CHAPTER VIII.—“WHAT REST TO-NIGHT?”
PUT yourself in his place. At first, as we have seen, he was simplystunned, bewildered. His breath was taken away, his understandingbaffled. His senses were thrown into disorder. It was as if a cannon hadgone off under his feet, all was uproar and smoke and confusion. But bydegrees the smoke lifted. The outlines of things became distinct.
One stupendous fact stared Arthur in the face. Its magnitude wasappalling. Its proportions were out of nature: The sight of it froze hisblood, sickened his heart, turned his brain to stone. Judith Peixada,the woman whom he had pursued, insnared, betrayed; the woman whom he haddelivered over to the clutches of the law, whom the officers had justdragged away from him, who even at this moment was under lock andkey for a capital offense in the Tombs prison; the woman whom he hadheretofore regarded as an abandoned murderess, beyond the pale of humanpity, but whom he knew now, all appearances, all testimony, to thecontrary notwithstanding, now at the eleventh hour, to be somehow asguiltless as the babe unborn: this woman was identical with his wife,with Ruth, with the lady whom he had wooed and married! He had beengroping in the dark. He had brought his own house crashing down aroundhis ears.
The vastness of the catastrophe, its apparent hopelessness, its grim,far-reaching corollaries, and the bitter knowledge that he might haveprevented it, loomed up before him like a huge, misshaped monster, bywhich his earthly happiness was irretrievably to be destroyed. Add tothis his consciousness of what she thought of him, and the sternestreader must pity his condition. She believed that, surreptitiously, hehad been prying into the story of her life—a story which on more thanone occasion she had volunteered to tell him, but to which, with feignedmagnanimity, he had refused to listen, preferring to gather it covertlyfrom other lips. She believed that, once having discovered her identity,he had ceased to love her, and had entered ruthlessly into a conspiracywhose object it was to lure her within reach of the criminal law.Unnatural, impossible, enormous, as such baseness would be, shenevertheless believed it of him. Ignorant of the circumstances,too indignant to suffer an explanation, she had jumped to the firstconclusion that presented itself, and had gone to her prison, convincedthat her husband had played her false.
His sensations, of course, were far too complicated, far too turbulent,to be easily disentangled. Senseless hatred of Peixada for havingcrossed his path; senseless hatred of himself for having acceptedPeixada’s case; self-reproach, deep and bitter, for having forbiddenher to share her secret with him; a wild desire to follow her, seeher, speak to her, force her to understand; an intense wish to be doingsomething that might help to remedy matters, without the remotest notionof what ought to be done; a remorse that bordered upon fury, in thinkingof the past; a despair and a terror that bordered upon madness, inthinking of the future; a sense of impotence that lashed him intofrenzy, in thinking of the present; these were a few of the emotionsfermenting in Arthur’s breast. His intelligence was quite unhinged. Hehad lost his reckoning. He was buffeted hither and thither by the wavesof thought and feeling that smote upon him, like a ship without a rudderin a stormy sea. He wandered aimlessly through the streets, neitherknowing nor caring whither his steps might lead him: while the peoplealong his route stopped to stare and wonder at this crazy man, who,without a hat, with eyes gleaming vacantly from their sockets, withthe pallor of death upon his cheek, hurried straight forward, lookingneither to the right nor to the left. His blood coursed like liquid firethrough his arteries. There was the hubbub of bedlam in his ears. Thesole relief he could obtain came from ceaseless motion.
Toward four o’clock that afternoon Hetzel, who lay prone upon hissofa, glancing lazily at the last issue of his favorite magazine, hearda heavy, unsteady footfall upon the stairs. Next instant the door flewopen, and Arthur stood before him, hair awry, clothing disordered,countenance drawn, haggard, and soiled with dust and perspiration.Hetzel jumped up, and was at his side in no time.
“What—what is the matter with you?” he demanded.
Arthur tottered a short distance into the room, and sank upon a chair.
It flashed across Hetzel’s mind that his friend might possibly bethe worse for drink. He laid hold of an ammonia bottle, and held it toArthur’s nostrils.
“No—no; I don’t need that,” Arthur said, waving Hetzel away.
“Well, then, speak. Tell me, what is the trouble?”
“Oh, Julian, I am ruined. If—if you knew what I have done!”
Arthur buried his face in his hands.
“Is—has—has something happened to your wife?”
“Oh, my wife, my wife,” groaned Arthur, incoherently.
