IO. A. COLLINS, 
 
 Dealer in 
 
 [S AM) STATMERY, 
 res, Frames & Mouldings, 
 Main Sti eet, 
 
T S.ARTHUR S NEW WORKS. 
 
 I. OUT IN THE WORLD. 
 
 II. LIGHT OX SHADOWED PATHS. 
 
 III. NOTHING BUT MONEY. 
 
 IV. WHAT CAME AFTEKWAKDS. 
 
 All published uniform with this volume, at $1.50, and sent 
 free by mail on receipt of price, By 
 
 Carleton, Publisher, 
 New Yorlt* 
 
WHAT CAME AFTEEWARDS. 
 
 BEING A SEQUEL TO "NOTHING BUT MONEY." 
 
 BY 
 
 T. S. ARTHUR, 
 
 A.OTHOE OF "OUT IN THE WORLD," "LIGHT ON SHADOWED PATH3," "NOTHING 
 BUT MONEY," ETC. ETC. 
 
 MS* 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 CARLETOJV, PUBLISHER, 413 BROADWAY. 
 
 1865. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by 
 
 G. W. CARLETON, 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 T was an evening in winter. A man, 
 just above the medium height, with a 
 pale, delicately cut, intellectual face, sat 
 by an office table, above which depended 
 a shaded gas-light. He was leaning 
 over a book, now examining a page in 
 tently, and now turning the leaves with 
 rapid fingers not so much reading, as 
 searching for some fact, formula, or illustration. His 
 face, we said, was pale ; but the paleness was not of ill 
 health, nor in consequence of prolonged physical ex 
 haustion ; for the skin had a clear, healthy look, and 
 the strong brown eyes, that glanced up, now and then, 
 in pauses of reflection, were full of fire. The face, as 
 we said, was delicately cut; the forehead high and 
 broad ; the eyebrows thin, but darkly defined ; the 
 lashes well fringed and with a graceful curve upwards ; 
 the nose long, rather prominent, but straight, with wide, 
 almost transparent nostrils ; full lips, and slightly reced- 
 
 ing chin. 
 
 M119130 
 
6 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 There was not a hard or harsh line in his face. The 
 artist-soul, which had been at work upon it for many 
 years the snow-flecked hair said many years drew, 
 it was plain, her inspiration and ideals of beauty, from 
 heavenly spheres. Truth, purity, self-discipline, high 
 thoughts and noble purposes, with love of the neigh 
 bor, had all guided the artist-soul, as it wrought upon 
 the material investure, amd cut it into a represent 
 ation of its own interior life. So the soul is ever at 
 work upon the face, giving to it the form of its quality. 
 If you have skilled eyes, you may read the men you 
 meet by the lines of their countenances. 
 
 He sat at an office table, the strong gas-light flood 
 ing his face, and giving it an almost supernatural beau 
 ty. There were many cases standing against the walls 
 of the office, which was spacious, and carpeted ; 
 cases of books ; of chemical and philosophical apparatus ; 
 of drugs and curious specimens in bottles ; and of an 
 atomical preparations. Orderly arrangement, and an 
 air of taste and comfort, w^ere in everything. The man 
 and his surroundings were in harmony. 
 
 44 Is the Doctor in ? " 
 
 The door opened so quietly, that he was not aware 
 of the presence of any one, until a child s voice asked 
 the question. Glancing up, he saw a little girl, not 
 over eight years of age, standing just inside of the of- 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 7 
 
 fice door, which she still held ajar. She was poorly 
 dressed, but clean. Her face, which could not be called 
 a plain one, had little of that healthy glow and round 
 ness which we see in children who have plenty of food, 
 air and exercise. It was the face of a child to whom 
 life had not been all sunshine ; for over it shadows of 
 real things had passed so often, and dwelt so long, that 
 cheerfulness had faded out. She had a look of endur 
 ance, if not suffering. Her skin was fair, and she had 
 blue eyes, that should have been dancing in light ; but 
 they were dreamy and sad, and full of questionings. To 
 her, life had come on the darker side, and its mystery 
 and sorrow weighed sluggishly on her heart. The Doc 
 tor, who possessed the rare faculty of reading counte 
 nances as some men read books, saw all this at a glance. 
 
 " I am the Doctor," he replied, leaning back from 
 the table, and looking intently at the child. 
 
 " Mother says, wont you come and see little Theo." 
 The child came forward a few steps. Her eyes rested 
 full on the Doctor s face not boldly, but with that 
 confidence seen in artless children. 
 
 " Who is your mother ? " asked the Doctor. 
 
 " Her name is Mrs. Ewbank." - 
 
 " Where does she live ? 3> 
 
 " In Green street, four doors from Franklin." 
 
 Which side ? " 
 
8 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " On t other side." 
 
 " What s the matter with Theo ? " 
 
 He s sick." 
 
 " In what way ? " 
 
 " I don t know ; but he cries most all the time, and 
 ne s fallen to skin and bone, as mother says. He s 
 cried all day and he s so hot; and wont eat any 
 thing." 
 
 " In Green street, four doors from Franklin ? " 
 
 The Doctor took a slate and commenced writing on 
 it with a pencil. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " What is the name ? Mrs. Ewbank ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Does your mother want me to come around this 
 evening ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. She s crying; and is afraid Then \vont 
 live." 
 
 It was on the Doctor s tongue to ask the child about 
 her father ; but it crossed his mind that such a ques 
 tion might give pain, and so it was withheld. 
 
 " I ll be around this evening, tell your mother," he 
 answered, kindly. 
 
 The child threw him a grateful look, and then went 
 out. As she did so, the Doctor bent over his volume 
 again, and commenced running from page to page in a 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 9 
 
 rapid, searching manner. He did not observe that 
 another door had opened, nor that almost noiseless feet 
 were crossing the room. A hand was laid gently on 
 his shoulder. Without starting, or a motion of surprise, 
 he leaned back from the table, and turning, looked up 
 into the pleasant face of a woman. In actual record 
 her years were forty-five ; in appearance, she was young 
 er by half a score. The flowers of summer had been 
 tempered for her by the shadows of great rocks, or the 
 cool recesses of arbors wrought of vines that loving 
 hands had planted. The wild blasts of winter had 
 rarely been able to penetrate the sheltered home in 
 which she dwelt; and even when their chilly breath 
 came in through a suddenly opening door, or neglected 
 cranny, it was soon subdued by the tempering warmth 
 within. Life had, thus far on her journey, given her 
 more of peace than sadness more of interior satisfac 
 tion than disquietude. And yet, a second glance at her 
 almost youthful face, revealed the fact, that she had not 
 passed thus far in the ways of life, without a share of 
 discipline of sorrow of sickness and pain ; but they 
 had wrought their true intent, softening, elevating and 
 refining bearing back, and to the circumference of 
 her being, the inherited natural with its evils, and min 
 istering to the birth of that spiritual life, the full develop 
 ment of which gives the stature of an angel. 
 1* 
 
10 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Lena." As the Doctor uttered her name, gently, 
 a smile crept around his lips, and the intenser light of 
 his eyes, which professional thought had kindled, soften 
 ed to a look of tenderness. 
 
 " Studying a case, I supppose," she said, question and 
 affirmative uniting in her voice. 
 
 " Yes, and a difficult one," replied the Doctor, as he 
 still leaned back, and looked at his wife. She moved 
 around, and stood more nearly in front, the light falling 
 strongly on his face from the shaded lamp, while hers re 
 mained partly in shadow. 
 
 " I should think, by this time," was remarked, " that 
 you were so familiar with all forms of disease, and their 
 treatment, that no case would be found difficult." 
 
 " As evil is Protean, so is disease. When the moral 
 ist has discovered all forms of evil, and noted their 
 remedies, the physician may hope to attain for disease a 
 like consummation," said the Doctor. 
 
 " In that view, the healer can never be perfect in his 
 art." 
 
 " Never. Symptoms effects the ultimate signs 
 of causes he does not see are all that meet his observa 
 tion. Sin is the mother of disease therefore, all dis 
 eases have a spiritual origin. Physical evil is only the 
 result of moral evil, descended to a lower plane of life. 
 
 As the cause is, so will the effect be ; and the effect 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 11 
 
 must give an actual sign of the cause, and vary as to its 
 quality and force. You can see, then, how, with an 
 almost infinite variety, diseases will manifest themselves, 
 and while holding a type, or classification, set at naught, 
 in many instances, all the physician s previously acquir 
 ed skill and demand of him a new application of reme 
 dies." 
 
 Something like a sigh parted the air, as the Doctor s 
 wife answered 
 
 " And so, his work will never grow lighter." 
 
 " Why should it, if he have strength ? " asked the 
 Doctor. His countenance was as serene as his voice. 
 
 " True. Why should it, if he have strength ? But, 
 dear " her voice fell to a lower tone " your strength 
 is failing, while your work demands increasing vigor." 
 
 u I am not conscious of the failure." The Doctor 
 smiled into the face of his wife. 
 
 " You bear the signs," she answered, tenderly. 
 " Here," she laid the tips of her fingers softly on his 
 hair, " they are gathering fast. Every day I can see 
 some spot on which a snow-flake has alighted. And, as 
 your head whitens, the summer flushes grow paler on 
 your cheeks. Are deepening orbits and shrinking flesh, 
 the signs of strength ? No no, my husband ! " 
 
 " You are too quick at reading signs, Lena. The 
 plump and the ruddy are not always the most enduring. 
 
12 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 
 
 The clear eye, the healthy skin, the compact muscle 
 these show the right condition, and give warrant of en 
 durance. And, above all, the calm temperament, and 
 Heaven-aspiring soul." 
 
 " But a dwarf may not be equal to a giant s work." 
 
 " No ; and he would be a very foolish dwarf to at 
 tempt so impossible a thing. But, a dwarf, working 
 bravely up to his strength, may do a great deal more 
 than a self-indulgent giant, and be none the weaker." 
 
 " You generally beat me in argument," said the 
 Doctor s wife, smiling. " But, convinced against my 
 will, I hold the same opinion still. I feel that you are 
 taxing yourself too severely and I see it, also ; and 
 unless your reasoning harmonizes with my perception, I 
 cannot fully accept your judgment. In most cases, 
 your thought and my intuition reach to the same con 
 clusion, and then I know we are right. I doubt now ; 
 and think you will be wise to take the benefit of my 
 doubts, and spare yourself a little." 
 
 The Doctor reached his hand towards the table, and 
 shut the book over which he had been poring when his 
 wife came in. 
 
 " That s right. Now come up stairs," she said, draw 
 ing upon his arm. 
 
 " Is tea ready ? " The Doctor took out his watch. 
 
 "It will be, in ten minutes." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 13 
 
 " Half past six." The Doctor laid his hand on the 
 book he had just closed. " In ten minutes, you say ? 
 That will give time to finish my " 
 
 " Indeed it will not," said the wife, interrupting him, 
 and speaking with the firmness of one who intended to 
 have her own way. Seizing the volume resolutely, she 
 returned it to one of the book-cases. 
 
 " Now, sir, my will must, for once, be law," she add 
 ed, with mock seriousness. 
 
 T^he Doctor leaned back in his chair, and fixed his 
 eyes on his wife, meeting her animated countenance, as 
 she turned from the book-case, with so sober a gaze, that 
 she was, for a moment, half in doubt whether he were 
 not offended. 
 
 " Do you know who is up stairs ? " she asked. 
 
 " Who ? " 
 
 " Lena and little Ned." 
 
 " No ! " The Doctor was on his feet in a moment. 
 
 " Yes ; they ve been here all the afternoon." 
 
 " Have they ? Well, that s pleasant." And he was 
 already on his way to the door of his office. In the 
 door, he turned, and saw his wife standing near the table. 
 She had not moved. 
 
 " Come," he said. 
 
 * Oh, it s of no consequence about me," was answer 
 ed, in a voice simulating so well a hurt spirit, that the 
 
14 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 Doctor was for the moment deceived. Going back, he 
 drew an arm around his wife. 
 
 " She is yours as well as mine, dear." 
 
 " All very well to say that. But, I understand. You 
 couldn t give me ten minutes. Oh, no ! But at Lena s 
 name, you start away like an impatient lover." 
 
 " Jealous of your own child ! What a riddle is 
 woman ! " said the Doctor, standing full before his wife, 
 and looking away down into her large, black eyes, that 
 were always so full of light that few could gaze into 
 them steadily. A kiss reconciled all. A husband s kiss 
 the heart of a loving wife never gets too old for that 
 sign, but leaps to it, always responsive, and with a thrill 
 of pleasure. With his arm still around her waist, the 
 Doctor and his wife went from the office to one of the 
 drawing-rooms above. 
 
 u Lena ! " How tenderly the name was spoken ! 
 How warmly the small, fair hand was clasped ! How 
 lovingly manhood s lips rested on lips that were given 
 to their pressure with the pure abandonment of a 
 daughter s heart. Then little three-year-old Ned was 
 in grandpa s arms, and clinging around his neck. 
 
 " How is Edward ? " The tone in which this ques 
 tion was asked, made very plain the fact that Edward, 
 Lena s husband, stood in high regard with the Doctor. 
 
 " Very, well." The daughter s love and the wife s 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 15 
 
 love, blended sweetly in the rich young face, dark as 
 her mother s, and as full of affluent life. 
 
 " He will come to tea ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " For the same reason that we cannot, once in an 
 age, get you to tea." 
 
 " Crowded with professional duties? " 
 
 " Yes ; that s the only reason. He has a consultation 
 at six. I ve said a hundred times, when I saw how you 
 were robbed of social hours, that I d never marry a 
 doctor. But, it was my fate. You would have office 
 students ! " 
 
 " Not a very hard fate, I imagine," said her father, 
 smiling. 
 
 " I will be as brave and enduring as possible, know 
 ing that it might be worse," answered the daughter, with 
 feigned seriousness. 
 
 As they talked, the tea-bell rang. Assembled at the 
 table, five persons made up the circle. Doctor Hofland 
 and his wife ; Lena, their oldest daughter, with her boy 
 in a high-chair, next to his grandfather, and Annie, the 
 youngest daughter, just blossoming into the full spring 
 time of luxuriant eighteen. Their only son, Frank, 
 holding the rank of a lieutenant in the navy, was on 
 board of a national vessel, in the Indian seas. 
 
16 * WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " It* Frank were only here ! " The mother s thought, 
 as she gazed around the table, went off to the absent 
 one. " Then," she added, our circle would be com 
 plete." 
 
 " There would still be a vacant place," said Lena. 
 
 "Whose?" 
 
 " Edward s." 
 
 " True." And yet the mother s heart did not come 
 rounding into fulness in her tones." 
 
 " He loves you just as dearly as if he were your own 
 son, mother." 
 
 " And I love him very much. He could scarcely 
 be dearer, if he were my own flesh and blood. Yes, it 
 would take him, also, to make our circle complete." 
 
 " He seems to be making his way very rapidly into 
 the confidence of some of our best people," said the Doc 
 tor. 
 
 " Yes. Almost every week, he is called to a new 
 family," said Lena, with pride and pleasure in her voice. 
 " If it goes on as it has begun, he will speedily acquire 
 a large practice." 
 
 " I hear him well spoken of in influential circles," re 
 marked Doctor Hofland. " As it now stands, he is on 
 the right road to a high place in his profession." 
 
 " He was called in to Mr. Larobe s last week," said 
 Lena. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 17 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Larobe s ! Who s sick there ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Larobe s oldest son." 
 
 "Leon Guy?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What ails him ? " 
 
 " Some nervous disease. Pie s lost the use of both 
 legs. Edward says that he s a most pitiable object 
 emaciated, and with a countenance so exhausted by 
 suffering, that the sight of him leaves an impression of 
 sadness. His mother has taken him to the sea shore, to 
 medicinal springs, and once to France, for consultation 
 with physicians in Paris. But, all to no good purpose." 
 
 " How long has he been suffering in this way ? " ask 
 ed the Doctor. 
 
 " For a number of years. Up to his tenth year, he 
 was a healthy boy. Then, from cold, or some shock, I 
 don t remember which, the balance of health was de 
 stroyed, and he has been growing worse ever since." 
 
 " He must be a young man, now ? " 
 
 "Past sixteen, 1 think." 
 
 The Doctor s eyes fell from his daughter s face, and 
 his countenance grew serious. 
 
 " We cannot pity the mother," he said, thoughtfully, 
 " however we may feel for the child. If there is such 
 a thing as retribution, it must fall upon her head." 
 
 "It is falling, I think," remarked Mrs. Hofland, 
 " and with crushing weight hurting her in the most 
 
18 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 vulnerable places. Some one told me recently, that 
 her daughter, Blanche Guy, was simple. This, in all 
 probability, accounts for the fact that she is never seen 
 on the street, and but seldom in the carriage, with her 
 mother." 
 
 " Simple ? " the Doctor mused. " I shouldn t won 
 der," he added, " if that were really so. I saw them 
 riding out not long since, and remarked in passing, an 
 unsatisfactory something in the girl s face. Feeble 
 minded poor child ! " 
 
 u Better feeble-minded, I should say," returned Mrs. 
 Hofland, " than evil-minded, like her mother." 
 
 " Safer by far," answered the Doctor. " With such 
 a father and such a mother, what hope of a moral equi 
 librium in the child ? The chances are heavily on the 
 adverse side. In a foreclosure of the rational, so that 
 responsibility may cease, lies, it would seem, in occasion 
 al instances, the only barrier to floods of evil in which 
 the soul would inevitably be lost." 
 
 " But, what bitterness for a woman of Mrs. Larobe s 
 quality of mind. How the perpetual presence of an 
 imbecile child must drain the wine of life from her soul, 
 and leave only bitter dregs," said Mrs. Hofland. 
 
 " And these are not all her troubles," remarked the 
 Doctor. " To the hopelessly invalid son, and worse 
 diseased daughter, another calamity has been added. 
 
