Helen Ford

Mr. Sharp entered, and coughed slightly, with the design of attracting the scrivener’s attention.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Jacob; “I am quite busy, preparing for a removal. Could you defer your business till,—say day after to-morrow?”

Our lawyer was one who never, under any circumstances, lost his politeness. With an affability which seemed indicative of the kindest feelings, he said, affably, “I believe I address Mr. Wynne?”

“You are right,” said Jacob, who still labored under the impression that the lawyer was one who required his services as copyist.

“Mr. Jacob Wynne?”

“Yes.”

“A copyist?”

“Yes, but I fear that I shall not be able to accommodate you to-day, being, as you see, on the point of removal.”

“You mistake my errand, Mr. Wynne. I have no doubt that you are a skilful copyist. Indeed, I have great reason to think so, and do not doubt that, if I were in need of anything in your line, I should find it worth while to apply to you.”

“What, then, is your business?” demanded Jacob, mystified.

“I regret to say, Mr. Wynne,” said Mr. Sharp, losing none of his affability, “that I have an unpleasant duty to perform. I have obtained a warrant for your arrest.”

“My arrest!” repeated the copyist, his sallow face exhibiting unmistakable terror.

“I regret to say so.”

“On what charge?” ejaculated Jacob, too well surmising its nature.

“Forgery.”

Jacob’s lips became bloodless, and his cheeks assumed an ashen hue, for at heart he was a very coward. In the moment of trial, none could be more craven.

“I regret to disturb you,” said Mr. Sharp, stepping back to the door and opening it. “Mr. Officer, you will do your duty.”

An officer, who had been stationed just outside the door, now entered, and formally arrested Jacob Wynne.

It is scarcely possible for a human being to exhibit more abject terror than the miserable copyist, under this unforeseen blow. All his strength seemed to have departed from him. When commanded by the officer to rise and accompany him, he attempted to do so; but his limbs trembled so, that he was scarcely able to comply.

“A clear case,” thought the lawyer.

“Really, my dear friend,” said Mr. Sharp, in a tone of expostulation, “you are suffering your feelings to run away with you. You must be more calm and collected.”

“Is there no way of escape?” asked Jacob, in a tone of agonizing entreaty. “Oh, spare me, gentlemen, and indeed you shall be well rewarded. See, I have gold!” and he hurriedly unlocked a desk on the table beside him. “Take what you will, but let me go.”

Mr. Sharp’s eyes glistened as he caught sight of the gold; but, perceiving no way in which he could avail himself of it, he assumed a tone of outraged integrity.

“What, sir!” he exclaimed; “can you, for an instant, suppose that we would be guilty of interfering with the course of justice for a paltry bribe? Thank Heaven!” he continued, fervently; “my integrity was never called in question. Through a long and varied professional career, I have steadily resisted all the temptations which have been brought to bear upon me. Not though your bribe were a thousand times as large, would I hesitate for a moment. Far better poverty and the consciousness of unsullied integrity, than wealth and a dishonored name! I have no doubt my worthy companion unites with me in this sentiment.”

“Of course I do,” said that functionary, gruffly.

“Then is there no chance?” asked Jacob, looking appealing from one to the other.

“Of course, if you are innocent, you will be discharged from custody. The law only punishes the guilty.”

This remark did not seem to yield Jacob much comfort.

“I am sorry to hurry you,” said the officer; “but I cannot wait much longer.”

Jacob rose feebly, and descended the stairs supported by the officer.

When the wretched copyist came in sight of the Tombs, his strength again deserted him, and he became as weak as an infant. Supported on either side he passed through the portal, and the heavy door swung back upon its hinges.

When he had been conducted to his cell and left alone, he flung himself in an agony of terror and apprehension upon the pallet, clenching his hands in impotent fury, while he muttered to himself, “Margaret has done this! Margaret has done this!”

CHAPTER XXXVII.

A WOMAN’S HEART

When the lawyer returned to his office, he found Margaret seated in the same place and in the same attitude in which he had left her. She started when he came into the room, and fixed her eyes eagerly upon him with a look of anxious inquiry.

“Well,” said the lawyer, rubbing his hands cheerfully, “we have succeeded. The bird is fairly caged.”

“Where have you carried him?” asked Margaret, in a low voice.

“To the Tombs!”

“How did he appear when you arrested him?” Margaret asked.

“Appear! Frightened to death. I never saw a person more thoroughly terrified than he was. He even had the temerity to offer me money if I would aid him to escape,” said Mr. Sharp, in a burst of virtuous indignation.

Margaret sat for a short time in the same attitude of abstraction in which the lawyer found her. She had succeeded, then. He who had wronged and ill-treated her was already in a prison-cell. The revenge for which she had longed was now hers. Yet it failed to give her that satisfaction she had in anticipation. In the moment of her success she realized that revenge was like a two-edged sword, wounding those who wielded it, as well as him against whom it was directed. Yet would she recall what she had done? No, at least not yet. Her brain was in a whirl of excitement, a prey to conflicting thoughts. She must get into the fresh air. She rose from the chair, and with unsteady feet walked slowly towards the door, without a word.

The lawyer looked at her with a puzzled glance. He could not read her history. He had expected that she would rejoice in the intelligence be brought. Instead, she seemed bewildered.

As she lifted the latch, he said, hesitatingly, “In case I should wish to communicate with you, where shall I call?”

“I will call here,” said Margaret, briefly, and passed out.

“A queer subject,” soliloquized Mr. Sharp, as he lighted a fragrant Havana, and sat down to a meditative smoke. “Yet she may prove a client not to be despised. If things work right, I shall obtain through her a hold upon Lewis Rand which I shall be pretty apt to use. He has thrown me off without ceremony. He may find it to his advantage to cultivate my acquaintance. Well, well, the world turns round, and it is only fair that I should be at the top, part of the time.”

Meanwhile Margaret was making her way through the streets, changing her direction more than once, yet tending ever nearer and nearer to one point. At length she stood before the City Prison! With blanched cheek and aching heart she looked upward at the huge pile. She wondered in what quarter of the prison they had placed Jacob, and how he bore his confinement. What a mystery is a woman’s heart! When she had thought of him only as prosperous and triumphant, her heart had been swayed by vindictive passion. Now in his humiliation she felt drawn towards him—she felt even compassion for him. For more than an hour she stood gazing at the dismal structure. Already the sun had set, and the darkness was coming on. It closed about her wrapping her in its dusky mantle. It was one of those autumn days that are succeeded by a chill evening. She shivered as the cold penetrated her wretched shawl which scantily served as a protection, and seeing a sheltered passage-way nearly opposite where she was standing, walked there and sat down upon steps concealed from the sight of the few passers-by in a state of exhaustion. Overtasked nature succumbed, and she sank into a troubled sleep.

At an early hour in the morning she was aroused to consciousness again, and urged by an impulse which she could not resist, crossed the street, made her way to the office of the prison, and made known her desire to see a prisoner.

“Who do you wish to see?”

“Jacob Wynne.”

The officer in attendance turned to a book containing a list of the unhappy persons who had found a home within these walls.