Hetzel was perplexed, puzzled as to what to do or say; so, verysensibly, held his tongue. By and by Arthur began, “My wife—mywife—oh, Hetzel, listen.”
Then, brokenly, in half sentences, with frequent pauses, he managedto give Hetzel some account of the day’s happening, winding up thus:“You—you see how it is. She had offered to tell me that secret shesaid she had, but I wouldn’t let her. I wanted her to keep it, to showher how much I loved her. At least, that’s what I thought. But I—Iknow now that it was my cowardice. I was afraid to hear it. We were sohappy, I didn’t want to run any risk of having our happinesslessened by—by thinking about unpleasant things. My ignorance wascomfortable—I dreaded enlightenment. I was afraid of what it might be.I preferred to keep it entirely out of my head. God, that was a terriblemistake! If I had only had the courage to let her speak! But I wasa coward. I went to work and persuaded myself that I was acting frommotives of generosity—that I wanted to spare her the pain of talkingabout it—that I loved her too much to care about it—and all that.But that wasn’t it at all. It was weakness, and downright cowardice,and evasion of my duty. I see it plainly now—now, when worse has cometo worst. And she—she thinks—she thinks that I made inquiries behindher back, and found out what it was, and got to be friendly with Peixadain that way, and then went and put that advertisement into the papersjust for the sake of—of humiliating her—oh, God!—and she thinksit was I who arranged to have her taken to prison. She actually believesthat—believes that I did that! She wouldn’t listen to me. Herindignation carried her away. She doesn’t see how unreasonable it is.She hates me and despises me, and never will care for me again.”
Hetzel himself was staggered. Arthur’s tale ended, there befell a longsilence.
Finally Arthur broke out petulantly, “Well, why don’t you speak? Whydon’t you tell me what there is to be done?”
“It—I think it is very grave. You must let me consider a littlewhile.”
Another long silence. Hetzel, with bent head, was walking up and downthe room. At length, coming to a standstill, he began, “Yes, it isvery serious. But it is not—can not be—irremediable. There must bea way out of it—of course there must. I—I—by Jove, let’s lookit squarely in the face. It will merely make matters worse to—to sitstill and think about how bad it is.”
“What else is there to do?”
“This,” answered Hetzel. “We must get her out of prison.”
“That’s very easy to say.”
“Well, we’ll do it, no matter how difficult it may be. She mustn’tbe left in the Tombs an hour longer than we can help. After that, itwill be time to make her understand your part in the business. But nowwe must bend every muscle to get her out of prison. Whom do you know whowill go bail for her?”
“That’s the worst of it. They don’t take bail in—in—murdercases,”
“They don’t? Are you sure? Is it never done? We must move heaven andearth to induce them to, in this case.”
“It’s their rule. Romer might depart from it, she being—who sheis. But I am afraid not.”
“Well, we must try, at any rate, and without dillydallying. Whom canyou get to go upon her bond?”
“The only person I know would be Mr. Flint.”
“Then we must see Mr. Flint at once. Where does he live? Every minuteis precious. We’ll ask him to be he
r bondsman. Then we’ll seek outRomer, and persuade him. If he’s got a grain of manhood in him,he won’t refuse. If we make haste, there’s no reason why sheshouldn’t be free before sundown to-night. Come—let’s be aboutit.”
Hetzel’s speech really inspired Arthur with a certain degree of hopeand confidence. At all events, it was a relief to feel that he was doingsomething to repair the mischief he had wrought. So, in a hat borrowedfrom his chum, he led the way to Mr. Flint’s residence.
On the way thither he began, “To think that it was I who started theauthorities upon her track—-I who urged them to prosecute her! And tothink how the prosecution may end!”
Hetzel retorted, “End? I wish the end had come. I’m not afraidof the end. I know nothing of the circumstances of the case, but I doknow—and you know, and we all know—that she never was guilty ofmurder. I know that we can prove it, too—establish her innocencebeyond a shade of suspicion. We shall only need strength and patience todo that. You needn’t worry about the end.”
“But the meanwhile, then! Meanwhile, fancy what she thinks of me!Fancy her despair! Meanwhile, she—she may die—or—she may gomad—or kill herself.”
“You little know your wife, if you think that. She’s altogether toostrong a woman to succumb to misfortune like that, altogether too noblea woman to do any thing of that kind. And as for her opinion of you,why, it stands to reason that she’ll see the absurdity of it, assoon as the first shock has passed off. Just as soon as she’s ina condition to use her mind, and think things over, she’ll say toherself that there’s something which she doesn’t understand, andshe’ll ask you to explain. Take my word for it.”