 "What?" 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 19 
 
 " In her hands, if all that is said be true, Adam Guy 
 was bent at will. Her subtle power, against which he 
 had no armor of defence, o ermastered, and, I fear, des 
 troyed him. For one, I have never been clear as to a 
 state of insanity warranting his removal to a mad 
 house ; and the fact, that he was taken to a distant 
 private institution, under circumstances of haste and 
 concealment, never fully explained, has always left with 
 me a suspicion of foul play. Poor man ! His dread 
 ful death, while attempting escape, closed the door on a 
 mystery which no one cared to investigate. Though 
 rich, Guy had no true friends ; and when he was in 
 mortal peril, there was none interested enough to spring 
 to his rescue. But, I did not mean to speak particular 
 ly of him. If there has been foul play, Justin Larobe 
 was the wife s accomplice. Executor under the will of 
 Mr. Guy, in little more than a year from the day of 
 his death, he became the widow s husband. From that 
 time, I venture to say, the subtle, cold, self-poised, and 
 selfish woman found herself matched against one of 
 superior subtlety and strength. Adam Guy was tri 
 ple armed and defended only on one side, and vulner 
 able at almost every other point ; but, Justin Larobe is 
 of another class. Guy sought wealth through the ave 
 nues of trade honest trade in the main ; but, Larobe 
 has more of the spirit of a freebooter. Under legal cov 
 ers, and statutory licence, he plunders right and left, 
 
20 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 as opportunity offers. Of course, such a man is ever 
 on the alert Argus-eyed, for prey as well as for pro 
 tection. He observes the motions of all who approach 
 him ; and reads those who try to read him, from Intro 
 duction to Finis, before they have spelled through ^he 
 first chapter of his record. Such is my estimate of Jus 
 tin Larobe, and such, I doubt not, the widow of Adam 
 Guy has found him. But, as I was going to say, she 
 has met with another calamity. There has been, I un 
 derstand, a separation between herself and husband." 
 
 " Not legal ? " said Mrs. Hofland. 
 
 " No ; only formal." 
 
 " On what ground ? " 
 
 " That is mainly conjectural. Rumor says, they 
 have not lived happily for a long time ; and rumor 
 also says, that Larobe has acted with but little disguise 
 since their marriage, on the subject of her property, 
 which the law has placed almost entirely in his hands. 
 Certain settlements were sipulated for ; but the cunning 
 lawyer, who had, as executor under Mr. Guy s will, 
 everything in his own hands, while formally making 
 these settlements, contrived to fail in giving them a 
 legal value." 
 
 " And is going to absorb everything," said Mrs. 
 Hofland. - 
 
 " That is an inference, which goes beyond the range 
 of probabilities. My belief is that he will not drive her 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 21 
 
 to desperation by any such an excess of wrong. He 
 knows her quality, and just how far to test its strength. 
 There is enough between them in my opinion, to ruin 
 both, should either take the witness stand against the 
 other. So while contending one with the other, in a 
 bitter antagonism, the last things must be at stake be 
 fore Mrs. Justin will fling off all disguises, and risk 
 a final struggle with him before the world. Confreres 
 in evil, are chary of an open fight. They know too 
 much about each other, and therefore will not risk too 
 much." ^ 
 
 " I pity all who are in suffering, be they evil or 
 good," said Mrs. Hofland. " And, somehow, I pity 
 this woman. The good have much to sustain them 
 when night falls, and pain oppresses. But, to one like 
 Mrs. Justin, there is no balm in Gilead. If there is an 
 open rupture with, and separation from her husband, 
 the dark days of her life have come. I never believed 
 however, after the way in which her step-children were 
 treated, that any good was in store for her. It was not 
 wise to alienate Adam. A bond of interest would have 
 held him ; and he might have been, at this time, a 
 powerful friend. He is said to be growing rich. 
 
 " Like his father," replied the Doctor, " he knows, 
 by a kind of instinct, where the veins of metal lie, and 
 rarely fails, in digging down, to reach them on the first 
 trial." 
 
22 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 4i He did not follow in his father s steps, however ; 
 did not become a merchant." 
 
 44 No ; but tried the lottery and exchange business. 
 His love of money led him to prefer a closer contact 
 with the precious thing, and a quicker result. Stocks, 
 that enrich so4nany and ruin so many, he never tries, 
 I am told. But his property investments are large, and 
 most of them in improving neighborhoods. In the sim 
 ple item of advance in real estate, I have heard his gains 
 estimated at almost fabulous sums." 
 
 " Is he getting rich so very fast ? " 
 
 " We must take all these reports with grains of allow 
 ance. But, you know, that he wedded an heiress." 
 
 " Miss T . Yes ; and she is said to have brought 
 
 him fifty thousand dollars." 
 
 " At least that." 
 
 " If I were a man," spoke up Annie, the youngest 
 daughter, who had until now, made no remarks, " I 
 would not have taken her for a wife, had her fortune 
 been twice fifty thousand. Homely and . disagreeable ! 
 Faugh ! " 
 
 44 She is no beauty," remarked the Doctor. 
 
 44 She s coarse and vulgar ! " said Annie, with some 
 warmth. 
 
 44 She could hardly be otherwise," said Mrs. Hofland, 
 44 for both father and mother were coarse and vulgar. 
 I remember, very well, when they kept a shop in West 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 23 
 
 Market street for the purchase of old iron and rags. 
 He was miserly, and his wife a woman, I should think, af 
 ter his own heart. In the course of time, a part of the low 
 er floor of their house was fitted up for a dram shop, and 
 here, at almost any hour in the twenty-four, from six 
 in the morning until ten or eleven at night, you could 
 
 have seen Mrs. T , waiting on her customers, black 
 
 and white. A few years more and the old iron, rag, 
 
 and dram shop were closed, and Mr. T presented 
 
 himself to the public behind the counters of a well- 
 stocked retail grocery. From this period, Mrs. T 
 
 was no more seen in public life. But, she- began to 
 show herself in vulgar finery on the street, and to seek 
 to intrude herself among people of refinement and educa 
 tion. In this last essay, she attained only a limited 
 success. The sphere of her true quality was too dense, 
 and thus too easily perceived. True refinement could 
 not breathe freely in her presence. The daughter ;rew 
 up undisciplined, poorly educated, and coarse within 
 and without. At her father s death, she became the 
 possessor of fifty thousand dollars, and, by virtue of this 
 golden attraction, won the admiration of Adam Guy, 
 and bought herself a husband." 
 
 " Bought ! You may well say bought." Annie spoke 
 with ill-concealed disgust. " But think, how low the 
 idea of marriage in the mind of Mr. Guy. To take 
 such a woman into so intimate a life-relationship, just 
 
24 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 for money ! Isn t it shocking disgusting painful. 
 Ho is not wedded to a wife, but to gold. 
 
 " All base cupidities," said the Doctor, " have a trans 
 muting power, working inversely to that of the fabled 
 stone sought for by old alchemists, and wholly changing 
 the relation of values. In Adam s case, the earthly 
 dross was rendered invaluable, while the divinely en 
 dowed soul sunk to a poor insignificance ; and he seized 
 the one with avidity, while almost spurning, with con 
 tempt, the other. He could not understand nor appre 
 ciate a heart ; but in yellow gold he saw beauty and per 
 fection." 
 
 " It is sad ; very sad ; " remarked Mrs. Hofland. 
 " These things always pain me. But, now that we are 
 speaking of Adam, the thought of poor Lydia comes 
 into my mind. I wonder what has become of her? " 
 
 The Doctor shook his head in a sober way. 
 
 " Her father not only disowned, but disinherited her." 
 
 " So I have understood. Poor child ! I m afraid 
 she has found her way in life along rough and thorny 
 paths. But, these oftener lead to final peace, than more 
 flowery ones." 
 
 " I fear that she did not, in marrying, act wisely." 
 
 " Few act wisely who wed as she wedded. I never 
 saw her husband, but, from the little I gathered from 
 Lydia, he was weak and inferior, and love was not the 
 power that moved him to the conquest of her heart." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 25 
 
 " What is his name ? " 
 
 " Brady, I think." 
 
 " John is dead." 
 
 " Yes," replied the Doctor. " Intemperance and de 
 bauchery made quick work with him." 
 
 " There was another son." 
 
 " Yes. I saw him to-day." 
 
 "What of him?" 
 
 The Doctor shook his head. " No credit to himself, 
 or to any one else, I m afraid. He received ten or 
 twelve thousand dollars on becoming of age, and lived 
 fast for two or three years, when he found himself pen 
 niless, and of course, friendless. The habits acquired 
 during this spending term, were, in no way, favorable. 
 But, necessity is a stern disciplinarian. He had to 
 work, or starve ; and so sought employment among our 
 merchants. The small salary at command of an indif 
 ferent clerk, was not sufficient for the habits of one like 
 Edwin Guy. He lost his place in a few months. Ru 
 mor gave the reason, and it was not honorable to the 
 young man. Again he found a place, and kept it long 
 er ; but, not over a year. He was far from being well 
 enough disciplined for the position of a clerk. Then 
 he fell into the hands of a clique of politicians, who 
 have used him ever since. Being neither honest nor 
 scrupulous ; yet having a specious exterior, and some 
 smartness, he is just the kind of implement for them to 
 2 
 
26 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 i 
 
 work with. Of course, the workman must live, and he 
 has a place in the Custom House, which lie holds in 
 virtue of his willingness and ability to serve the party 
 in power." 
 
 " I would rather my son were dead," said Mrs. Hof- 
 land, with feeling. " Poor Lydia I To think that her 
 child should come to this ! " 
 
 There was silence for some moments, when Mrs. 
 Hofland went on. 
 
 " There was one more child the youngest a 
 daughter. What has become of her ? She must now 
 be at least twenty-four years of age." 
 
 " She is not with her step-mother. At least, I have 
 not seen them together for a long time." 
 
 " She was sent away to school, and alienated from 
 home as much as possible ; treated, as I have under 
 stood, more like a stranger, than a child." 
 
 " Her father s will gave her a few thousands of dol 
 lars," said Doctor Hofland. " Some fortune-hunter, in a 
 small way or one whose imagination increased her 
 ten thousand to fifty or sixty has, in all probability, 
 drawn her from lonely and desolate ways, and blessed 
 or cursed her life in marriage." 
 
 " I have little confidence in the blessing," sighed Mrs. 
 Hofland. "Little very little. My poor friend Ly 
 dia ! so true hearted, so pure, so good ; to think, that 
 it is of your children that we are now speaking. Alas I 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 27 
 
 Alas ! It has been well said, that marriage is a bless 
 ing or a curse a good or an evil the road to happi 
 ness or misery. With a husband of another quality, 
 what a different life would have opened for my friend. 
 To-day she might be sitting among us, crowned with 
 Messing." 
 
 Doctor Hofland now pushed his chair back from the 
 table, and resting his hands on the arms, was about 
 rising. 
 
 " Why, father ! " said his daughter, Lena, " you are 
 not going away from us yet ? " 
 
 u Yes. I have several patients who must have an 
 early call this evening." 
 
 " Oh, that is too bad. Can t they give you one 
 half-hour ? " asked Lena. 
 
 " Sickness will not wait, my child. We must not 
 prolong our enjoyments at the expense of others suffer 
 ings. But, I will be home again in an hour." 
 
 And the Doctor bent over his grandson, who sat next 
 him in a high chair, and left a warm kiss upon each 
 ruddy cheek. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards, and he was out in the 
 clear, cold air of a January night, on his way to Green 
 street, near Franklin, to see the sick child of a stranger, 
 who had sent to ask his aid. 
 

 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HE house was small and poor. A dim 
 )VJL light shone through one of the second 
 *^-^ story windows, and the Doctor could 
 see, as he looked up, a shadow on the 
 
 ceiling, as of some person walking in 
 the room above. His knock at the 
 door was almost immediately answered 
 by a child, who held a candle elevated 
 above her head. 
 
 " Does Mrs. Ewbank live here ? " 
 " Oh, it s you, Doctor ! Walk in, please." 
 Doctor Hofland recognized his visitor of the evening. 
 The child stepped back, and he entered, closing the 
 door. He was in a room instead of a hall, the door 
 opening directly on the street. 
 
 " I ll call mother," said the child, as she set the can 
 dlestick on a table. " Please to take a chair, sir." 
 
 The few minutes that intervened before Mrs. Ewbank 
 came down, gave Doctor Hofland an opportunity to 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 29 
 
 make, by the feeble light of a single tallow candle, a run 
 ning inventory of what was in the room. The floor had 
 no carpet. Five old cane-seat chairs were against the 
 walls, and a small mahogany table, dark and dim with 
 age, stood under the window, which had neither shade nor 
 blind. A papered fireboard concealed the hearth. Two 
 small frames hung just over the mantel-piece, but the 
 light was so feeble that the Doctor could not make 
 out from where he sat, whether they contained miniature 
 portraits or fancy pictures. An impulse of curiosity led 
 him to cross the room for the purpose of examining them 
 closely. They were evidently miniatures, one of a man, 
 and the other of a woman, in the ripeness of early prime. 
 The first impression was that of familiar faces ; but not 
 being able to make out the features distinctly, he was 
 turning for the candle, when a woman entered the 
 apartment. She had descended the stairs so noiselessly, 
 that her coming was not observed. 
 
 Though scant and poor, the room was clean and order 
 ly ; a fact which the Doctor had not failed to observe. 
 He was not surprised, therefore, to see in Mrs. Ewbank 
 a neat, though plainly attired person. She wore a dark 
 wrapper, carefully buttoned, and her hair was evenly 
 parted, and brushed smoothly away over her temples. 
 Though apparently some years past thirty, and showing 
 signs of wasting sickness, or of trouble that exhausts 
 more than sickness, her eyes were large and bright, 
 
30 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 with something of youthful fire in them, that a mother s 
 present anxieties could not extinguish. What most im 
 pressed the Doctor, was the refined aspect of her coun 
 tenance, and the manner, which showed cultivation. 
 
 " Doctor Hofland," she said, in a low voice, yet fixing 
 her eyes intently upon his face, and in a questioning man 
 ner. The tone struck him as familiar, and stirred for a 
 moment old feelings, in a vague, uncertain way. But 
 he failed to recognize in her features those of an acquain 
 tance or friend. 
 
 " Mrs. Ewbank ? " he responded. 
 
 " Yes sir." 
 
 "You have a sick child?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. Will you walk up and see him ? " 
 
 She led the way, and Doctor Hofland ascended to one 
 of the chambers above. He found the furniture almost 
 as meagre as in the room below ; but the same order 
 and cleanliness prevailed. On the bed lay an emaciated 
 child, a year old, in whose pinched features he saw at 
 the first glance a sign of approaching death. 
 
 " How long has he been sick ? " asked the Doctor, as 
 he sat down, and laid his fingers on the wasted little 
 hand, limp as a wilted leaf. 
 
 " He s never been a well child since he was born, 
 Doctor." 
 
 There was something so familiar in the answering 
 voice that Doctor Hofland looked up curiously into the 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 31 
 
 woman s face. She turned partly away, as if to avoid 
 the scrutiny. 
 
 " What seems particularly to ail him ? How is he 
 affected ? " 
 
 " I can hardly tell you, Doctor. He cries a great 
 deal, and don t eat. There s something the matter in 
 wardly." 
 
 A slight spasm went shuddering through the little 
 frame, and a low cry cut the air. A moment, and it 
 was gone, and the pinched features settled into quiet 
 again. The Doctor bent down, and examined the face 
 carefully. While doing so, a man in the next room 
 coughed two or three times, at which he raised him 
 self and listened, noting, with a professional ear, the 
 sound. 
 
 " My husband," said the woman. 
 
 He turned to the sick child again, watching its face, 
 and observing the respiration. He then wrote a pre 
 scription. 
 
 " Send for this, and give him one of the powders 
 every hour through the night when not sleeping. If he 
 sleeps, don t disturb him." 
 
 " Do you think him very ill ? " asked the mother, in 
 an anxious voice. 
 
 " He s a sick child." What less could the Doctor 
 say, when he saw death written all over the ashen face ? 
 
 " But you can help him, Doctor ? " said Mrs. Ewbank, 
 in a pleading voice. 
 
32 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " It would have been better if I had seen him earlier," 
 remarked the Doctor. He wished to prepare her for 
 what seemed inevitable. 
 
 " I know it was wrong in me not to send," the poor 
 
 mother answered, in a distressed way. "But " 
 
 She checked herself, and left the words that were on 
 her tongue unspoken. 
 
 " Why didn t you send before ? " The Doctor s in 
 terest was still further awakened. 
 
 But Mrs. Ewbank did not reply immediately, and in 
 the pause that followed, the sound of coughing was 
 again heard in the next room. 
 
 " How long has your husband been coughing in that 
 way ? " asked Doctor Hofland. 
 
 " Only about a week, so badly. But, he s coughed 
 for a long time." 
 
 " Has he taken medicine, or seen a physician, within 
 a week ? " 
 
 " We got some cough mixture from a druggist s ; but 
 that only relieved him for a little while. It kind of 
 stupefies him.? 
 
 "And leaves the cough harder afterwards ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. He s worse when the effect passes off." 
 
 The doctor shook his head. There was a pause, and 
 then he asked, 
 
 " Shall I not see your husband ? " 
 
 " Oh, Doctor ! If you will ! " Hope and gratitude 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 33 
 
 were in her face and tears in her eyes. " Wait just 
 a moment," she added; and then passed into the cham 
 ber where her husband lay, to prepare him for the Doc 
 tor s visit. She came back quickly, saying " Now 
 Doctor," and the physician entered. Though every 
 thing, as perceived by the feeble rays of a single poor 
 candle, was clean as in the other rooms, and in order, 
 yet the articles were scant ; and the whole air of the 
 apartment dreary. The remains of a wood fire smoul 
 dered on the hearth, but there was little pervading 
 warmth in the atmosphere. 
 
