.”
“Good morning,” said Mr. Lane, as he looked at his watch, and then turned away with a hurried manner.
It was half-past eleven o’clock. At twelve a line started for the South. Lane was on board the steamboat when it left the dock. Six hours and a half of most intense anxiety were passed ere the unhappy man reached Philadelphia. On arriving, he took a carriage and visited all the principal hotels, but not a word could he hear of his wife. He then bethought him to make some inquiries of the hackman whom he had employed.
“Were you at the wharf last night when the New York line came in?” he asked, as he stood with his hand on the carriage-door, after leaving one of the hotels, again disappointed in his search.
“I was,” replied the hackman.
“Did you get any passengers?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you see any thing of a lady with a child?”
The hackman thought for a little while, and then replied—
“Yes, I did. There was a lady and a child, nearly the last on the boat. John Murphy drove them away.”
“Where can I find John Murphy?” eagerly enquired Mr. Lane.
“He’s probably on the stand.”
“Drive me there if you please.” And he sprang into the carriage.
In a few minutes they were at a carriage stand; and Mr. Lane heard the driver call out, as he reined up his horses—”Hallo! there, John Murphy! here’s a gentleman who wants to see you.”
The person addressed came up as Mr. Lane descended from the carriage.
“I understand,” said Lane, “that you received a lady and child in your carriage, last night, from the New York line. Where did you take them?”
“Who said that I did?” boldly inquired the man addressed.
“I said so!” as firmly replied the driver who had given the information to Mr. Lane. “What interest have you in denying it?”
Murphy evinced some surprise at this, and looked a little dashed, but repeated his denial.
A new fear instantly seized Mr. Lane. His wife might have been entrapped into some den of infamy, through means of the driver she had employed to convey her to an hotel. The thought affected him like an electric shock.
“You are certain of what you say?” asked Mr. Lane, turning to the hackman he had employed.
“Certain,” was answered positively.
“Is there a police officer near at hand?” was the next inquiry. This was intended as no threat; and Murphy understood its meaning.
The eyes of Mr. Lane were fixed on his face, and he saw in it a guilty change. No reply being made to the question about a police officer, Mr. Lane said, addressing the accused hackman—
“If you wish to escape trouble, take me instantly to the house where I can find the lady you took from the boat last night. She is my wife, and I will go through fire and water to find her; and let him who stands in my way take the consequences.”
Murphy now drew Mr. Lane aside, and said a few words to him hurriedly.
“Can I depend upon what you say?” eagerly asked the latter.
“Yes, upon honour!” replied the hackman.
“You must go with me,” said Lane.
“I cannot leave the stand.”
“I will call a policeman and compel you to go with me, if you don’t accompany me peaceably. As I live, I will not part from you until I find her! Take your choice—go quietly, or under compulsion.”
There was a fierce energy in the excited man that completely subdued the Irish hackman, who, after a further, though feeble remonstrance, got into the carriage with Mr. Lane, and was driven off. The course taken was out—street. Some distance beyond Washington Square, the carriage stopped before a house, in which Mr. Lane was informed that he would find the woman whom Murphy had taken from the boat the night before. He stepped out quickly, and, as he sprang across the pavement, Murphy, who was out of the carriage almost as soon as he was, glided around the corner of a street, and was beyond recall. A quick jerk of the bell was answered by a female servant, who held the door only partly open, while Lane addressed her.
“Wasn’t there a woman and child brought here last night?” said he, in an agitated manner.
“No, sir,” replied the girl; and, as she spoke, she made an attempt to close the door, seeing which, Mr. Lane thrust a part of his body in and prevented the movement.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“I am,” was positively answered, while the girl strove to shut the door by forcing it against Mr. Lane. At this moment something like a smothered cry from within reached his ears, when, throwing open the door with a sudden application of strength that prostrated the girl, he stepped over her body and entered the vestibule. Just then there arose a wild cry for help! He knew the voice; it came from one of the parlours, into which he rushed. There he saw his wife struggling in the arms of a woman and a man, while his frightened child stood near, white and speechless with terror. As he entered, Amanda saw him.
“Oh, my husband!” she exclaimed. In a moment she was released, and the man and woman fled from the room, but not before the face of the former was fully recognised by Mr. Lane.
Little Mary had already sprung to her father, and was quivering and panting on his breast.
“Oh! take me away quickly—quickly!” cried Mrs. Lane, staggering towards her husband and falling into his arms.
Without waiting for explanations, Mr. Lane went from the house with his wife and child, and, placing them in the carriage at the door, was driven to an hotel.
The reader doubtless understands the scene we have just described. The man named Bond was in the act of carrying out his threat to remove Mrs. Lane to a chamber by force when her husband appeared.
Of all that passed between the severely-tried husband and wife after their meeting, it behooves us not to write. The circumstances we have detailed were exceedingly painful to the parties most interested; but their effect, like the surgeon’s knife, was salutary. Mr. Lane afterwards regarded his wife from an entirely different point of view, and found her a very different woman from what he had at first believed her to be. He saw in her a strength of character and a clearness of intellect for which he had never given her credit; and, from looking down upon her as a child or an inferior, came to feel towards her as an equal.