As they mounted Mr. Flint’s steps, Arthur said, “Will—will youdo the talking? I don’t think I could bear to go over the whole storyagain.”
Mr. Flint had but just got home from down-town. He was now in his bath.He sent word to the callers that he would dress and be with them asquickly as he could. They waited silently in the darkened drawing room,and listened to the ticking of an old-fashioned hall-clock. In about tenminutes Mr. Flint joined them.
Hetzel stated their errand. Of course, Mr. Flint was horrified andamazed. Of course, he agreed eagerly to do every thing in his power toaid them.
“Now then, for Romer,” said Hetzel. “Where shall we find him?”
“I don’t know,” said Arthur. “We must look in the directory.”
They stopped at an apothecary’s shop, noted Romer’s address, andstarted for the nearest elevated railway station.
Half way there Mr. Flint halted.
“No,” he said, “we can’t depend upon the cars. We must have acarriage. There’s no telling how much traveling we shall have to do,before this business is completed.”
They engaged a carriage at a hack-stand hard-by; and in it were joltedover the cobble-stones to Mr. Romer’s abode.
Mr. Romer was not at home!
For a moment they gazed blankly into each other’s faces. Finally Mr.Flint said, “Where has he gone?”
“I don’t know,” returned the servant.
“Is there any body in this house who does know?”
“His mother might.”
“Well then, we want to see his mother.”
The servant left them in the vestibule, and went up-stairs. Presentlyshe returned, accompanied by a corpulent old lady.
“Did you desire to see Mr. Romer upon official business?” inquiredthe old lady.
“We did, madam—important official business,” said Mr. Flint.
“Then, gentlemen, you can’t see him till to-morrow morning at hisoffice. He don’t see people officially after office-hours. If he did,he’d get no peace.”
Mr. Flint accepted the situation, and was equal to it.
“I understand,” he said; “but this is business in which Mr. Romeris personally interested. We must see him to-night. To-morrow morningwill be too late. If you know where he is, you’d better tell us.Otherwise, I shan’t answer for his displeasure.”
“Oh, in that case,” said the old lady, quite deceived by Mr.Flint’s white lie, “in that case, you’ll find him dining at the ** * Club. At least, he said he should dine there, when he left the housethis morning.”
“Thank you, madam,” said Mr. Flint. In the carriage, “Bless mysoul!” he added. “It couldn’t have fallen out better. I’m amember of the * * * Club, myself.”
They entered the club-house. Mr. Flint led Arthur and Hetzel intothe reception-room, where, for a moment, he left them alone.Shortly returning, “Mr. Romer,” he announced, “is in thebowling-alley—hasn’t yet gone up to dinner. I’ve sent him mycard.”
In due time Romer appeared, his face flushed by recent exercise.Catching sight of Arthur, “What, you—Ripley?” he exclaimed.“I’d fust been telling the fellows down-stairs about—thatis—I—well, I—I’m real glad to see you.”
“Mr. Romer,” said Mr. Flint, plunging in medias res, “I haveventured to disturb you in your leisure for the purpose of offering bailin the case of Mrs. Ripley, who, I am informed, was taken in custodyto-day by your officers.”
“Oh,” said Romer, “a question of bail.”
“Yes—we want to give bail for the lady at once—in any amountthat you may wish—but without delay. She must be out of prison beforeto-morrow morning.”
“Hum,” mused Romer, “I don’t see how you’ll manage it.”
“Manage it? What is there to be managed? I offer bail; it only remainsfor you to take it.”
“Oh, excuse me, but I have no authority in the matter—no more thanyou yourself. Mr. Orson, my chief, is the man for you to see, and he’sout of town. We don’t take bail generally in murder cases; and Ican’t make an exception of this one—though I’d like to, firstrate, for Ripley’s sake. Perhaps Mr. Orson might do so—in fact Ishould advise him to—but, as I’ve said, he’s not on hand.Then, the amount would have to be determined, the papers drawn, theproceedings submitted to a magistrate—and on the whole, it couldn’tbe arranged inside of a day or two, at the shortest.”
“The devil you say!” cried Mr. Flint.
“I’m very sorry, I’m sure. But that’s about the size of it,”said Romer.
“And is—is there nothing to be done? Is this lady to remainindefinitely in the Tombs—a common prisoner?”
“Until you can bring the question before Mr. Orson, at any rate.”
“Well, where is he, Mr. Orson?”