 At a glance, Doctor Hofland saw that Mr. Ewbank 
 was not a coarse or common man. His mouth and nose 
 were cleanly cut ; his eyes full of intelligence ; and his 
 purely white forehead of ample breadth. His hair was 
 very dark and fine, and curled back from the transpar 
 ent skin of his temples, through which was perceived 
 the azure net work of veins. 
 
 " My husband, Mr. Ewbank : Doctor Hofland." 
 There was an air of refinement about Mrs. Ewbank, 
 now more particularly observed. Not much change 
 took place in the countenance of her husband ; though, 
 as the Doctor sat down, and laid his fingers on his pulse, 
 he kept his large bright eyes fixed steadily on him. 
 
 " You have a fever," remarked the Doctor. 
 
 " Yes, I ve been feverish for some days." A fit of 
 
 coughing followed this reply. 
 2* 
 
34 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " What excites this cough ? " asked the Doctor. 
 
 " A creeping and tickling here in the throat pit. And 
 he touched the spot. 
 
 " Does the coughing produce pain ? " 
 
 " Now it does. The jarring seems to have hurt my 
 chest." 
 
 " The pain is not lancinating or acute ? " 
 
 " No it is a sore pain, as if the lungs were bruised. 
 
 Still holding the patient s wrist, the Doctor bent his 
 head thoughtfully for some moments. Then he asked 
 
 " May I see the cough mixture you have been tak- 
 ing?"" 
 
 Mrs. Ewbank went to a closet and brought out a large 
 vial. After smelling and tasting the contents, the Doc 
 tor shook his head. 
 
 " Do you think it has done him any harm ? " the wife 
 asked, with much apparent anxiety. 
 
 " It has done him no good, at least. Don t give him 
 any more of it." 
 
 " It contains opium," remarked the patient. 
 
 " Yes, and gave you a temporary relief. But, when 
 the effect wore off, your cough was dryer and harder 
 than before." 
 
 " That was just the effect." 
 
 " And you have grown more feverish ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I will give you something better." The Doctor 
 
4 
 
 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 35 
 
 spoke with cheerful confidence, and drawing a memo 
 randum book from his pocket, in which were some loose 
 bits of paper, wrote a prescription. 
 
 " Take, according to directions accompanying the 
 medicine, and I think, when I call to-morrow morning, 
 that I shall find a decided improvement." 
 
 The Doctor noticed a gleam of hopeful light break 
 over Mrs. Ewbank s face. He then retired, and, in pass 
 ing through the next room, stopped to look at the sick 
 child again. 
 
 " He is sleeping," said the mother, in a whisper, as 
 she stooped over the bed. 
 
 The Doctor did not reply. After standing there a 
 few moments, he turned and left the chamber ; Mrs. 
 Ewbank following him down stairs. 
 
 " You will come in the morning ? " she said. 
 
 " O, yes. I ll be round early." There was some 
 thing unspoken in her thought, and he paused that she 
 might give it utterance. But she stood silent, and evi 
 dently in debate with herself. He was moving towards 
 the door again, when she said 
 
 " Doctor," apparently speaking under self-compulsion. 
 He turned and looked at her with kind encouragement 
 in his face. 
 
 " Is there a Dispensary in the neighborhood ? " Her 
 voice shook, and a flush came to her pale cheeks. Doc 
 tor Hofland understood too well the meaning of this 
 
36 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 question. Moving back from the door, he regarded her, 
 earnestly, for a moment or two, and read that in her 
 wasted countenance, of which he had not guessed in the 
 beginning read of hunger, and the exhaustion of life 
 through lack of food. Under the sharp inquiry of his 
 eyes, she shrunk back, and held the candle so that her 
 face would be more in shadow. 
 
 " Send your little girl with me," said the Doctor. 
 
 Mrs Ewbank moved to the stairway and called 
 " Esther ! " 
 
 "Yes, ma am," was the child s response, and in a 
 moment quick feet were heard in the chamber above. 
 
 " Bring your hood, the Doctor wants you to go with 
 him." 
 
 " It is cold out, my dear," said Doctor Hofland, look 
 ing narrowly at the child, as she came down stairs. 
 " Haven t you a cloak, or a coat ? That shawl is too 
 thin." 
 
 " Oh, I ll be warm enough," was answered, in a brave, 
 cheerful way. And so they went out together. The 
 nearest drug store was at a distance of three squares. 
 On the way, Doctor Hofland asked a few leading ques 
 tions, in order to gain, without drawing his companion 
 into undue communicativeness, some idea of the condi 
 tion of things at home. 
 
 " Have you always lived in Baltimore ? " was one of 
 his questions. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 37 
 
 " Oh no, sir. We haven t lived here very long." 
 
 " How long ? " 
 
 " Maybe about a year." 
 
 " Where did you live before you came to Baltimore ? " 
 
 " In Albany." 
 
 " State of New York ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Did your father keep a store in Albany ? " 
 
 " Oh no, sir. He kept a school." 
 
 " Ah I A school ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir; But he got sick, and lost it. And then 
 we came here." 
 
 " Has your father taught since he has been in this 
 city?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, for a little while ; but not in his own school." 
 
 " He gave lessons in somebody else s school ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "What did he teach?" 
 
 " Latin and Greek, sir. But he can teach anything." 
 
 " He doesn t give lessons now ? " 
 
 " No, sir. They got another man in his place ; and 
 he s been too sick to teach for a good while." 
 
 " How long is it since they got another man in his 
 place ? " 
 
 The child thought for some moments, and then replied, 
 
 " Ever since August. I know h\from my birth-day." 
 
 " That was in August ? " 
 
38 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " How old were you then ? " 
 
 " I was eight years old, sir." 
 
 " Eight years. And your name is Esther ? " 
 
 " That is my name." 
 
 " Called after your mother ? " 
 
 " No, sir, after my grandmother. But she s dead." 
 
 They were now at the druggist s shop, and entering, 
 Doctor Hofland ordered the two prescriptions. While 
 they were being prepared, he scanned the child s face 
 closely. Some would have called it handsome ; but he 
 saw in its regular oval so many signs of endurance and 
 suffering, that, as he gazed upon it, his heart was touched. 
 
 " Give me two packages of oat meal," he said, to 
 the druggist, as he received the compounded medicines. 
 " Now, Esther," turning to the child, " tell your moth 
 er to make a large bowl of gruel, and let your father 
 drink as much of it as he can." 
 
 "Before he takes his medicine?" asked the child, 
 lifting her earnest eyes to the Doctor s face. 
 
 " Yes. First the gruel, remember ; and if his cough 
 doesn t trouble him, he needn t take the medicine for an 
 hour afterwards. Good night, dear. Run home as fast 
 as you can ; and tell your mother by no means to omit 
 the gruel." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 HEN Doctor Hofland came back 
 to his office, lie found a man await 
 ing his return a young man, 
 with a hard, sensual face, and 
 something of a dissolute air. 
 
 " Doctor Hofland," said the visit 
 or, rising, with a respectful man 
 ner, as the Doctor came in. The 
 Doctor bowed, in assent. 
 
 " Can I have a few words with you confidentially ? " 
 " I presume so," replied the Doctor. " Be seated 
 again." 
 
 The young man sat down. His manner was disturb 
 ed, and a little mysterious. 
 
 " I believe," he said, trying, though with only with 
 partial success, to assume a cool demeanor, " that you 
 were acquainted with my father, the late Adam Guy." 
 " Yes, sir, I knew him." 
 " You attended him, in his last dreadful illness." 
 
40 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " I was not his physician," replied the Doctor. 
 
 " But you visited him, I know ; for I saw you at our 
 house." 
 
 " I was called in, as consulting physician, and saw 
 him for a few times." 
 
 " Exactly. That is sufficient. Now, Doctor, you 
 may not know it but there was foul play with my 
 father; and I m bound to rip up the whole business. 
 I m going to sift matters to the bottom." s 
 
 " Foul play in what respect.? " asked the Doctor. 
 
 " In all respects. That she-devil, his wife excuse 
 me ! but I always lose myself when I think of her 
 managed to rob us children of nearly the whole of our 
 father s property, by means of a will that, I am satisfi 
 ed, could be broken in law. And I m going to break 
 it. Now, Doctor, you can help me. You attended my 
 father, and know whether he was in condition to make 
 a will. If it can be proved that he was non compos at 
 the date of the will, then it is thrown overboard, and 
 we come in, as heirs at law, for an equitable division of 
 the estate. You see how it is, Doctor. What do you 
 think ? What is your opinion ? Was the old gentle 
 man sound or not ? Fit to make a will or not ? " 
 
 Disgust struggled with pity in Doctor Hofland s mind, 
 and kept him silent. Edwin Guy scanned him sharply, 
 trying to read his thoughts. 
 
 " What is your opinion, Doctor ? " The young man 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 41 
 
 was impatient for a response. " Of course, you have 
 an opinion. You were with him. You saw exactly how 
 it was. You know whether he was sane enough to make 
 a will." 
 
 Doctor Hofland thought as rapidly as possible, before 
 committing himself in a reply. 
 
 " You are Mr. Guy s youngest son ? " he said, avoid 
 ing the answer that was expected. 
 
 " Yes sir, I am. Edwin Guy is my name." 
 
 " Your brother John is dead ? " 
 
 "He is." 
 
 " What of Adam, your oldest brother? Is he going 
 to move with you in this matter ? " 
 
 There was a change in the young man s face an 
 ger and contempt swept over it. 
 
 " No, sir ! The will was adroitly made, giving him 
 the full sum to which he would have been entitled in a 
 legal division of my father s estate. That settled him. 
 Pocketing his share, he turned his back upon the young 
 er children, and left them a prey to robbers. Thus 
 bribed to abandon us toour fate, I hold him as an accom 
 plice with my step-mother and that precious scoundrel, 
 her husband. But right is right, Doctor, and I m go 
 ng to see this matter through. If I can establish the 
 fact that my father was not in a sane condition when 
 the will was made, there will be a new distribution of 
 property, to the advantage of myself and sisters." 
 
42 WHAT- CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " What of your sisters, Mr. Guy ? Where are 
 they?" 
 
 This question dashed the young man. He reddened, 
 and then stammered an admission that he was not par 
 ticularly advised in regard to them. 
 
 " What about Lydia ? Is she in Baltimore ? " 
 
 " Indeed, Doctor, I am unable to speak with any 
 certainty in regard to her. She threw herself away, 
 as you perhaps know, in a disgraceful marriage, and be 
 came separated from the family. Nothing has been 
 heard of her, so far as I am advised, since our father s 
 death. My step-mother may know something of her 
 whereabouts ; but as we have been strangers for years, 
 no information that she possesses would be likely to 
 reach me." 
 
 " She may be dead," said the Doctor. 
 
 " Possible." There was not even a pretence of 
 feeling in the young man s voice. 
 
 " You have a younger sister ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, Frances." 
 
 " Is she living with your step-mother ? " 
 
 "I think not." 
 
 " When did you see her ? " 
 
 The young man lifted his eyes to the ceiling, and 
 mused for some time. 
 
 " It s over two years since I saw Frances," he said, 
 at length, with as much indifference as though not a 
 drop of kindred blood were in their veins. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 43 
 
 " Is she married ? " 
 
 " I ve never heard of such an event." 
 
 So thoroughly disgusted was Doctor Hofland with 
 the unfeeling, almost brutal spirit shown by Edwin Guy, 
 that he felt no inclination to aid him in any effort to 
 break the will of his father. 
 
 " If called to give evidence," said the visitor, going 
 back to the leading purpose in his thought, " how 
 clearly could you state the case? In other words, if 
 asked whether my father were sane or insane, what 
 would be your answer? " 
 
 " There are degrees of insanity," replied the Doctor, 
 " and it would be for the court to decide, on the par 
 ticulars of evidence, its estimate of the degree in your 
 father s case. There was certainly a temporary de 
 rangement of the faculties." 
 
 o 
 
 " Temporary ! Anything but that, Doctor ? It 
 proved to be inveterate. You are aware that the fam 
 ily was compelled to send him to an asylum, where, in 
 the violence of his insanity, he threw himself from a 
 window and was killed." 
 
 " Did it never cross your mind," asked the Doctor, 
 dropping his voice to a more serious tone, " that in the 
 precipitate removal of your father from our Maryland 
 Hospital to a private mad house in another state, some 
 wrong may have been involved ? " 
 
 " Wrong ? Wrong, sir ? I am not sure that I take 
 
44 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 your meaning." There was a sudden knitting of the 
 young man s brows. 
 
 " I never assented to his being taken from home in 
 the first place." 
 " Ah ? " 
 
 " No, sir. In my view, the case did not threaten 
 
 the disaster that followed. Doctor L , who is now 
 
 dead, was your family physician, and I was called, I 
 think, at your father s desire. But without advising 
 with me, and certainly against my judgment, he was 
 taken to the Hospital while under the influence of an 
 opiate. In a few days, he was so much better, that 
 the resident physician consented to his being removed 
 
 by Doctor L- and your step-mother. I learned 
 
 this on personal inquiry at the Hospital. You may 
 judge of my surprise when, not long afterwards, the 
 fact came out that instead of being taken home, he was 
 borne off to the private asylum where he died." 
 
 " Is that so ? " exclaimed Edwin Guy, starting to his 
 feet, with lowering brows, and eyes that had in them a 
 strange glitter. 
 
 " That is so," replied the Doctor. 
 
 " Who took him to the Hospital ? " 
 
 Without reflecting as to the prudence of his answer, 
 Doctor Hofland replied 
 
 " Mr. Larobe and your step-mother. 
 
 " Ha ! Larobe ! Good ! I begin to see light ! 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 45 
 
 Something wrong ? Of course there was something 
 wrong ! " 
 
 And the young man stalked backwards and forwards 
 across the office in a wild, excited manner. But sud 
 denly composing himself, he sat down close to the Doc 
 tor, and bending towards him, said, while he rubbed 
 his hands in suppressed excitement and expectation 
 
 " What else ? Mr. Larobe was with my step-mother 
 her accomplice in the matter. And they took him 
 from the Hospital, and removed him to a distant asy 
 lum ? " 
 
 " No ; Doctor L accompanied your mother when 
 
 your father was taken from the Hospital." 
 
 " Doctor L , oh ! " There was a tone of disap 
 pointment. " But no matter. The thing is plain as 
 daylight. I m much obliged to you for the hint. 
 Something wrong ! I believe you ! I always said 
 that woman was capable of anything; and I always 
 said that her day would come. Murder will out, you 
 know, Doctor ; and it s coming out now." 
 
 " Don t take too much for granted," replied Doctor 
 Hofland ; " I have only given you a fact or two, and 
 must warn you against quoting or involving me in a 
 single item beyond what I have said. My evidence will 
 only serve in a limited degree ; and if, through any 
 eagerness to make out a case, you rely on me to prove a 
 tittle more than my present language declares, you will 
 
46 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 damage instead of promoting the cause of justice. You 
 have all that I know or think it advisable to suggest. 
 In my view, your father s case was a simple one, and 
 should not have led at so early a stage of aberration, to 
 his removal from home. If the will dates prior to this 
 removal, the question of his ability to devise property 
 is an open one, and may be decided by the courts either 
 way. Unless you have a cloud of witnesses to prove 
 insanity as existing when the will was made, an attempt 
 to break it may only involve you in years of costly and 
 fruitless litigation." 
 
 " I m obliged to you for the advice, Doctor," said the 
 young man, resuming a cool exterior. " You ve set 
 me to thinking in a new direction." And with half- 
 closed eyes, and shut, protruding mouth, he sat musing, 
 with an occasional satisfactory nod as he followed the 
 train of thought which had been awakened in his mind. 
 Then rising and drawing his cloak about his shoulders, 
 he bade the Doctor good evening, and retired. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1ST leaving the office of Doctor Hof- 
 land, Edwin Guy walked hastily for 
 several blocks, until he came into the 
 neighborhood of the Court House, 
 when he turned down St. Paul s 
 street. Near Fayette street he en 
 tered, without ringing, one of the 
 houses, and groped his way along an 
 unlighted passage, to the back room on the first floor. 
 In this room, furnished as a lawyer s office, a man sat 
 by a table, writing. He looked up as the door opened, 
 showing a large face and head, and a pair of calm, cold, 
 steady eyes. His age was about forty. 
 
 Guy, after shutting the door, took a chair at the ta 
 ble opposite to this man^ and then they looked at each 
 other for a few moments in silence. 
 
 " Did you see him ? " The lawyer, for that was 
 the man s profession, spoke first. His voice was firm 
 and penetrating, yet not burdened with any .special in- 
 
48 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 terest. A close observer, and one skilled in human na 
 ture, would however have detected beneath his unmoved 
 exterior a wily, alert spirit. 
 
 " I saw him," replied the young man. 
 
 " To any good purpose ? " 
 
 "You will think so, when you hear what I have 
 learned." 
 
 " The Doctor s evidence will serve you in the case ? " 
 
 " I m not sure of that. He doesn t think my father 
 was so very insane when taken to the hospital." 
 
 " What ? " The lawyer betrayed a momentary im 
 pulse ; for instantly his thought compassed the true 
 significance of this answer. 
 
 " There has been foul play beyond anything I had 
 imagined, Mr. Glastonberry. It makes my hair stand 
 on end to think of it." 
 
 " Foul play in what respect? " 
 
 " In respect to my father." 
 
 " Doctor Hofland is not satisfied that he was insane ? " 
 
 " No, sir. He was consulting physician at the time, 
 and they removed my father to the Hospital while stu 
 pefied with opium, without a word of conference with 
 him." 
 
 " Is that so ? " 
 
 " It is, on the word of Doctor Hofland ; and I reck 
 on he wont lie." 
 
 "If Doctor Hofland says so, you may believe it." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 49 
 
 " Of course I believe it. And who, think you, were 
 the accomplices in this thing ? Who, think you, con 
 veyed him to the Hospital ? " 
 
 " I cannot guess." 
 
