“The Saracen! the Saracen’s head, Colin; it was made with the lost seal-ring!”
“The ring was taken from Edward’s dressing-room the night when Rose was frightened with the phosphorus. Maria declares that she did not suspect the theft, or Maddox’s purpose, till long after she had left her place. He effected his practices under pretence of attachment to her, and then could not shake her off. She went abroad with him after the settlement of affairs; but he could not keep out of gambling speculation, and lost everything. Then he seems to have larked about, obtaining means she knew not how—as artist, lecturer, and whatnot—till the notable F.U.E.E. was started. Most likely he would have collected the subscriptions and made off with them, if Rachel Curtis had not had just sense enough to trust him with nothing without seeing some result, so that he was forced to set the affair going with Maria at its head, as the only person who could cooperate with him. They kept themselves ready for a start whenever there should be symptoms of a discovery, but, in the meantime, he gambled away all that he got into his hands, and never gave her enough to feed the children. Thus she was absolutely driven to force work from them for subsistence; and she is a passionate creature, whom jealousy embittered more and more, so that she became more savage than she knew. Poor thing! She has her punishment. Maddox only came home, yesterday, too late for any train before the mail, and by that time the child was too ill to be moved. He must have thought it all up with him, and wished to be rid of both, for they quarrelled, and he left her to her misery.”
“What, gone?”
“Yes, but she told us of his haunts—haunts that he thought she did not know—a fancy shop, kept by a Mrs. Dench at Bristol, where it seems that he plays the philanthropical lecturer, and probably has been trying to secure a snug berth for himself unknown, as he thought, to Maria; but she pried into his letters, and kept a keen watch upon him. He was to be inquired for there by his Mauleverer name, and, I have little doubt, will be captured.”
“And then?”
“He will be committed for trial at the sessions; and, in the meantime, I must see Beauchamp and Dr. Long, and arrange that he should be prosecuted for the forgery, even though he should slip through our fingers at the sessions.”
“Oh, could that be?”
“This Clever Woman has managed matters so sweetly, that they might just as well try her as him for obtaining money on false pretences; and the man seems to have been wonderfully sharp in avoiding committing himself. Mrs. Curtis’s man of business has been trying all day to get up the case, but he has made out nothing but a few more debts such as that which turned up yesterday; and it is very doubtful how far a case can be made out against him.”
“And then we should lose him.”
“That is exactly what I wish to avoid. I want to bring up my forces at once, and have him laid hold of at once for the forgery of those letters of Edward’s. How long would it take to hear from Ekaterinburg? I suppose Edward could travel as fast as a letter.”
Alison fairly sprang to her feet.
“O, Colin, Colin! you do not think that Edward would be here by the next sessions.”
“He ought,” said Colin. “I hope to induce Dr. Long and Harry to write him such letters as to bring him home at once.”
Self-restrained Alison was fairly overcome. She stretched out both hands, pressed Colin’s convulsively, then turned away her face, and, bursting into tears, ran out of the room.
“Poor dear Ailie,” said Ermine; “she has suffered terribly. Her heart is full of Edward. Oh, I hope he will come.”
“He must. He cannot be so senseless as to stay away.”
“There is that unfortunate promise to his wife; and I fear that he is become so much estranged from English ways that he will hardly care to set himself straight here, after the pain that the universal suspicion gave him.”
“He cannot but care. For the sake of all he must care,” vehemently repeated Colin, with the punctilious honour of the nobly-born soldier. “For his child’s sake, this would be enough to bring him from his grave. If he refused to return to the investigation, it would be almost enough to make me doubt him.”
“I am glad you said almost,” said Ermine, trying to smile; but he had absolutely brought tears into her eyes.
“Dear Ermine,” he said, gently, “you need not fear my not trusting him to the utmost. I know that he has been too much crushed to revive easily, and that it may not be easy to make him appreciate our hopes from such a distance; but I think such a summons as this must bring him.”
“I hope it will,” said Ermine. “Otherwise we should not deserve that you should have any more to do with us.”
“Ermine, Ermine, do you not know that nothing can make any difference between us?”
Ermine had collected herself while he spoke.
“I know,” she said, “that all you are doing makes me thank and bless you—oh! more than I can speak.”
He looked wistfully at her, but, tearful as were her eyes, there was a resolution, about her face that impressed upon him that she trusted to his promise of recurring no more within the year to the subject so near his heart; and he could say no more than, “You forgive me, Ermine; you know I trust him as you do.”
“I look to your setting him above being only trusted,” said Ermine, trying to smile. “Oh! if you knew what this ray of hope is in the dreary darkness that has lasted so long!”
Therewith he was obliged to leave her, and she only saw him for a few minutes in the morning, when he hurried