“He’s on his vacation—down at Long Branch.”
“What hotel?”
“The * * *.”
“Good. Will you go with me to Long Branch to-morrow morning?”
“To-morrow morning? No, I can’t go to-morrow morning.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve got a calendar on my hands.”
“When can you go?”
“I might arrange to run down to-morrow night, and come back Wednesdaymorning.”
“For mercy’s sake, then, do so. On what train will you start with meto-morrow night?”
“Call at my office at four o’clock in the afternoon, and I’ll letyou know. You may count, Ripley, upon my doing all I can for you.”
Mr. Romer went back to his bowling.
Mr. Flint said, “Well, I don’t see that we can go any furtherto-night.”
“I suppose we’ll have to reconcile ourselves to waiting andhoping,” said Hetzel.
“Good God! Is she to—to pass the night in prison?” cried Arthur.
“Come, come, my dear boy,” said Mr. Flint.
“We must make the best of it.” Turning to Hetzel. “Where are yougoing now?” he asked.
“I think—it has just occurred to me—that we ought to see Mrs.Hart,” Hetzel returned.
“Well then, set me down at my house on your way up.” And Mr. Flintgave the necessary instructions to the driver.
Mrs. Hart was posted on her stoop, peering anxiously up and down thestreet, as the carriage containing Hetzel and Arthur rumbled intoBeekman Place. Whe
n she saw that the carriage had stopped directly infront of her domicile, she made a rush toward it, pulled open the door,and cried, “Ruth, Ruth—at last you have come back! I was so muchworried!” Then, discovering her mistake, “Oh, it is not Ruth? Wherecan she be?”
“She is perfectly safe,” said Hetzel. “Come into the house.”
“You have seen her?” questioned Mrs. Hart. “She has been gone sucha long time! I was frightened half to death. Tell me, why doesn’t shecome home? What—?”
Mrs. Hart faltered. By this time they had reached the parlor, which wasbrilliantly lighted up; and at the spectacle of Arthur’s face, lividenough at best, but rendered doubly so by the gas-jets, Mrs. Hartfaltered.
“Let me reassure you. Mrs. Ripley is perfectly safe,” repeatedHetzel.
“But then—then, why does he look like this?” pointing to Arthur,and laying a stress upon each syllable.
“Sit down,” said Hetzel, “and compose yourself; and he will tellyou.”
To Arthur, “Now, Arthur, try to command your feelings, and tell Mrs.Hart all about it.”
As best he could, he told Mrs. Hart as much as was needful to make hercomprehend the state of affairs.
Mrs. Hart was nervous enough at the outset. As Arthur’s storyproceeded, her nervousness became more and more ungovernable. When shelearned that Ruth had been carried off to prison, she cried, “Oh, takeme to her at once. I must go to her at once. She must not be left alonethere all night.”
“It would be impossible to obtain admittance at this hour,” saidHetzel.
But saying it did not suffice. Mrs. Hart insisted. “Oh, they wouldsurely let me in. She—she will die if she is left there alone.”
Hetzel undertook to comfort her, and to bring her around to reason.Finally she was sufficiently calm to listen to the rest of what Arthurhad to say.
His tale complete, Hetzel took up the sequel, explaining how they hadtried to have her liberated on bail, how Mr. Flint was to visit Mr.Orson at Long Branch to-morrow night, and going on to express hisassurance that in a week’s time at the furthest the storm would haveblown over, and made way for calm and sunshine.
For a long while Mrs. Hart could only cry and utter inarticulatesyllables of grief.
By and by Hetzel asked, “Can you tell us how she came to go downthere—to Mr. Peixada’s place?”
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Hart. “It was my fault. I advised her to. Yousee, this is the way it happened. After Arthur had left the housethis morning, Ruth picked up the newspaper. She was just glancing overit—not reading any thing in particular—when all at once, she gave alittle scream. I asked her what it was; and she said, ’Look here.’Then she showed me the advertisement that he has spoken of. ’Would youpay any attention to it?’ she asked. I read it, and considered, andthen asked her what action her impulse prompted her to take. She saidthat she hardly knew. If there was something they wanted of her, whichwas right and proper, she supposed she ought to do it; but she hatedto have any dealings with Peixada. ’I thought Judith Peixada had beendead two years,’ she said; ’but now she comes to life again justwhen she is least expected.’ I suggested that she might write aletter. But on thinking it over she said, ’No. Perhaps the best thingI can do will be to go at once and beard the lion in his den. I shallworry about it otherwise. I may as well know right away what it is.After lunch I’ll go down-town and call upon Mr. Peixada; and thenI’ll surprise Arthur in his office, and bring him home.’ Then I—Isaid I thought that was the best thing she could possibly do,” Mrs.Hart interrupted herself to dry her eyes. Presently, “You see, it wasmy fault,” she resumed. “I ought to have suspected that they meantfoul play; but instead, I let her walk straight into their pitfall.Right after lunch, at about halfpast one, she started out. She promisedto be home again by four o’clock. When she didn’t come and didn’tcome, I began to get more and more anxious about her. I was almostbeside myself, when at last you arrived.”