 " My step-mother, and Justin Larobe ! " 
 
 No ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; on the word of Doctor Hofland, as de 
 clared to me this night. His informotion was obtained 
 from the resident physician at the Hospital, of whom 
 he made inquiry at the time. And I learn farther, that 
 in the few days my father remained in the Hospital, he 
 improved so rapidly, that the physician made no objec 
 tion to his being taken home again at the request of my 
 step-mother, who, in company with the late Doctor 
 
 L , then our family physician, called in a carriage, 
 
 and removed him." 
 
 " Taking him home ? " 
 
 " No, sir. He never saw home again ! " 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " He never saw home again. A short time after 
 wards, Dr. Hofland learned to his amazement, that my 
 father had been taken from our excellent institution, and 
 placed in a private mad-house on Long Island, where 
 the catastrophe occurred that ended his life." 
 
 " Grave matters are involved here, my young friend," 
 said the lawyer. The case assumes an entirely new 
 aspect." 
 
50 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " It does, Mr. Glastonberry. I saw that in a moment. 
 I question now whether an attempt to set aside the will, 
 under an allegation of insanity, would be successful. 
 The testimony of Dr. Hofland, on which I mainly re 
 lied, would damage instead of helping the case. He 
 does not think the mental disturbance of my father was 
 at all serious in the beginning." 
 
 " The move, if now attempted, must be in some new 
 direction," said Mr. Glastonberry, dropping his head, 
 and partly closing his eyes. 
 
 " One thing is clear," remarked Guy " Larobe and 
 my step-mother plotted to get father out of the way, 
 and plotted successfully. Their act was little less than 
 murder. It can be proved that they drugged him while 
 sick, and then carried him to the Hospital ; and further 
 proved that he was taken from thence in an improved 
 condition, and sent to a distant asylum, kept by an irre 
 sponsible foreigner, where he met with a violent death. 
 An ugly look all that would have, bruited to the world 
 in a court of justice." 
 
 " Very ugly." Mr. Glastonberry spoke as if to him 
 self. 
 
 " If successful in breaking this will," resumed Edwin 
 Guy, " there will be so many to share in the estate, that 
 my proportion cannot be large." 
 
 " How many children are there ? " 
 
 " Six or seven six, if my sister Lydia is dead ; and 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 51 
 
 I guess, seeing that nothing has been heard from her in 
 eight or ten years, that she is safely out of this trouble 
 some world." 
 
 " She may have left children." 
 
 Guy shrugged his shoulders, and frowned, saying 
 
 " I didn t think of that." 
 
 " Say seven children ; and the law will give your 
 step-mother one-third of the estate." 
 
 " And her three cursed imps nearly half of what re 
 mains, after that great slice is taken out," growled the 
 young man. 
 
 Just so. The whole estate possessed by your father 
 at the time of his decease, you estimate in round num 
 bers at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars." 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " Deduct your step-mother s one-third, and we have 
 left about one hundred and sixty-seven thousand dollars, 
 to divide between seven persons, or something ovei 
 twenty-three thousand to each. It will be safe to call 
 this twenty thousand. Now you have already received 
 ten thousand dollars under the will. As a fee for re- 1 
 covering the balance, you offer me one-half. The case 
 may be on trial for half-a-dozen years. Larobe is a 
 hard man to fight at law. Does this view look entic- 
 ing?" 
 
 " No, sir, it does not ;" was the strongly spoken an 
 swer. O 
 
52 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Our fox may prove too swift for us in the open 
 field ; we must hunt him under cover." 
 
 " Just my own conclusion. The fact is, Mr. Glas 
 tonberry, to speak outright and downright, I m for get 
 ting my own in the surest and safest way. Larobe 
 and his she-devil of a wife must disgorge ; and from 
 what I have learned this evening, there is a process by 
 which that desirable result may be effected. A crime 
 lies between them ; I know it, and can ruin them with 
 a word ! " 
 
 Guy had been seated since he entered the lawyer s 
 office ; but in closing this sentence, he started up in an 
 excited manner, and gesticulated with some violence. 
 " I can ruin them at a word," he repeated " and 
 
 what is more, I ll do it, unless " 
 
 He did not complete the sentence, but Glastonberry 
 understood him. 
 
 " One thing must not be forgotten," said the lawyer, 
 in his cold, deliberate way. " You have a cunning fox 
 to deal with in Larobe." 
 
 " A swift-footed hound, keen of scent, --is usually a 
 match for the cunningest fox. I ll put you against La- 
 robe, any day ; and I m not slow myself, when the 
 game s on foot. 
 
 Glastonberry s upper lip was raised in a peculiar way 
 drawn back, as we sometimes see it in a dog show 
 ing two or three of the teeth on one side. The move- 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 53 
 
 ment seemed nervous, and passed in a moment. It did 
 not appear, from all the signs in his face, whether he 
 relished his client s compliment or not. 
 
 " What do you propose ? " he asked. 
 
 " If the Doctor s story is true, there s been foul play 
 towards my father." 
 
 " Unquestionably," replied Mr. Glastonberry. 
 
 44 And Larobe is a party to the foul play." 
 
 44 1 take that for granted." 
 
 44 Very well. A man with a crime on his conscience 
 is always a coward. You can frighten him into any 
 thing, if he is fully assured that you know his secret." 
 
 44 In some cases that is so." 
 
 44 Will it not be so with Larobe ? " 
 
 44 His character, as a man of honorable dealing, does 
 not stand very high, you are aware. Two or three 
 estates of orphans have been queerly managed under 
 his administration ; and he has coolly braved the odium 
 of legal inquiry into his conduct, suffering damage to 
 his gopd name in consequence." 
 
 44 1 can shake the penitentiary, nay, the gallows, in 
 his face," said Guy, fiercely. 
 
 44 He will understand the value of all that to the 
 tenth part of a scruple." 
 
 44 Of course, he will," answered the young man, 
 losing a portion of his excitement under the chilling 
 composure of the lawyer. 44 And its value is not to be 
 determined with feathers in the opposing scale." 
 
54 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " In this line of attack, Edwin," said Mr. Glaston- 
 berry, " great caution is needed. If Larobe were a 
 merchant, of ordinary calibre ; or, in any other profes 
 sion except law, he might be advanced upon with the 
 prospect of a certain victory. But he is wily, crafty, 
 and well entrenched in any position he may have taken. 
 He knows every inch of the gronud he stands on ; its 
 weak and its impregnable side. If you approach him 
 as an enemy, he will comprehend your strength and re 
 sources, as compared with his own, and by feints and 
 covert movements, seek to betray you to destruction 
 and he will do it, if you are not wholly on your guard." 
 
 " How can he damage me ? " asked Guy. 
 
 " Conspiracies to extort money are regarded as seri 
 ous crimes ; and, moreover, in our courts, a lawyer, as 
 party to a suit, has two chances to one in his favor." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " 
 
 " Simply, that, from a certain esprit de corps, the 
 Bench and the Bar generally sustain each other. It is 
 a difficult thing to get one lawyer of standing to conduct 
 a case against a brother in the profession, who holds a 
 good position. If Larobe can trap you in any way, 
 and then dispose of you under legal process, depend 
 upon it, he will do so, and you may find yourself across 
 the Falls, and under lock and key, before even conscious 
 of danger. Instead of hurting him, you may ruin your 
 self." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 55 
 
 " Then you advise an open and above-board suit to 
 break the will." 
 
 " No ; I do not advise that." 
 
 " What then ? " 
 
 " Simply, that you govern yourself in all things, as I 
 direct. There is a safe way, and also an unsafe way, 
 in this business." 
 
 " I am in your hands, Mr. Glastonberry." 
 
 " Hold yourself strictly to my suggestions," answered 
 the -lawyer, " and I think we may gain more by private 
 arrangment with Larobe, than in a perplexing suit. I 
 must, of course, be unknown in the affair. It will not 
 do for you to come here for consultation in the day time ; 
 nor must we ever be seen talking together on the street. 
 In fact, we should avoid recognizing each other on meet 
 ing. It will suggest itself to Larobe, that you are 
 acting under advice ; and he will be Argus-eyed in his 
 efforts to learn by whom your well considered advances 
 upon him are instigated. If I am known, my power 
 will, in a great measure, be gone. You understand ? " 
 
 44 O yes. I see the bearing of all that. You can 
 trust in my discretion. I know what is at stake." 
 
 " Very well. Now we understand each other clearly. 
 See me again to-morrow evening. In the mean time, 
 it may be well for you to call on Doctor Hofland, and 
 get from him a repetition of what he said to-night, and 
 anything further he may feel inclined to communicate. 
 
56 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 But, I must particularly caution you against the utter 
 ance of threats towards Mr. Larobe, or the use of any 
 expressions that may give the Doctor a hint of what 
 you intend doing. Note his language exactly, in all 
 he says about your father, so as to remember his very 
 words. I think "he added, encouragingly "that 
 we have a rich case, and one that will pay, if we man 
 age our cards aright. We must not be precipitate ; but 
 move with stealthy circumspection. Larobe must not 
 be startled, too suddenly, by a threat. He must be toy 
 ed with, and entreated, as it were. Your first visit 
 should be one of solicitation, rather than demand. An 
 approach to get his ear, and open the way for other ad 
 vances. But I will think out the programme minutely, 
 and to-morrow evening speak by the card." 
 
 Mr. Glastonberry then arose, and going to a closet, 
 brought forth a small waiter, on which were glasses and 
 a bottle of wine. 
 
 " It is sharp out to-night," he said, " and you must 
 warm yourself before going, with Amontillado." 
 
 And he poured two full glasses of the pale, sunny 
 liquor. 
 
 " You perceive the flavor," said Glastonberry, as Guy, 
 after sipping at his glass, noted the taste on his palate. 
 
 " True Amontillado," was replied, and then the glass 
 was emptied and set down, but held between the fingers, 
 dumb in invitation to be refilled an invitation that 
 did not wait. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 57 
 
 " You re a judge of wine, Mr. Glastonberry," re 
 marked Guy, approvingly, as he smacked his lies, after 
 emptying his second glass. 
 
 " I know a good article," answered the lawyer. 
 11 Try another glass. It is light," and he filled for his 
 companion again. 
 
 When, half an hour afterwards, they parted, the bottle 
 stood empty on the lawyer s table. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 S intimated by Doctor Hofland, there 
 had been a separation between Justin 
 Larobe and his wife ; though not in 
 legal form. In each mind was a 
 deathless impulse to rule, and the an- 
 tagonisms born of this impulse were 
 too violent for the restraint of any mere 
 external bond ; and so they were driv 
 en asunder. The parting had been in such hot blood, 
 that no recognition of mutual rights had taken place. 
 As enemies they drew apart, each hating, yet fearing 
 the other ; for, they held between them a deadly secret. 
 The household was not broken up. That remained with 
 Mrs. Larobe ; and as issue had failed in the marriage, 
 no irritating questions in regard to the disposition of 
 children were involved. Mr. Larobe, in separating from 
 his wife, had taken a suite of rooms at the Gity Hotel, 
 where he was living at the period of which we are now 
 writing. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 59 
 
 On the night after the .interview between Edwin Guy 
 and Mr. Glastonberry, as described in the last chapter, 
 Larobe sat alone in his chamber. He was a man rath 
 er below, than up to the medium stature, but stoutly and 
 squarely built. The lower part of his face was narrow, 
 but the upper portion broad and high. A pair of small, 
 tawny gray eyes, looked at you, warily, from beneath 
 heavy and projecting brows ; and a peculiarity in them 
 was, that their color came so near to that of the deep 
 orbital cavity, that you did not, at first, detect their 
 sinister expression. His head was thickly covered with 
 short, coarse hair, that was beginning to turn grey. 
 Mr. Larobe was reading, and sat very still, apparently 
 absorbed in his book. The time wore on until nearly 
 ten o clock, when two knocks came upon the door ; not 
 by a servant s hand his ear told him that. Rising, 
 he crossed the room, and opened the door. 
 
 " Edwin Guy ! " Larobe uttered the name in no 
 simulated surprise ; his heavy brows falling, as he spoke. 
 
 " Mr. Larobe," said the young man, stepping into 
 the apartment. The lawyer moved back, and Guy ad 
 vanced, shutting the door behind him. In the middle 
 of the room, half way to the glowing grate, he faced 
 around, and planted himself squarely before his visitor, 
 who, naturally, stood still, confronting him. Both 
 frowned both looked defiant. Each recognized an 
 enemy, who would inflict harm if possible. 
 
60 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " To what am I indebted for this visit ? " asked La- 
 robe, coldly. 
 
 " I have several things to say," replied Edwin, speak 
 ing with as much coolness as possible, and at the same 
 time taking, though uninvited, a chair. It was plain, 
 by the lawyer s manner, that something in his visitor 
 puzzled him. He did not consent to this freedom of 
 conduct in his own apartment, by taking a chair also, 
 but stood even more erect and solid, with his arms 
 thrown behind him. 
 
 " Say on." Larobe, in tone, at least, feigned indiffer 
 ence well. 
 
 " As you are aware, sir, I have never been satisfied 
 with my father s will." Guy looked at him, keenly, as 
 he said this. It was a simple feeler. The only change 
 noted, was a warier expression in the deep set, brownish 
 gray eyes, that were fixed on him, snakily. 
 
 " And you are aware, sir, that I have no power to 
 change it," was answered, evenly and coldly. 
 
 I think its conditions will have to be changed," 
 said Guy. 
 
 There was a meaning in his voice, more than in his 
 words, that caused Larobe to move from his solid bal 
 ance, with just the slightest sign of uneasiness. 
 
 " All parties are bound by the terms of a legal instru 
 ment," said the lawyer, slowly, distinctly, and without 
 apparent feeling. " A will, to an executor, is a letter 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWAKD. 61 
 
 of instructions, from which he cannot depart. In re 
 gard to your father s will, every provision has been 
 carried out to the letter. If you question this, demand 
 an investigation. You will be patiently heard in the 
 Orphan s Court. But if, as I infer from your remark, 
 it is against the will itself that your complaint lies, then 
 you must go past the executor, and test its binding force 
 in law." 
 
 " An insane man cannot make a will," remarked Ed 
 win Guy, in dead level tones, while he kept his eyes 
 watchfully on Larobe s countenance. 
 
 " True ; but your father s will bears date anterior to 
 the loss of reason." 
 
 " I am not sure of that." 
 
 " You surprise me, Edwin ! How long have you en 
 tertained this view ? " 
 
 " For a long time." 
 
 " It can at least be said," remarked the lawyer, with 
 manifest irony, " that you have been exceedingly patient 
 under this impression of fraud and wrong. Had the 
 case been mine, I would have seen to the bottom of it 
 years ago." 
 
 " Some men act hastily, while others bide their time. 
 I was only a boy when my father died, and ignorant of 
 the dark things passing around me. The thought of 
 crime and violence never entered my young brain, and 
 when, long ago, the suggestions were made, I turned 
 
62 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 away from them as too horrible for belief. But, one 
 fact after another came to light, until the accumulated 
 evidence forced an almost unwilling conviction. I did 
 not act hastily ; but went on searching, inquiring, pon 
 dering, willing to bide my time ; and it has come, 
 Mr. Larobe!" 
 
 Guy threw a quick, strong emphasis into his voice, in 
 closing this sentence, which gave the lawyer s nerves, 
 self-poised as he was, a sudden start. Turning himself, 
 by an almost imperceptible movement, he withdrew his 
 face from under the direct scrutiny of a pair of eyes 
 that seemed looking right down into his heart. Before 
 answering, he took a chair, placing it in a line parallel 
 to the one in which Guy was sitting, so that he might 
 look towards, or away from his companion, as suited 
 him best. He did not speak immediately. Guy wait 
 ed for him, struggling to repress the mounting excite 
 ment, which made every pulsation of his heart audible 
 in his ears. 
 
 "If you know of anything wrong, Edwin," he said, 
 at length, in the manner of one who offers disinterested 
 advice, in the hope of serving another " bring it to 
 the light. I was simply executor under your father s 
 will, the purpose of which I have carried out faithfully. 
 You received, at my hands, on the day you were twenty- 
 one years of age, all that it gave you. I could do no 
 more. If there was anything wrong in the execution 
 
WHAT CAME AFTE11WARDS. 63 
 
 of this will ; if, as you seem to think, dark and criminal 
 things are involved ; in Heaven s name, drag them 
 forth to view ! Count on me for giving you all aid that 
 may lie in my power." 
 
 This, though understood by Edwin, was unexpected, 
 and he pondered it, before answering. When he spoke, 
 his words were 
 
 " I have learned that my father was drugged before 
 his removal to the Hospital." 
 
 " Drugged ! " exclaimed Larobe, in feigned astonish 
 ment. 
 
 " Yes, sir, drugged ! " 
 
 By whom ? 
 
 " Ah, there s the pinch ! The fact is ascertained 
 beyond question. He was heavily under the influence 
 of opium when received at the Hospital." 
 
 " That may be satisfactorily accounted for, I think," 
 said Larobe. " Your father s derangement was pre 
 ceded by days and nights of sleeplessness, and mor 
 phia was administered, under the advice of his physi 
 cian, as the only means of tranquilizing his nerves ; 
 and he may have been more or less under its influence 
 when taken to the Hospital. To my mind this view is 
 reasonable." 
 
 " If that fact stood solitary, your inference would be 
 reasonable enough. Unhappily, it does not," replied 
 the young man. 
 
64 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " What other facts have you learned ? " asked Larobe. 
 
 " He was removed from home without the knowl 
 edge or consent, and against the judgment, of at least 
 one of his attendant physicians, and in the absence of 
 both." 
 
 " Is that so ? " The lawyer did not turn his face 
 towards his companion, but sat, with his chin drawn 
 down, and his eyes looking inwards. 
 
 " Without question, that is so. And it farther ap 
 pears, that my step-mother, with a male accomplice 
 of whose identity I am not yet clearly advised accom 
 panied him to the Hospital, delivering him in person, 
 to the officials of the Institution." 
 
 " That may all be satisfactorily explained," answered 
 Mr. Larobe. "It is the same with actions as with 
 natural objects ; a different point of view, gives a dif 
 ferent appearance. I don t see a case in this." 
 
 " And it still farther appears," resumed Guy, " that 
 my father showed immediate signs of improvement ; and 
 these were so marked, that the Resident Physician con 
 sented, after a few days, to his being taken home again, 
 and with that view permitted him to leave the Institu 
 tion, in company with his wife and another person. 
 Now, sir, in tracing the case thus far, judge of my sur 
 prise and horror, when I learned, that, instead of be 
 ing taken home, a sane man as he was, his wife and 
 ner accomplice spirited him off to a private mad-house 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 65 
 
 on Long Island, where he met, not long after, with a 
 violent death. Sir ! there is a murder at the hottom of 
 this dark transaction ! Yes, sir ! A murder ! And 
 by all the solemn obligations of a son to his father, I 
 will drag the foul transgressors into open day, and have 
 them punished ! " 
 
 Starting to his feet, in excitement, the young man 
 took a position in front of Larobe, and gazed upon him, 
 with stern accusation in his eyes. The lawyer, cool 
 and wary as he was, found himself, unexpectedly, in so 
 perilous a strait, that entire self-composure was almost 
 impossible. To betray weakness or fear, would be to 
 give his enemy a power over him that might be used 
 with terrible effect. So he waited, before answering, 
 to collect himself. He then remarked, with a thought 
 ful air, as if pondering what Guy had said 
 
 " That has a dark look, certainly." 
 
 " A dark and devilish look ! ejaculated the young 
 man, fiercely. 
 
 "From whom did you gain this information, Ed 
 win ? " 
 
 " I am not yet at liberty to give names ; but, witness 
 es ready to prove all, and more than all, I have said, 
 will be forthcoming. Among these is a man who held 
 the place of keeper in the mad-house where my father 
 was taken. He has already given me some shocking 
 particulars in regard to his treatment there." 
 
66 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " What ? " The lawyer was off his guard, and gave 
 a sign of alarm that Edwin Guy did not fail to note. 
 
 " He was no more insane than you are now, when 
 he came to our place ; these are the man s very words, 
 Mr. Larobe. Just think of it ! Do you wonder that 
 I am excited and in earnest ? That I have sworn to 
 uncover this great iniquity? " 
 
 " What did he say about your father s death ? " 
 asked Larobe. Guy perceived, by the lawyer s tone 
 and manner by the holding of his breath for an an 
 swer that, in his reply to this question, he felt a deep 
 and personal interest. And so, he withheld the answer 
 until he could think for a little while. 
 
 " There was some mystery about that," he remarked, 
 at length, as if unwilling to communicate what was in 
 his thoughts. 
 
 " Mystery ? " 
 
 " Yes. The man evidently knows more than he 
 cares, just now, to communicate. But I understand 
 the kind of influence needed, and shall bring it to bear." 
 
 " In attempting to escape from a window, your fa 
 ther fell to the ground, and was killed. I never heard, 
 or suspected, anything more," said Larobe. 
 
 " That was the story, I know. Beyond this simple 
 casualty, as it was called, nothing reached the public. 
 All the actors in this infernal business were cunning 
 and secretive ; but it happened, as it usually does in all 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 67 
 
 hellish schemes, that Satan left one or two points un 
 guarded, through means of which he might betray to 
 ruin the easy fools who trusted him. The devil, Mr. 
 Larobe, is a false friend ; and all who swear by him are 
 equally false, and as ready to betray each other. Doc 
 tor Du Pontz, if I remember aright, is the name by 
 which the keeper of the asylum on Long Island is 
 known ? " 
 
 " Something like that," replied the lawyer. 
 
 " A Frenchman ? " 
 
 " Probably." 
 
 " You have seen him ? " 
 
 " No, I believe not. 7 Larobe seemed trying to recall 
 the man s identity. 
 
 " Then I have been misinformed. I understood that 
 you were, several times, on Long Island, during the 
 time of my father s imprisonment. 
 
 Larobe shook his head, slowly, as he answered 
 
 " I was never on Long Island in my life." 
 
 " A simple question of evidence," said Guy, in an 
 undertone, as if to himself. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " demanded Larobe, 
 forgetting himself. 
 
 " By what? " coolly asked Guy. 
 
 " By your remark, that it was a simple question of 
 evidence." 
 
68 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Whether you were ever at Du Pontz s mad-house 
 on Long Island, or not ? " 
 
 Larobe was losing ground in this passage at arms 
 with the young man, and he felt it bitterly. How 
 should he regain the failing advantage? Not, surely, 
 through any betrayal of passion ; though he felt the in 
 timations of Guy as a biting insult. Fear, however, 
 was stronger than anger, and admitted as the safer coun 
 sellor. 
 
 " I think, Edwin," said he, after a hurried repression 
 of feeling, facing round, and looking steadily at Guy 
 his voice had now a velvety softness, and a friendship of 
 tone not exhibited before " that we had best clearly 
 understand each other. You have come here with a 
 certain purpose in your mind ; and I am of opinion, 
 that through a frank statement of that purpose, you 
 will more readily attain to it, than by any covert move 
 ments. I cannot understand your drift in this seeming 
 effort to involve me in transactions of a dozen years 
 back to which I was in no way participant. You con 
 template some legal action, I infer? " 
 
 " I do," was promptly answered. 
 
 " Before commencing, let me suggest a careful consid 
 eration of the question, whether, in this action, you will 
 have me as a friend or an enemy." 
 
 " Thank you, for the suggestion," said Guy, in a 
 conciliatory manner. " Enemies are never to be desired. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARD. 69 
 
 Of course, I desire to have you as a friend ; but it may 
 happen, that interest will come in the way of friendship. 
 If, as appears from all I can learn, you were an active 
 abettor in my father s ruin of mind, and subsequent 
 death, I don t see how, in any legal or personal sense, 
 you can stand to me in any other relation than that of 
 an enemy. Understand me, Mr. Larobe. I am in pos 
 session of evidence in regard to my father s treatment 
 that will astound the community when it comes to light, 
 and I shall prosecute to conviction all parties who were 
 in the conspiracy against him." 
 
 " To what end ? " calmly inquired the lawyer. 
 
 " That wrong may be punished, and justice establish 
 ed," said Guy, in a firm voice. 
 
 " Justice ? " queried Larobe. " To whom ? Your 
 father is dead, and no legal decision can affect him." 
 
 " It can affect his children, wrongfully despoiled of 
 their interest in his estate." 
 
 " What was your interest ? 
 
 Edwin dropped his eyes and seemed to be thinking. 
 
 " Not above twenty thousand dollars, in equitable 
 division under the law, if your father had died intestate. 
 Are you aware of that ? " 
 
 Edwin did not reply, and the lawyer added, 
 
 " Ten thousand were devised and paid. If you suc 
 ceed to the utmost, you cannot get beyond an additional 
 ten thousand, subject to fees and legal claims, which, 
 
70 WHAT CAME AFTERWARD. 
 
 under the law s delays and requirements, will amount 
 to half that sum. I am speaking as your friend, and 
 showing you the best that lies beyond." 
 
 u You forget interest," said Edwin. " Interest on 
 ten thousand dollars from the date of my father s will. 
 Six or seven thousand dollars must cover the most 
 liberal estimate of expenses ; and I can find half-a-dozen 
 prominent lawyers in an hour, any one of whom will 
 engage to conduct the suit for that fee in prospect." 
 
 He was watching Larobe closely, to see the effect of 
 this last sentence. It went home. Some minutes pass 
 ed in silence ; a silence that Larobe felt to be telling 
 against him more and more, the longer it was continued, 
 for it showed his perplexity and indecision. Guy could 
 afford to wait his companion s response ; and he did 
 wait. 
 
 " You are aware," said the lawyer, in a deliberate 
 way, breaking the pause, " that your step-mother and I 
 are not on friendly terms." 
 
 " I have heard as much," answered the young man. 
 
 " I cannot, therefore, speak for her. Perhaps " 
 
 But he left the sentence unfinished. 
 
 " There has been no divorce ? " said Guy. 
 
 " No no ; nothing of that kind." 
 
 Larobe understood the remark. As husband, under 
 the State laws, he had control of his wife s property, 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 71 
 
 nearly the whole of which was personal, and not free 
 hold. And so he was still in perplexity of mind. 
 
 " Edwin," he said, after another period of silence, 
 " this is too grave a matter to admit of hasty decision. 
 Everything depends on your knowing where you stand. 
 A false step may be ruinous. As intimated a little 
 while ago, I can be your friend, and serve you or, 
 if you elect, I can be your enemy. It is for you to say 
 in which attitude I am to stand." 
 
 As if deliberating on the lawyer s suggestion, Guy 
 walked the floor for some time, his hands behind him 
 and his head bent down. Pausing at length, and lift 
 ing his eyes, he remarked 
 
 " I think you understand the case, Mr. Larobe ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I do," was answered. 
 
 " And you wish to be my friend ? " 
 
 " I have said so." 
 
 " Turn the subject over in your mind. Look at it 
 upon all sides, and determine for me, if you can, what 
 course will be the wisest. I will see you again to 
 morrow evening." 
 
 " Whatever is done, Edwin, should be well consider 
 ed in advance," said the lawyer, with cautious reserve. 
 
 " No one understands that better than I do, Mr. 
 Larobe, and therefore I suggest twenty-four hours de 
 liberation. To-morrow evening I will be here again. 
 Good-night." 
 
72 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 And he went out abruptly. There was a covert 
 threat in his good night tone which the lawyer s wary 
 ear did not fail to notice. For nearly an hour after 
 Guy s departure, he sat so motionless before the fire, 
 that an observer would have thought him sleeping. 
 But sleep was a stranger to his pillow through all the 
 watches of that troubled night. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ROM the City Hotel, Edwin Guy wait 
 ed leisurely down Monument Square to 
 Lexington street, where he stopped and 
 waited several minutes on the corner, 
 narrowly scrutinizing every one who ap 
 proached from the direction of the Ho 
 tel. Satisfied, at length, that Larobe 
 was not following him, he started up 
 Lexington street at a quick pace, and passing the 
 Court House, dropped down St. Paul street to the 
 neighborhood of Glastonberry s office, into which he 
 disappeared. The cold, still face of the lawyer looked 
 at him inquiringly, as he took a chair opposite to where 
 he sat at the office table. It was one of those unread 
 able faces that we sometimes see in men, which, like a 
 turbid stream, hides everything beneath smooth, 
 sluggish, mysterious. 
 " You have seen him ? " 
 " Yes." 
 
74 WHAT CAME AFTERWARD. 
 
 " Give me the interview as accurately as possible ; 
 word for word if you can and the effect produced on 
 Larobe." 
 
 Guy related, with minute particularity, all that had 
 passed between him and his father s executor. 
 
 "He s frightened so much is clear," said Glaston- 
 berry, in his imperturbable way. 
 
 " Frightened out of his boots," returned Guy. 
 
 " No, not so badly as that. He s an old fox,- my 
 friend, and will double on his track and throw you off 
 the scent." 
 
 " He ll never throw me off ; make yourself easy on 
 that head," answered Guy, confidently. " He betrayed 
 enough to-night, to show that he believes me in posses 
 sion of facts which may be used to his harm. He in 
 tends to avoid all legal issues if possible." 
 
 14 No doubt of that. But none knows better than he, 
 the questionable policy of secret compromise with an 
 enemy. If he can hold himself clear from that perilous 
 necessity, he will do so." 
 
 " Do you think he can, Mr. Glastonberry ? " 
 
 " There is a way " . * 
 
 How ? Where ? " 
 
 " It would take too much time to explain to-night. 
 Besides, I am not fully posted ; I only know that 
 there is a way difficult to be sure ; but one along 
 which he may choose to venture as a means of escaping 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARD. 75 
 
 the trap you have laid for his feet. Let me, once more, 
 enjoin upon you the greatest prudence. Keep your 
 own counsel. Above all, remain strictly silent, even to 
 your nearest friend, touching the matter now in prog 
 ress, so that no one may have it in his power to report 
 a sentence from your lips. Suspect all who approach 
 you with a word about family affairs ; and on no ac 
 count suffer a remark on the subject of Mr. Larobe s 
 relation to your father s estate to drop from your lips. 
 You will be watched with unsleeping vigilance from 
 this hour. Larobe will surround you with men under 
 pay and instructions, whose business it will be to lure 
 you into imprudences of speech, that may be tortured 
 into evidence to prove an attempt on your part to ex 
 tort money. Forewarned, forearmed, my young friend. 
 You are embarking on a dangerous venture." 
 
 " But with a good pilot at the helm," replied Edwin, 
 in compliment to the lawyer. 
 
 "If my ship obeys the helm, the passage will be safe. 
 If not, the peril is imminent." 
 
 " She will obey the helm, Mr. Glastonberry. Trust 
 my word for that." 
 
 The only response to this, was in that peculiar lifting 
 of the upper lip, before mentioned, as if a portion of it 
 were drawn back by a cord, showing the canine teeth. 
 
 " I shall see him, as per appointment, again on to 
 morrow night," said Guy. " What programme is to 
 be followed ? " 
 
76 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 "Be, for one thing, more reserved and more mysteri 
 ous," replied Glastonberry, " as if you were conscious 
 of having said too much during the first interview. 
 Seem more inclined to legal measures than any other. 
 If he intimates any confidential adjustment any fur 
 ther division of your father s estate in your favor 
 show little favor towards the proposition. If he argues 
 the case, listen with owl-like gravity, and put on the 
 appearance of a man who carefully weighs two nearly 
 equal advantages. You must play him as an angler 
 plays his trout, and give line so long as he drags firmly 
 on the bait. He will thus weary, weaken, and entangle 
 himself, while you remain alert for the moment of ad 
 vantage." 
 
 " Suppose he makes an out and out offer of the full 
 sum due me from my father s estate, throwing the will 
 aside ? " 
 
 " Draw back from the offer. Don t seem in the least 
 moved by it. Speak of the wrong to other heirs as 
 well as the wrong to yourself. But, it is not at all likely 
 that any such offer will come. If it should come, how 
 ever, it will show him to be more frightened than now 
 appears, and, of course, deeply involved in crime against 
 your father and his children." 
 
 " He will never permit an investigation, Mr. Glaston 
 berry, if in his power to prevent it. You may set your 
 mind at rest on that. I saw enough, last night, to re 
 move all doubts on this head." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 77 
 
 For half an hour the conference went on. Then 
 came the bottle of wine, over which the subject was con 
 tinued until it stood empty on the table between them, 
 when they parted. 
 
 On the next evening Guy went to the City Hotel and 
 called at Larobe s rooms. To his knock at the door no 
 answer came. He stood awhile, and then knocked again. 
 But all was silent within. 
 
 " Mr. Larobe is not in the city," said one of the 
 waiters who happend to pass at the moment. 
 
 " Are you sure ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " When did he leave ? " 
 
 " This morning." 
 
 " Where has he gone ? " 
 
 " I do not know, sir. Perhaps they can tell you at 
 the office." 
 
 To the office Guy went, but the clerk answered his 
 questions with an indifference of manner that was irritat 
 ing. He did not appear to know or care anything about 
 Larobe. 
 
 " You are certain that he s not in the city," said 
 Guy. 
 
 " I haven t seen anything of him, to-day. Probably 
 he s gone out of town." 
 
 Nothing more definite than this was obtained, and 
 Guy left the Hotel in some perplexity of mind. 
 
78 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " What does it mean ? " he asked of Glastonberry, to 
 whose office he went, hastily, on leaving the hotel, 
 speaking with evident concern. 
 
 " Something, or nothing, so far as we are concerned," 
 answered the lawyer. " Business, wholly unconnected 
 with this affair, may have taken him from the city." 
 
 " I m afraid," said Guy, " that I went a little too 
 far." 
 
 " In what respect ? " 
 
 " That story about information received through a 
 former attendant in the insane Asylum, may have led 
 him to visit Du Pontz, in order to ascertain just how 
 much it is worth." 
 
 " Not at all improbable. I d give something to know 
 if that were the meaning of his absence from the city." 
 
 " Would you regard such visit as a good omen ? " 
 
 " Yes. It would prove, what we suspect, that he is 
 seriously involved, and in alarm. To-morrow we must 
 set inquiry afoot in a dozen directions, in order to as 
 certain the precise facts. If he has really gone to Long 
 Island, our game is safe. I d give five hundred dollars 
 to be well assured of the fact." 
 
 " Do you know the exact location of this Asylum ? " 
 asked Guy. 
 
 " I never heard of its existence until the present 
 time." 
 
 " It is somewhere on Long Island." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARD. 79 
 
 " So you have informed me." 
 
 " And the proprietor s name is Du Pontz." 
 
 " So you say." 
 
 " Suppose I make an effort to find the place, and if 
 successful, see what I can get out of this Frenchman ? " 
 
 Glastonberry shook his head, saying, " Not yet my 
 young friend. We must make haste slowly in this 
 business. That may be one of our moves in order to 
 get the vantage ground ; but there s time enough." 
 
 The result of this conference was limited to the one 
 purpose of finding out the meaning of Larobe s absence 
 from the city, and tracing its connection, if any existed, 
 to the business on hand. 
 
 And now let us return to Doctor Hofland s new pa 
 tients in Green street to Mrs. Ewbank, and her sick 
 child and husband. The Doctor s suspicions were not 
 at fault. There was neither food nor money in the 
 house, and the two packages of oat meal which he had 
 sent with the medicine, served the purpose intended 
 quieting the " hunger-pain" in more than one stomach 
 that night. Tearful sorrow came with the morning. 
 One lonely watcher sat through the waning hours, 
 from midnight until cock crow, sleepless, while all 
 slept ; and as the day dawned faintly along the dark 
 horizon, laid her wet face down in helpless, almost de 
 spairing sorrow, against the chilled face of her uncon 
 scious child, thanking God, even in the bitterness of her 
 bereavement, for death. 
 