Hetzel said, “It is bad enough to think of her being locked up inprison, but that is not the worst. I’m sure we can get her out ofprison; and although I don’t know the first thing about the case,I’m sure that we can prove her innocence. The trouble now isthis. She’s suffering all manner of torments, because she totallymisconceives her husband’s part in the transaction. Our endeavor mustbe to put her husband’s conduct before her in the right light—makeher understand that he acted all along in good faith, and without thefaintest suspicion that she and Judith Peixada were one and the same.She was so much incensed at him this afternoon, that she wouldn’t lethim justify himself. We must set this mistake right tomorrow morning.I think that you, Mrs. Hart, had better visit her as early to-morrow asthey will admit you, and—”
“Of course I will,” interpolated Mrs. Hart.
“—And tell her Arthur’s side of the story. When she understandsthat, she’ll feel like another woman. Then he can see her, and talkto her, and find out the facts of the case, and lay them before theauthorities. It seems to me that this is the plain course to take.”
“And meanwhile, meanwhile!” cried Arthur, wringing his hands.
“Come,” said Hetzel, “show your grit. Look at Mrs. Hart. See howbravely she bears up. Do you want to make it harder for every one byyour example?”
“Mrs. Hart isn’t her husband,” Arthur retorted.
Then he bit his lip and kept silence. Mrs. Hart sat bolt upright,staring at vacancy, with brows knitted into a tight frown. Hetzel tuggedaway at his whiskers, and was evidently thinking hard.
By and by the door-bell rang. A servant entered.
“Here is a note, ma’am, a man just left,” she said to Mrs. Hart.
Mrs. Hart read the note and passed it to Hetzel. It was written upon ahalf sheet of paper, headed in heavy black print, “City Prison.” Itwas brief:—
“My dear, dear Friend:—You must be anxious about me. I have triedhard to get word to you. At last they have found a messenger for me. Yousee by this letter-heading where I am. The advertisement was a trick.But it was worse, much worse, than you can fancy. If I could only seeyou! Will you come to me to-morrow morning? I am too heartsick to write,Ruth.”
Hetzel was returning the note to Mrs. Hart, when Arthur stretched outhis hand for it.
“Am I not to read what my own wife has written?” he demandedfiercely.
He took in its contents at a glance. Even this sheet of common prisonpaper was sweet with that faint, evanescent perfume that clung toeverything Ruth’s fingers touched. Letting it drop to the floor, “Ican’t stand it,” he cried in a loud voice, and left the room.
They heard the vestibule door slam behind him.
“He is mad,” said Mrs. Hart. “He will do himself an injury.”
“No, he won’t—not if I can stop him,” said Hetzel; and hehurried forth upon Arthur’s track.
But he came back in a little while, panting for breath.
“I ran as far as First Avenue,” he explained; “but he hadsucceeded in getting out of sight. Never mind. He’ll come home allright. No doubt he needs to be alone.”
Once out of doors, Arthur dashed blindly ahead. It was a sultry night.The odor of ailanthus trees hung heavy on the air. Many people wereabroad. On the door-steps of most of the houses, the inmates sat,chatting, smoking, dozing, airing themselves. The city had given itselfover to rest and recreation. Through open windows escaped bursts ofsong and laughter and piano playing. Young girls, dressed in white,promenaded on the arms of young men who puffed cigarettes.
Arthur had no fixed destination. He walked, because walking was acounter-irritant. He walked rapidly, and took no notice of the sightsand sounds round about him. He remembers dimly that he left therespectable quarters of the city far behind, and entered a maze ofcrooked, squalid, foul-smelling streets. Then, he remembers that all atonce he looked up and wondered where he was. And there, a blot upon thesky, there loomed the prison that held his beloved.
He remained within eyeshot of this dismal structure till daybreak, whenat last he
went back to Beekman Place.