80 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 It was all over with little Theo all over in this 
 world ; and he had passed into the company of angels. 
 How cold it was ! Mrs. Ewbank had not observed it 
 before. Shuddering, she drew about her the shawl 
 which had lain loosely over her shoulders. There was 
 no fire in the room. Long ago it had gone out, for 
 lack of fuel. But the cold shudder was not felt until it 
 ran along her nerves from contact with that strange ici- 
 ness, which is the sign of death. 
 
 Covering the face of her departed, after a long, long 
 yearning look, Mrs. Ewbank went silently into the next 
 room, where her husband, Esther, and another child, 
 five years old, were sleeping. Moving a chair to the 
 bed, on which her husband lay, she leaned forward, 
 burying her face in a pillow. There had not been in 
 all her life, so dark, so hopeless an hour as this. Lit 
 erally, they were without money, food, or fuel. Death 
 had come in, as if to snap the last fiber of endurance ; 
 and for the time, Mrs. Ewbank gave up in despair, and 
 asked that she might die. Even as the prayer went up 
 her husband awoke, and, partly rising in bed, saw her 
 position. 
 
 " Lydia." He spoke to her in a voice of tenderest 
 concern. 
 
 She did not move, nor answer. 
 
 " Lvdia." He called her again, reaching forth an 
 arm from beneath the bed-covering, and touching her. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 81 
 
 As he did so, the cool air of the room penetrated his 
 thin night-garment, chilling the blood, and producing 
 an almost instantaneous fit of coughing. 
 
 " Oh, Henry ! " exclaimed Mrs. Ewbank, starting up 
 in a hurried manner, and pressing her husband back 
 upon the bed, while she drew the covering around his 
 shoulders and neck. " The .room is wintry cold. Such 
 imprudence may cost you your life." 
 
 As warmth returned, the coughing subsided. 
 
 " How is Theo ? " 
 
 Mrs. Ewbank did not answer in words. She only 
 laid her face, all wet with tears, close against her hus 
 band s, and sobbed uncontrollably. He understood the 
 meaning of this, and lay very still, with shut lids. 
 
 " The Lord gave, and the Lord taketli away." Mr. 
 Ewbank tried to speak firmly, but his tones were weak 
 and tremulous, and he could not finish the sentence. 
 His wife understood what was in his heart knew 
 how far the pain had reached how bitter the loss ; 
 for that child had been as the apple of his eye. 
 
 " Safe in Heaven," he whispered, a little while after 
 wards. But. his wife did not make any response. 
 " The night will not always last." He tried to lift her 
 out of the depth into which she had fallen. " This may 
 be that darkest of all dark hours, Lydia, which gathers its 
 
 thickest gloom just before the coming of day light. It 
 4* 
 
82 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 can t be darker than it is now, darling ; and God still 
 lives and is merciful." 
 
 How tenderly how hopefully, in tone, as if to in 
 spire hope was this said. But there came no re 
 sponse. 
 
 Coldly, drearily, the winter light stole in, as the 
 morning advanced ; dusky gray yielding to the purer 
 crystaline, until white and yellow beams poured through 
 the windows. And still the heart-stricken, despairing 
 wife and mother, sat motionless by the bed-side, her 
 face hidden. 
 
 " Mother ! " It was Esther s voice. The sunbeams 
 had awakened her with their morning kiss, given as 
 tenderly as to the happiest child in all the land. 
 
 "Mother!" she called again, for Mrs. Ewbank nei 
 ther moved nor answered. " How is Theo ? " 
 
 The child was now sitting up in bed, and bending 
 forward, her serious face turned towards her father and 
 mother. The truth seemed, all at once, to flash upon 
 her mind, for she slipped quickly out of bed, and with-, 
 out stopping to dress herself, pushed open the door that 
 led into the next chamber. She remained there only 
 for a moment ; then came back sobbing bitterly, and 
 crept into bed again, where she lay weeping and 
 grieving. 
 
 "Esther!" At the call of her father, the child 
 started up. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 83 
 
 " Wont you dress yourself, dear ? " 
 
 " Yes, father." She was out of bed in a moment. 
 
 Slowly Mrs. Ewbank raised herself, as by strong in 
 ternal compulsion. The light fell over a face so ashen 
 pale, so exhausted, so hopeless, that Esther, child as 
 she was, lost all sense of individual suffering, in pity 
 and alarm for her mother. 
 
 " God has taken Theo," said Mr. Ewbank, to Es 
 ther, as she came near the bed. He spoke calmly. 
 The bitterness with him had already passed ; for his 
 thought had gone up from the child on earth, to the 
 child in Heaven. " God has taken little Theo, and 
 given him to the angels. He will never be sick any 
 more, nor have pain." 
 
 Esther covered her face with her hands, and leaning 
 over on to the bed, sobbed aloud. Waiting until he 
 could command his voice again, Mr. Ewbank said 
 
 " It is best, my dear, that he should go. We couldn t 
 cure his sickness, nor ease his distress, and so God took 
 thim to the heavenly land where there is neither sick 
 ness nor suffering." 
 
 As Mr. Ewbank said this, his wife passed to the next 
 room where her dead child lay, closing the door behind 
 her. Uncovering the white face, already restored to 
 calmness and beauty, for a moment it seemed to her 
 that he was only in tranquil sleep ; but the chill strik 
 ing down to her heart, as she laid her lips on his icy 
 forehead, swept this illusion aside. 
 
84 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " God has taken little Theo," she repeated, in thought, 
 her husband s words, trying to find comfort in them. 
 
 Not long she remained standing by her dead, but, 
 drawing the sheet over his face again, went down stairs, 
 continuing into the cellar, where she groped about try 
 ing to find pieces of wood and chips with which to 
 make a fire. The effort was only partially successful. 
 A washing tub stood in one corner. She took hold of it, 
 and turned it over ; seemed to be in debate then, as 
 if acting from a hurried resolution, caught up an ax, 
 and at a single stroke laid the vessel a wreck at her 
 feet. Gathering a portion of the short, dry staves in 
 her arms, and taking up a basket partly filled with 
 chips and splinters, she returned to the chamber where 
 she had left her husband and children, and kindled a 
 fire on the hearth. While engaged in doing this, a 
 knock was heard on the street door. 
 
 " I will go down," said Esther, starting away. 
 
 " Mother ! Mother ! " she called, at the bottom of 
 the stairway, in a few moments. " Come here, wonfr 
 you." 
 
 Mrs. Ewbank hurried down. A black man stood at 
 thetdoor, with a large basket in his hand. 
 
 " Are you Mrs. Ewbank ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes. I am Mrs. Ewbank," she replied. 
 
 " Then this basket is for you." 
 
 " For me ? Who sent it ? " she asked. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 85 
 
 " I was told to leave it, ma am," answered the negro, 
 showing his white teeth. " And here is a letter." 
 
 Breaking the seal, she found a fivedollar bill enclosed, 
 and these lines, pencilled 
 
 " Use this as you have need ; and if you are in want 
 of fuel, say so to the bearer." 
 
 The black man lingered, while Mrs. Ewbank read 
 the note. She was so bewildered that she did not, at 
 first comprehend the truth as a reality. 
 
 " Shall I bring a load of wood, ma am ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The man bowed, saying " It shall be here right 
 away," and went out. 
 
 In the basket were loaves of bread, tea, ground coffee, 
 sugar, butter, a bottle of milk and a bottle of wine ; 
 some eggs, fresh meat, and dried beef nicely chipped. 
 As Mrs. Ewbank laid these articles out, one after an 
 other on the kitchen table, a few rays of light came in, 
 through the dark clouds that encompassed her mind, 
 and her heart, which had been lying, for hours, almost 
 like a stone in her bosom, moved with a few living 
 pulsations. Not for herself, but for those who were 
 dearer to her than life, went up an emotion of grati 
 tude. Brief thanks formed themselves on her lips. A 
 thought of her dead child, lying in one of the .rooms 
 above, stayed her feet, as she was going to the cellar 
 for the remainder of the shattered tub, with which to 
 
86 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 kindle a fire in the kitchen stove a thought of the 
 living gave them motion again. 
 
 " Go up and dress Jasper, and see that the fire burns 
 while I get some breakfast. As soon as the room begins 
 to feel warm, let in just a little air through the back 
 window. Open it about an inch at the top and bottom, 
 and see that it doesn t blow on your father, and set him 
 to coughing." 
 
 " Shall I tell him ? " asked Esther, light playing in 
 the large, sad eyes, that were lifted to her mother s 
 face. 
 
 " Yes, you may tell him." The mother caught her 
 breath to repress a sob, and Esther went up stairs. It 
 was nearly half an hour before Mrs. Ewbank followed 
 with a cup of tea, a soft boiled egg, and some toast, on 
 a waiter, for her husband. 
 
 " Take Jasper down. You ll find some breakfast 
 there," she said to Esther. The two children went out, 
 and Mrs. Ewbank, after placing the waiter on a stand, 
 shut the back window, which had remained open a small 
 space at the top and bottom, as directed, to air the room. 
 Then getting a shawl to throw over the arms and 
 shoulders of her husband, she brought the stand to the 
 bed-side, saying, in an encouraging voice 
 
 " Now, Henry, you must eat every mouthful of 
 this." 
 
 " Have you eaten anything ? " he asked, looking 
 with tender concern into her wan face. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 87 
 
 " Never mind me. I ll do well enough. Come ! 
 Eat some of this nice toast, while I break and prepare 
 an egg." 
 
 Mr. Ewbank, with a forced effort, raised the cup of 
 tea and swallowed a few mouthfuls. As he was remov 
 ing it from his lips, he saw tears falling, in large drops, 
 silently, over the cheeks of his wife. Her hands, busy 
 with the egg, moved in an uncertain way the tears 
 were blinding her. Sinking down into the bed, Mr. 
 Ewbank drew the covering over his face to hide a sud 
 den rush of feeling which he had, for the moment, no 
 power to subdue. How could he eat with his dead 
 darling in the next room ; dead, and he in such ex 
 tremity, that even for the commonest burial rites he 
 must be indebted to charity. A thought of the Potter s 
 Field for that precious clay, wrung an involuntary groan 
 from his heart. 
 
 " Oh, Henry I Don t give way now," sobbed Mrs. 
 Ewbank, turning to the bed, and stooping doAvn over 
 her husband. " It seems as if light and help were 
 coming. You said the darkness would not always last ; 
 and I leaned, in my feebleness, on your confidence in 
 God, and did not utterly fall. If you had given way 
 if your trust had failed, Henry, I should have died. 
 Bear up a little longer, my husband. Our Father in 
 Heaven has not forgotten us. You said that we were 
 in His remembrance, and that, when suffering had done 
 
88 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 its work, the light of His countenance would shine upon 
 us. Is it not beginning to shine, Henry ? Is it not a 
 little lighter than it was ? Who sent us food in this 
 last extremity? Oh, Henry! take courage." 
 
 Mr. Ewbank drew the covering from his face, and 
 looked at his wife in wonder. It was the first time he 
 had heard from her lips a sentence that expressed con 
 fidence in God. Her mind had always been very dark 
 in this direction ; the windows looking skyward, shut. 
 Now she talked of hope of faith in God s providence 
 of the dawning day ; and tried, in this his moment of 
 weakness, to impart strength. 
 
 " You have spoken truth, dear wife ! " he answered. 
 Self-possession restored. " In all the circumstances of 
 our lives, even to the minutest particulars, God is 
 present. I confidently believe this. He is present to 
 us now in loving kindness not in anger. I see it 
 I feel it." 
 
 " Take, then, what He has sent." And Mrs. Ewbank 
 turned from the bed to the stand on which she had 
 placed the food prepared for her husband. "It is for 
 the preservation of your life." 
 
 She took the plate of toast and held it for him to eat. 
 
 " Will you not eat, also ? It is for you as well as 
 
 for me. Both of us have work to do, and we must take 
 
 food in order to gain strength. Let us walk side by 
 
 side, Lydia ; step for step ; in the way that opens for 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 89 
 
 our feet leaning upon each other, in our weakness, 
 for mutual support. I think, with you, that the darkest 
 hour is past that light is in the east. Let us prepare, 
 thankfully and hopefully, for the coming day. It will 
 show us our work, and we must have strength to per* 
 form it." 
 
 It was hard for either the husband or wife to keep 
 back the tears that were almost flooding their eyes, as 
 they compelled themselves to share the food which had 
 come, heaven-sent, in their extremity. It refreshed, 
 revived and strengthened them both. But, higher 
 strength had Mrs. Ewbank gained strength of soul 
 in that moment of despair, when she saw her husband s 
 heart fail, and sprang to his aid, pointing him to the Strong 
 for strength to the God in whom he had trusted. 
 Then were opened the long shut windows of her dark 
 ened mind, and light from heaven streamed in. She 
 felt new Confidence in the future ; and a calmness of 
 spirit that gave a serener asoect to her countenance 
 than it had worn for months. 
 
 In this state, she shut herself up with her dead child, 
 and alone, performed the last tender, tearful services its 
 pure body would ever receive at her hands. Then, in 
 its white robes, she bore it in her arms to the chamber 
 of her sick husband, and held it for him to look upon. 
 As he laid his lips to the snowy forehead, he murmured, 
 tremulously 
 
90 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven/ 
 There were many tears on the baby s face when the 
 mother carried it back. She was on her knees, by the 
 bed-side, as Doctor Hofland entered the chamber ; not 
 having heard him in the room below nor on the stairs. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 T was a sight to move the coldest neart. 
 Doctor Hofland stood still, looking up 
 on the dead child and the kneeling 
 mother ; stood still for nearly a minute, 
 an unwilling intruder where his pres 
 ence seemed like a desecration. The 
 mother was, to all appearance, as motion 
 less and unconscious as the child. Si 
 lently retiring, the Doctor entered the next room. 
 The air felt softer and warmer here, for there was a 
 fire on the hearth. As he came in, Mr. Ewbank, who 
 was alone, and lying with his face to the wall, turned 
 in the bed. He did not speak. The Doctor sat down, 
 and taking one of his hands, held his fingers on the 
 wrist. 
 
 " How was your cough through the night ? " 
 
 " Easier." 
 
 " Has it troubled you this morning ? " 
 
 " Very little." 
 
 
92 / WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Pulse softer and slower. No fever. A very de 
 cided improvement. In a few days we shall have you 
 up, Mr. Ewbank." 
 
 There was a look of gratitude in the sick man s glis 
 tening eyes, for Doctor Hofland spoke with kindness 
 and sympathy. 
 
 "Death has been here since I saw you last night. * 
 The Doctor s voice dropped to a lower key. 
 
 " Yes ; and he came in mercy." The tones were 
 not steady. 
 
 " All the ways of God are merciful." 
 
 " I believe so." The sick man shut his eyes. It 
 was the outward, involuntary expression of his inward 
 state. He was walking, in the dark, by faith, not by 
 sight. 
 
 O 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say this, my friend. Such 
 confidence in God is an anchor to the soul ; a light 
 from heaven when the sun is obscured." 
 
 A silence followed. 
 
 " When did little Theo die ? " asked the Doctor. 
 
 " About day dawn." 
 
 44 So the two mornings met ; for him the spiritual 
 morning for us the natural." 
 
 Mr. Ewbank did not reply, but fixed his eyes intent 
 ly, and with a look of inquiry, upon the Doctor s face. 
 
 " Death to us ; but resurrection to him." 
 
 " I know, Doctor," said Mr. Ewbank, speaking 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 93 
 
 calmly, "that the angels have taken him. I know 
 that it is well with our child. If a word of mine could 
 restore him, that word would not find utterance. But 
 we are natural and human ; and he was very dear. 
 For myself, I can bear this sorrow ; but, my poor 
 wife ! " His voice shook as he closed the sentence. 
 
 " As our day is, so shall our strength be," answered 
 the Doctor. " God will comfort her heart as well as 
 yours." 
 
 While he thus spoke the door leading from the next 
 room opened, and Mrs. Ewbank came in. Her face 
 was calm. 
 
 " How is my husband, this morning ? " she asked, 
 as she took the Doctor s offered hand. Her eyes were 
 fixed on him, and full of earnest appeal. 
 
 " Better much better," was the assuring reply. 
 
 " You think so, Doctor ? " 
 
 " Yes. He is better in every way. With good nurs 
 ing and right medicine, he will be about again very 
 soon. I think I understand his case, ma am. You see 
 how much he is improved already. So, take heart. 
 We shall make a sound man of him." 
 
 That was promising too much ; and yet, while Mrs. 
 Ewbank knew it was more than could ever be accom 
 plished, she took heart in the assurance. 
 
 " I will send another package of medicine, to be ta 
 ken according to directions," added the Doctor, as he 
 made a movement to go. 
 
94 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Wont you look at him, Doctor?" Mrs. Ewbank 
 laid her hand on the door through which she had just 
 come. They went in together, and she shut the door 
 behind her. Then turning down the sheet that cov 
 ered her dead baby s face, she said, while her voice 
 trembled through the calm surface she was striving to 
 throw over it 
 
 " It is best so, Doctor. I see it now. But it w r as 
 very hard to give him up very hard to see him die. 
 I thought it would kill me." 
 
 She drew the white sheet over the dead again. Then 
 turning to Doctor Hofland, she regarded him steadily 
 for some moments. 
 
 " You do not know me," she said, at length. 
 
 " Know you ! " a flash of surprise swept over the 
 Doctor s face. 
 
 " Lydia Guy, that was." 
 
 " Impossible ! " returned the Doctor. 
 
 " I do not wonder that you say impossible," mourn 
 fully answered Mrs. Ewbank. " And yet, I am Lydia 
 Guy that was. Life gives strange histories, Doctor." 
 
 " Strange indeed ! But why did you not tell me 
 this last night ? " 
 
 " The time had not come. Something stood in the 
 way, and held me back. It may have been pride ; but 
 I cannot tell. I sent for you, because fear lest my 
 child should die overcame all reluctance. I knew that, 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 95 
 
 if human skill could save him, you would not fail. It 
 did not save him. You came too late. Not for my 
 own sake, nor even for my children s have I now lifted 
 the veil that concealed my identity ; but for my hus 
 band s. Oh, Doctor ! have regard for him. He is one 
 of the best of men. For his sake, I now crush back 
 the native pride which would have let me die, alone, 
 with sealed lips, and tell you who I am. Don t fear 
 that my husband will burden you in any way. He is 
 neither a drone nor an incapable. You have skill as a 
 physician, and influence as a man. Restore my hus 
 band s health you have already promised that and 
 then help him to some position where his education, his 
 talents, and his industry will make both him and his 
 family independent. Oh, Doctor ! " Mrs. Ewbank laid 
 her hand on his arm, and spoke with increasing fervor. 
 " Help us now ! Help my husband. He is a good 
 and a true man. I, his wife, say this, knowing what I 
 say." 
 
 - " Be of good courage, Lydia," answered Doctor Hof- 
 land. " I will do for your husband all in my power." 
 
 " God bless you ! " As she said this, sobbing, Mrs. 
 Ewbank caught the Doctor s hand and kissed it. 
 
 " Mrs. Hofland will be here in a little while," were 
 the assuring words spoken by Doctor Hofland, as he 
 turned from the daughter of his early friend, and left 
 her with tears flooding her face; tears of hope 
 
96 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 sweet, not bitter, even though she stood in the death- 
 chamber of her latest born. 
 
 Since the Doctor s entrance, a load of wood had been 
 left at the door, and a sawyer was cutting it. Little 
 Esther had brought in an armful, and was kindling a 
 fire in the room below. She paused in her work, look 
 ing up at the kind-hearted physician as he came down 
 stairs. 
 
 " That s right," he said, in a voice of encourage 
 ment. " Make up a good warm fire, and drive out the 
 winter." And he passed on, leaving the house and 
 hurrying homeward. 
 
 " I have a strange story for your ears," said Doctor 
 Hofland, on meeting his wife. " The sick child I vis 
 ited last night is dead." 
 
 " The child, whose parents you found in such desti 
 tution, and to whom we sent a basket this morning ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Better in heaven than with them." 
 
 " Not that love failed in the, parents hearts ; but, all 
 God s providences are right." 
 
 u What is your strange story? " asked Mrs. Hofland. 
 
 " You remember Lydia Guy ? " 
 
 Mrs. Hofland gave a start. 
 
 " She is the mother of this dead babe." 
 
 " Why, husband ? " The color went suddenly out 
 of Mrs. Hofland s face. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 97 
 
 " It is true. From the moment I looked at her last 
 evening, and heard her speak, I was impressed with 
 something familiar. The same thing struck me this 
 morning. But, I had not thought of Lydia. You may 
 imagine my surprise when she revealed herself." 
 
 " So much for an imprudent marriage ! I had little 
 hope in her future ; but, I did not think of a fall so low 
 as this." 
 
 " She may be rising instead of falling," returned the 
 Doctor ; " and from something I observed and heard 
 this morning, she is standing in a higher place than 
 when you saw her last." 
 
 " Internally higher, you mean." 
 
 " Yes ; and that, you know, is the only true and per 
 manent elevation." 
 
 " What is her name ? " 
 
 " Ewbank." 
 
 " Brady was the name of the man she married. I 
 remember that. She must be living with a second 
 husband." 
 
 " Yes, that is probably so ; and he is a very differ 
 ent man from the first husband. Educated, refined, 
 religious so, in a brief observation, I read him ; and 
 Lydia said to me he is one of the best of men, with 
 her heart in her voice. Lena, for the sake of your old 
 friend, her mother, as well as for humanity s sake, go 
 to her without delay. I will see that all things are 
 
 
98 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 fittingly arranged for the child s burial. In the ways 
 of Providence, this family has come to our door, and 
 we must not fail in duty. It is my intention to see 
 her brother, Adam, this morning, and advise him of 
 her extremity. He cannot know the state of destitu 
 tion in which she is living." 
 
 " It might save you an unpleasant interview to send 
 him a note. I ve heard that he is a cold, haughty 
 man," said Mrs. Hofland. 
 
 " I shall not regard my own feelings in the matter," 
 replied the Doctor. " A personal interview will best 
 serve Lydia, and I shall seek it without delay. If he 
 will yield nothing through kindness, or humanity, 
 shame must extort unwilling benefaction. I hold a key 
 that will unlock his money chest, and must use the in 
 strument, be the gain to his sister ever so small." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 DAM Guy s " Lottery and Exchange 
 Office" was on Baltimore street, in 
 an old, dingy, two storied brick house, 
 built in the preceding century. In 
 each of the lower windows was a paint 
 ed screen ; one bore a figure of the 
 goddess Fortune, blindfold, standing 
 on an immense cornucopia, from which 
 gold and silver coin were pouring, as from a fountain ; 
 the other screen had, under the words, " Prizes sold at 
 this Lucky Office," the tempting figures, $100,000 ; 
 $50,000 ; $30,000 ; $20,000 ; $10,000 ; $5,000 ; $4,000 : 
 $3,000 ; $2,000 ; $1,000 ; $500 arranged in lines one 
 under the other, so as to fill the whole window. Stand 
 ing on each side of the door were other canvas screens, 
 on which the early drawings of Virginia, Maryland, and 
 Delaware Lotteries were announced, and the prices of 
 tickets, half tickets, quarters, and eighths, made allur 
 ingly prominent. 
 
100 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 It was about eleven o clock in the day, when Doctor 
 Hofland entered this office. Three persons were behind 
 the counter, busy in the work of exchanging uncurrent 
 money for coin and city bills, or in selling tickets to 
 covetous men and women, who had more faith in luck 
 than work. One of these persons he recognized as Mr. 
 Guy, and waited until he was disengaged . 
 
 " And now, what can I do for you, Doctor ? " said 
 the man of money, a business smile on his face, as he 
 turned to Doctor Hofland. 
 
 " Can I have a few words with you in private ? " ask 
 ed the Doctor. 
 
 " Certainly. Walk back," and Guy came from be 
 hind the counter. But the smile had gone suddenly out 
 of his face, which now wore an aspect as cold and as 
 hard as iron. The two men retired to a small room, 
 which was used for private and confidential purposes. 
 
 " Take a chair, sir." It was as if another man had 
 spoken, so changed was the broker s voice from what it 
 was, when he said, blandly, " And now, what can I do 
 for you, Doctor ? " 
 
 The offered chair was accepted, and the two men sat 
 down, at a small table, covered with baize. 
 
 "Are you aware," said Doctor Hofland, coming at 
 once to the business in hand, " that your sister Lydia is 
 now in the city." 
 
 " No, sir. I am not aware of the fact." Guy s man- 
 

 WHAT CAME ArfTJ21iWASD& : - 1C1 
 
 ner showed both annoyance and indifference ; and his 
 hard mouth grew harder. 
 
 " It is true. I discovered her this morning, under 
 circumstances of a distressing character." 
 
 " I am sorry, but I can have nothing to do with her. 
 She took her own way in life, and must walk in it to the 
 end. She is no more to me, Doctor, than any other 
 woman." 
 
 " She is your sister," answered the Doctor, speaking 
 firmly. 
 
 " As you choose about that." The man showed irri 
 tation. 
 
 " No, it is not as I choose, Mr. Guy. The fact stands 
 by itself, and words cannot change it. But, I did not 
 come here to annoy you ; only, as in duty bound, to in 
 form you, that your sister is in a very distressed condi 
 tion. Her husband is too sick to leave his room ; one 
 of her children died this morning ; and she is without 
 money to buy food, or even to bury her dead." 
 
 " Did you come here at her instance ? " demanded 
 Guy. 
 
 The Doctor answered : " No, I came at my own 
 instance. She did not mention your name." 
 
 " Very well." Guy spoke in a short, off-hand man 
 ner. " Let it be so. And now, Doctor, we must un 
 derstand each other. I ll give you one hundred dollars 
 for her use on this express condition : She is not to 
 
AFTERWARDS. 
 
 know from whence it comes. Spend it for her in your 
 own way. I leave that to your discretion. But, I en 
 join this obligation be silent in regard to me." 
 
 " Just as you please about that, Mr. Guy," returned 
 the Doctor. " I will be your almoner, and keep your 
 secret." 
 
 Guy arose, in a quick, nervous manner, and went into 
 the front office. In a few minutes he came back, clasp 
 ing some bank notes in one of his hands. 
 
 " There," he said, almost impatiently, as he thrust 
 them towards Doctor Hofland. 
 
 " I will see that the money is spent so as to do the 
 largest service," remarked the latter, as he took the bills. 
 
 " And don t mention my name. I must repeat that 
 injunction." 
 
 " I have already promised, Mr. Guy," answered the 
 Doctor, with just enough decision in his voice, to make 
 himself felt as a man above trifling or double dealing. 
 " And,* he added, permit me to remark, that what 
 ever you may feel inclined to do for your sister in her 
 present painful extremity, may be effected without fear 
 of intrusion or annoyance for the future. I do not be 
 lieve that either Lydia, or her husband, will ever, of 
 their own motion, cross your path." 
 
 " Tell that to the marines ! " was half lightly, half 
 gruffly responded. 
 
 " The old pride is not crushed out of your sister, Mr, 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS- 103 
 
 Guy. She has something of her father s spirit left. She 
 can suffer but not humiliate herself." 
 
 " May be so," was returned. But the fellow, her hus 
 band, is, no doubt, of a different kidney." He said this 
 with an air of heartless indifference, moving, as he spoke, 
 towards the front office, and showing his desire to get 
 rid of his visitor. 
 
 "You will find yourself mistaken in him also," said 
 the Doctor. 
 
 " It doesn t matter to me what he is, Doctor Hofland," 
 replied this man, facing squarely around in a resolute 
 way. " And I want you to understand once for all, that, 
 so far as I am concerned, he belongs to the undistinguish- 
 able mass of paupers, beggars and adventurers. I don t 
 wish to hear about him don t want to know him 
 don t care whether he starves to death, hangs, or is drown 
 ed." Mr. Guy wrought up, suddenly, into a state of 
 passion, and betrayed more than seemly intemperance 
 of speech. 
 
 " Good morning," said his visitor, with contrasting 
 calmness, and bowing low, retired. There was a degree 
 of unfeeling brutality about Mr. Guy that shocked, pain 
 fully, the feelings of Doctor Hofland ; and it was some 
 time before he could shake off a sense of humiliation 
 produced by the interview. He felt like one who had 
 extorted for himself an unwilling favor. 
 
 As in nature, so in life ; peace and tranquillity ever 
 
104 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 succeed to stormy periods and, usually, the sky is clear 
 er, and our vision penetrates farther into its heavenly 
 depths. Winter breaks, often, amid lightning and thun 
 der. The season which followed closely upon that 
 stormy and wintry period, wherein it seemed to Mr. and 
 Mrs. Ewbank that everything was about perishing, was 
 full of calmness and hope. Lydia had unbounded faith 
 not only in Doctor Hofland s willingness, but in his abili 
 ty to aid her husband ; and she inspired Mr. Ewbank 
 with a like confidence. The money received from Mr. 
 Guy was not placed in their hands, but expended in such 
 ways as the Doctor thought most useful, and least cal 
 culated to wound a native sense of independence, which 
 he was pleased to see existed. There were tender inci 
 dents connected with little Theo s burial, that gave to 
 Doctor and Mrs. Hofland new opportunities to read the 
 stricken hearts, laid, almost bare, before them. Every 
 changing aspect of character, presented by Mr. Ewbank, 
 increased their respect. There was a basis of high moral 
 qualities a sensitive honor and a love of indepen 
 dence, that marked him as a true man. They found 
 him under a cloud ; but, already, the cloud was breaking. 
 It seemed as if, for discipline and use to others, he had 
 been kept for this time, perfecting in trial and suffering. 
 Supplied with all things needful to health and strength ; 
 and with hope beginning to rest on a fairer promise in 
 the future, Mr. Ewbank found himself rapidly gaining 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 105 
 
 his lost vigor of mind and body. One thing was especial 
 ly pleasing to Doctor Hofland, whose interest in Lydia 
 and her husband daily increased. There evidently ex 
 isted a very tender attachment between them ; and it 
 grew plainer, the more he observed and studied Lydia, 
 that she regarded her husband not only as a good, but 
 as a wise man, and leaned upon his judgment of things 
 as conclusive. The union was one of hearts ; and the 
 wife had found in her husband a man whom she could 
 implicitly trust and deeplylove a man, who, standing 
 far higher than she had stood, was steadily raising her 
 to his serener level. It was only a part of needed disci 
 pline, that they should pass under the cloud ; but, now 
 that it was lifting itself, and the sun beginning to fall 
 through now that winter had broken, and the air be 
 come milder the motions of a true life were pervading 
 their souls with a promise of another spring time, anoth 
 er summer, and an autumn rich in fruitfulness. So 
 Doctor Hofland read the signs. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 N a few weeks, Mr. Ewbank was so far 
 recovered, that he was in condition to take 
 almost any light employment. Through 
 the influence of Doctor Hofland, three 
 or four scholars in Greek and Latin were 
 obtained. So favorably were these im 
 pressed by their new teacher, and so 
 warmly did they report at home and else 
 where, in regard to him, that others were led to join 
 the class, which was preparatory to a college course, and 
 made up of the sons of rich men, who could afford to 
 pay liberally. 
 
 Having recommended Mr. Ewbank to some of his 
 friends, in the beginning, Doctor Hofland felt a certain 
 degree of responsibility, which caused him to drop in, 
 now and then, upon the teacher, in order to see how he 
 conducted himself among his scholars. With each visit 
 he became more and more impressed with his superiority 
 as a man. There was nothing small or weak about 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 107 
 
 him ; nothing of that petty assumption which we see in 
 the mere pedagogue. Yet, he was wholly in earnest 
 with his pupils, giving himself to them in such wise and 
 sympathetic communications, that they were held by the 
 very pleasures that attended reception. 
 
 " You do not seem to have any dull boys here," said 
 the Doctor, one day, after listening to some brief exer 
 cises. 
 
 " They are not all bright, as that word is commonly 
 understood," answered Mr. Ewbank. " Among a dozen 
 lads, such as you have now before you, will always be 
 found the usual differences. Some are quick of appre 
 hension, responding, like polished surfaces, to the first 
 glances of light, while others must dwell for a portion 
 of time in the sunbeams, until their warmth is felt, and 
 then there is motion within. It is the teacher s business 
 to distinguish between these two classes, and to develop 
 each according to its mental peculiarity. Often it will 
 be found, that, as to intellectual power, the latter is 
 superior to the former. The machinery is on a grander 
 scale, and takes more heat to set it going." 
 
 " It requires faith and patience to deal with them 
 aright," said the Doctor. " And how few of us possess 
 these essential qualities ! All is so plain to the teacher, 
 that he looks for flashing responses, when his pupils are 
 before him. If any hesitate, or falter, or stand dumb, 
 he is too often annoyed, impatient, or angry thus 
 
108 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 closing their minds. And so, instead of helping, he 
 hinders them. If you have learned the better way, 
 Mr. Ewbank, happy are the dull boys who come under 
 your rule." 
 
 "I see the better way," was returned, " and am try 
 ing to walk in it ; but I fail, in some things, continual- 
 
 iy." 
 
 " As we all fail. Imperfection is stamped on human 
 things. But, always, right effort in any direction gives 
 right results. These may be very small, but the small 
 est gain is something." 
 
 " True, Doctor ; and in that I have a never-dying 
 incentive. If I make a single step in the right direction, 
 I am just so much nearer the result. A step to-day, a 
 step to-morrow, wearily though each may be taken, ad 
 vance me towards the goal. And if I so press onward, 
 in each day as it it is given, shall I not look back, after 
 many days, and see the winding path of an accomplished 
 journey stretching afar off in the fading distance ? In 
 my experience, Doctor, the gain of each day, in any 
 given direction, is small. We must work and wait. 
 We must advance one single step at a time, and take 
 hope from even the smallest signs of progress." 
 
 " So you deal with your pupils, as well as with your 
 self?" 
 
 " So I try to deal with them, Doctor." 
 
 " Have you trouble with any ? There are the in- 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 109 
 
 different, as well as the dull. A dozen boys in school, 
 represent almost as many dispositions." 
 
 " I first gain my pupil s respect and good will." 
 " How ? That is a secret hidden from the many." 
 " There is no rule applicable to all cases, unless it be 
 this kindness of feeling towards the lad, and a sincere 
 desire to do him good. Feeling is magnetic, and com 
 municates itself by laws peculiarly its own. If there 
 be genuine good will in your heart for any with whom 
 you are in contact, it will be known without the inter 
 vention of language. Frst, I try to feel right towards 
 my pupil to forget all about myself, and think how I 
 can best serve him. In regard to education, I have 
 views not held in common by all teachers j or, if held, 
 not acted upon, except in rare instances. My effort is, 
 not to move the machinery of a pupil s mind by outside 
 pressure, but to set it going by virtue of a force gene 
 rated within, and to direct my effort chief to the work of 
 feeding that force. To this end, I do not make the 
 memory a storehouse, cumbered with an excess of ma 
 terial ; but give chiefly such things as are wanted for 
 present use, knowing, that in such use comes appropria 
 tion and incorporation into the mental substance. Plants 
 grow from within animal bodies grow from within 
 each by a law of life that takes and assimilates nutrition, 
 particle by particle. By the same law, mind grows. 
 Its food is knowledge. But knowledge, when present- 
 
110 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 ed, is crude. The mind s digestive organs must pass it 
 through processes exactly corresponding to those which 
 take place in the animal economy, before its nutrition is 
 found and taken into the soul s substance. I cannot 
 digest for my pupil. The mere transference of things 
 from my memory to his, cannot give him intelligence. 
 He must be led to think for himself to take the food I 
 give and pass it through all the digestive processes for 
 himself. Then he has healthy life then he grows. 
 But, to weigh down his memory with a great burden 
 of things not comprehended, is to impede growth, and 
 make all educational processes laborious, distasteful and 
 imperfect. Holding, as I do, to a perfect correspondence 
 between the mind and the body, as to functions and 
 laws of life, I take it for granted science and knowl 
 edge being the mind s food that, if this food is given 
 in right proportions and of right quality to children, they 
 will receive it with eagerness and delight ; hunger and 
 thirst always succeeding digestion and assimilation, and 
 calling for new supplies of food. You see how much, 
 regarding education, is involved in all this." 
 
 " Your ideas and mine run parallel, at least on this 
 subject," said Doctor Hofland. " It is one on which 
 you seem to have thought deeply." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 u But, neither your duties nor mine will permit its 
 further discussion now," and the Doctor made a motion 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. Ill 
 
 to retire. " We must compare notes, however, at some 
 future time, and when we can get down deeper into the 
 subject. I see that your theory is right ; and, I trust, 
 your practice also though, in my observation, Mr. 
 Ewbank, men of theory almost always fail in applica 
 tion. Why should this be ? " 
 
 " Because, the thought is usually above the life," 
 answered Mr. Ewbank. 
 
 " Give me your meaning in other words," said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " Because our intellectual states are higher and more 
 progressive than our affection al states. We can see 
 more than we are willing to do. The mind, as you are 
 aware, is two-fold." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " There is will and understanding." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Feeling being predicated of the one, and thought 
 of the other." 
 
 The Doctor assented as to a familiar proposition. 
 
 " Thought has power to rise above the actual state, 
 which is governed by what we love. It can go up into 
 clear skies and serene atmospheres, and make to itself a 
 dwelling place, all beautiful and symmetrical. But, it 
 must descend again to its companion, love ; and then, 
 it too often happens, that love refuses to abide in the new 
 dwelling which thought has made, and holds her com- 
 
112 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 panion down to the old mean level. And so, the man, 
 though he sees what is right, does not always do what is 
 best. His theory is true ; but, when he comes to the 
 work of application, he fails for lack of that self- 
 compulsion which takes the grovelling affections up to 
 the nobler heights which thought has power to gain." 
 
 "Judging from what I see," remarked the Doctor, 
 " you are able to go up and dwell in the house you have 
 builded. In other words, to make theory and practice 
 one." 
 
 Mr. Ewbank s face did not brighten as we see the 
 face brighten, sometimes, under a compliment that gives 
 pleasure. If there was any change, it was towards a 
 graver aspect. 
 
 " No man knows better than I do," he replied, "how 
 hard it is to force the lagging spirit into right ways. 
 Success, in any case, is too intimately associated with 
 memories of possible and impending failure, to leave 
 much room for self-gratulation. For all gain of good, 
 I am profoundly thankful ; but, the gain is ever so 
 .hardly won, that no room is left for pride. With every 
 enemy we conquer, ten come into view, marshalling 
 themselves for battle." 
 
 The two men stood silent for some moments, under 
 the pressure of thought. 
 
 " Good morning," said Doctor Hofland. " We must 
 talk about these things again." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 113 
 
 " Good morning, sir." 
 
 The physician departed on his mission of healing, 
 and the teacher remained with his pupils, strengthened 
 for his work through the Doctor s kind manifestation of 
 an appreciative interest, so rarely met by persons of 
 his peculiar mind. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 NLY a few houses had been erected in 
 the immediate neighborhood of that 
 spotless shaft, springing two hundred 
 feet in the air, so wonderfully emble 
 matic of the strength, purity, and ex 
 quisitely harmonized proportions of 
 the man it was designed to symbolize 
 and honor WASHINGTON. In one 
 of these, Mrs. Larobe, the wife of Justin Larobe, resided. 
 Let us look in upon her. Time, evening. 
 
 Mrs. Larobe was alone, sitting before the parlor grate, 
 looking dreamily into the fire. Over twenty years have 
 passed since her first introduction to the reader ; and 
 these years have wrought seriously with the woman. 
 She has gained much through a subtle force of character, 
 united with an unscrupulous will much as to things 
 external. But, with everv gain, was suffered some loss 
 that touched the inner life some disappointment that 
 left an aching void some painful sense of inadequacy 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 115 
 
 or short coming some startling discovery, that what 
 seemed gold in the distance, was only tinsel and dross. 
 She had destroyed a goodly temple, in order that, with 
 the costly materials thus gained, she might build for her 
 self. Alas ! The building, as stone on stone, and tim 
 ber on timber, went into their places, did not grow out 
 into proportions of wonderful beauty, such as imagina 
 tion had pictured. It was weak here, unsightly there, 
 and mean, rather than magnificent, in her eyes. 
 
 At fifty-five, Mrs. Larobe had the same light, com 
 pactly built form, and the same cleanly cut features, 
 that marked her as Mrs. Harte, the Housekeeper of 
 Adam Guy, more than twenty years before. The cold, 
 light blue eye was as steady and as closely veiled to 
 common observers as then. Her dress was scrupulously 
 neat and in good taste. She wore a small cap, orna 
 mented with a sprig of half blown roses ; and at her 
 throat, pinning a lace collar of rare fineness, sparkled a 
 diamond of considerable value. The furniture of the 
 room in which she sat, corresponded with the woman. 
 Everything was in good taste. There was no excess of 
 articles ; no flaunting display ; no incongruity. In 
 quality, all was of the best and the costliest. 
 
 Though we find in this woman the same light com 
 pactly built form, the same cleanly chiselled features, 
 and the same cold, mysterious eyes, we do not find the 
 same expression of face. The inner experiences have 
 
116 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 cut their sign of suffering and disappointment on every 
 lineament, and as she sits alone, dreamily, before the 
 fire, you see that time has not fulfilled the promise of 
 other years. 
 
 From a bronze time-piece on the mantle, the hour of 
 eight rung out. Mrs. Larobe started at the sound. 
 At the same moment, the door opened, and a girl came 
 in. She was between fourteen and fifteen, had a va 
 cant, repulsive face, and was slovenly dressed. 
 
 " Go out, Blanche ! " said Mrs. Larobe, in a short, 
 cold manner, nodding her head towards the door through 
 which the girl had just entered. But the intruder took 
 no heed of this injunction. 
 
 " Blanche ! Go out, I say ! " The cold eyes of 
 Mrs. Larobe flashed, and her thin lips showed signs of 
 feeling. 
 
 " Why can t I stay here ? " answered the girl, com 
 mencing to draw a chair towards the fire. 
 
 " Because I don t want you," was sharply replied. 
 
 " Nobody wants me," said Blanche, in a tone that 
 should have touched the mother s heart. " Leon snaps 
 and snarls at me like a dog, and Herman says I m a 
 fool, and pushes me out of the room. Can t I stay 
 here, ma? " 
 
 " No ; I said no at first." 
 
 " I ll lie on the sofa, ma. I wont do anything, " 
 plead the girl. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 117 
 
 Mrs. Larobe, whose will ever sought to have its way, 
 arose with a quick impulse, and catching Blanche by 
 the arm, endeavored to lead her from the room. But 
 the girl, if she did not inherit her mother s clear intel 
 lect, had something of her stubborn will. 
 
 " I m not going out," she said doggedly, and with 
 resistance. 
 
 Mrs. Larobe s mind happened to be in a chafed con 
 dition, and she grew very angry at this opposition. 
 
 " Go instantly ! " she exclaimed, throwing her full 
 strength into her arms, and pushing Blanche towards 
 the door. Madly the girl struggled against her mother. 
 Finding herself borne along in spite of every effort to 
 remain in the room, she suddenly relaxed every muscle, 
 and gliding down from her mother s grasp, sunk upon 
 the floor like an inanimate mass. 
 
 Almost blind with passion, Mrs. Larobe stooped over 
 her child, and catching her two hands, commenced 
 dragging the prostrate body towards the door. 
 
 " I ll scream if you don t let me go," cried Blanche, 
 passionately. 
 
 But Mrs. Larobe did not heed this warning. Then 
 there leaped out upon the air such a strange, wild, 
 quivering cry that even Mrs Larobe, mad as she was, 
 started in surprise, and half relinquished her hold. It 
 was repeated again and again, more like the shriek of 
 an animal than the cry of a human being. 
 
118 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Mrs. Larobe, in stern command. 
 
 But the cry went on. 
 
 " Hush, I say ! " 
 
 She might as well have spoken to the wind. Through 
 her own cruel blindness, she had betrayed this weak 
 and disordered human soul into the temporary posses 
 sion of evil spirits, who were now tormenting them 
 both. Finding no abatement /in the loud, unearthly 
 screams, Mrs. Larobe endeavored to close the mouth of 
 Blanche with her hand, and had partly succeeded, when 
 she heard the ringing of the street door bell. 
 
 " Blanche ! Blanche ! Stop this instant ! Hark ! 
 Somebody has rung the bell. Get up ! Get up ! 
 Quick ! " 
 
 As the servant passed along the hall, on her way to 
 the door, Mrs. Larobe, in despair of- forcing her daugh 
 ter to cease screaming and rise, changed instinctively 
 her tone and manner, and addressed Blanche coaxingly. 
 This had the better effect. 
 
 " Come, dear ! Get up ! Some one is coming in. 
 Don t let them see you lying here. Hark ! There s 
 a man s voice. Get up, and run out, quickly." 
 
 So far as to cease screaming, and to rise from the 
 floor, Blanche obeyed her mother. But she did not 
 stir from the room. While the two were yet in con 
 tention, a man s heavy step was heard along the hall. 
 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 119 
 
 The door of the front parlor was opened by the ser 
 vant, and the visitor entered. 
 
 " A gentleman wishes to see you," said the servant, 
 looking into the back parlor from the hall. 
 
 " Who is it ? " asked Mrs. Larobe, in a low tone. 
 
 " He did not give his name." 
 
 "Did you turn up the gas ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma am." 
 
 " Here, take Blanche with you." 
 
 The servant advanced a step or two, but Blanche 
 retreated towards the grate, frowning and distorting 
 } r face. 
 
 I m not going out," she muttered. 
 
 " But you must go, dear. I have a visitor, and you 
 are in no condition to be seen," urged her mother, 
 crossing the room to where the girl had retired, and 
 again taking her by the arm. 
 
 " I ll scream," said Blanche, with a threatening look. 
 
 Mrs. Larobe dropped her hand, weak and baffled, 
 before this imbecile girl. A moment or two, she stood 
 in painful resolution ; then ordered the servant to re 
 tire. 
 
 " If I permit you to stay," she said to Blanche, 
 " you must hide yourself away in that arm-chair, and 
 not speak a word. Do you understand ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
120 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Very well. Now sit down, and keep perfectly 
 quiet." 
 
 Blanche took the chair in which her mother had been 
 seated, and was wheeled to some distance from the 
 grate, towards a corner of the room, the back of the 
 chair being turned towards the grate. After repeat 
 ing the injunction for Blanche to remain quiet, Mrs. 
 Larobe crossed to the folding doors, which, until now, 
 had been closed, and throwing one of them open, ad 
 vanced into the front parlor, where a fire also burned 
 in the grate. Before this, with his back to the folding 
 doors, stood a man, who turned at the moment of her 
 entrance. Mrs. Larobe stopped suddenly, a frown of 
 displeasure, not unmingled with surprise, crossing her 
 face. The man bowed, with a cold formality, that had 
 in it something of mockery. His eyes were sinister in 
 their expression. 
 
 " Edwin ! " Mrs. Larobe uttered the name like one 
 both displeased and confounded. 
 
 " Madam ! " And the formal bow was repeated. 
 
 " To what am I indebted for this visit ? " demanded 
 the woman, retiring into the placid exterior, with which 
 she had all her. life veiled so much of passion. 
 
 " That question is not to be answered in a single 
 sentence, madam," replied the visitor. " But you may 
 be yery sure that except for a matter of serious import, 
 I would not be here." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 121 
 
 The young man s eyes were fixed intently on Mrs. 
 Larobe s face, and he saw there what she would have 
 given much to conceal a sign of alarm. 
 
 " Be seated, Edwin." There was a change in Mrs. 
 Larobe s manner. 
 
 The young man drew two chairs in front of the 
 grate, and motioned Mrs. Larobe to take one of them. 
 Almost passively, she obeyed. 
 
 44 Some things have recently come to light, ma am, 
 that have a bad look." The visitor spoke slowly, dwell 
 ing upon one or two of his words with marked empha 
 sis. 
 
 Mrs. Larobe s eyes were fixed intently on his coun 
 tenance. She did not, however, trust herself to remark 
 upon a sentence, the whole meaning of which it was 
 impossible for her to guess. 
 
 44 A very bad look," repeated Edwin Guy, the wo 
 man s step-son, for he it was. 
 
 44 Whom do they concern ? " Mrs. Larobe asked, 
 feigning indifference, and veiling the uneasiness which 
 fluttered around her heart under an icy coldness of 
 manner. 
 
 44 They concern you, and me, and every member of 
 the family ! " 
 
 So quickly and emphatically was this thrown out, 
 that it gave Mrs. Larobe a visible start. Edwin saw 
 6 
 
122 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 her face blanch, and the expression of her steel-cold 
 eyes change. 
 
 " Concern me, Edwin ? " The woman tried to re 
 gain her self-possession, but only with partial success. 
 
 " You, perhaps, most of all," said Edwin. 
 
 " What about my mother ? " Here broke in a thin, 
 
 sharp voice, and looking past his step-mother, Edwin 
 
 
 
 saw the half wild, half vacant face of Blanche, thrust 
 eagerly out in a listening attitude, only a few yards 
 distant. 
 
 Springing up, with an almost cat-like bound, Mrs. 
 Larobe turned towards Blanche, and catching her by 
 the shoulders, swept her from the room, ere the girl had 
 time to collect herself for resistance, and bearing her 
 back to one of the rear rooms, gave her in charge of a 
 servant, with an injunction and a threat so fiercely ut 
 tered, that both child and servant were left, on her de 
 parture, in no mood to disregard her will. 
 
 For a few moments, Mrs. Larobe stood in the hall, 
 near the parlor doors, smoothing down her ruffled feel 
 ings, and schooling her countenance into an aspect of 
 indifference. Edwin was pacing the floor as she entered. 
 Pausing, and folding his arms, he fixed his eyes keenly 
 upon her, and stood thus regarding her until she reach 
 ed and resumed the chair from which she had arisen so 
 abruptly a little while before. 
 
 " You, madam, perhaps, most of all," said Edwin, as 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 123 
 
 he also sat down, yet not removing for an instant his 
 gaze from Mrs. Larobe s countenance. 
 
 44 Say on." She spoke with assumed indifference. 
 
 44 My father ! " 
 
 The tone in which this was uttered, more than the 
 reference itself, caused Mrs. Larobe to start. 
 
 " What of him ? " she asked, with a slight betrayal 
 of uneasiness. 
 
 44 Has had foul play." 
 
 44 1 was not aware of it before." The sentence did 
 not come with a free breath, which Edwin, all on the 
 alert, perceived. 
 
 44 Murder will out, ma am ! Wrong does not sleep 
 forever ; sooner or later it cries up from the earth." 
 
 "So they say." There was a slight expression of 
 irony in Mrs. Larobe s voice ; but it not hide completely 
 her true state of mind. 
 
 44 And it has not slept in this case. You are betray 
 ed, madam ! " 
 
 The covert defiance in Mrs. Larobe s tones had prick 
 ed the feelings of Edwin, and led him to this outspoken 
 sentence. 
 
 44 Betrayed ! " Guilt revealed its terror in the woman s 
 white face and quivering lips. 
 
 44 Yes, you are betrayed, miserable woman ! " 
 
 44 Betrayed in what ? " she asked, seeking to regain 
 her self-possession. 
 
124 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " As an accomplice in the death of my father." 
 
 Mrs. Larobe took a long, deep breath. She did not 
 respond for some time. Edwin waited for her to reply. 
 At length she said, speaking calmly 
 
 " His death was wholly accidental. In trying to es 
 cape from the confinement made necessary by insanity, he 
 fell from a window, and was killed. I was not there." 
 
 " But my father, a sane man, was there through your 
 wicked contrivance. I have the whole story, ma am ; 
 from the drugging to the forced removal to an infernal 
 prison on Long Island. Doctor s evidence, keeper s ev 
 idence, and subordinates evidence all written down 
 in due form, and attested, and in the hands of counsel. 
 Doctor Du Pontz will be in court, and you know what 
 he can tell." 
 
 " Doctor Du Pontz ! " exclaimed Mrs. Larobe, pal 
 ing again. 
 
 " Yes, Doctor Du Pontz, of the mad house on Long 
 Island. Accomplices in crime are never safe depositories 
 of our secrets, madam. When the courts take hold of 
 them, self-preservation becomes the first law of nature." 
 
 " Edwin," said Mrs. Larobe, her whole manner 
 changing, " let me understand you fully. Why are 
 you here ? " 
 
 " To obtain my share of my father s estate, wrong 
 fully withheld by you, under a forged or forced will, 
 which I have sufficient evidence to break, and will break, 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 125 
 
 if no easier road is opened to the end I am sworn to 
 reach. I have spoken plainly, madam ; do you compre 
 hend ? " 
 
 Mrs. Larobe took thought before answering. 
 
 " I think I understand you, Edwin," she said, speak 
 ing with deliberation." 
 
 " Say on." 
 
 " You are here to extort money from a woman imagin 
 ed to be in your power." 
 
 A deep flush of anger darkened the face of Edwin, 
 even to the temples. 
 
 " I am here," he answered, sternly, " for justice ; 
 and it must come, easy-handed or hard-handed. The 
 choice lies with you. Through fair concession, or open 
 force just as you will, madam. If you can show a 
 fair record in open court, defy me to the contest ; if not, 
 beware ! There is bad blood between us, as you know ; 
 and I shall not scruple to destroy you, if my interest 
 goes wholly over to the side of feeling." 
 
 " What do you want ? " asked Mrs. Larobe. 
 
 " I have said what I want." 
 
 " Say it again." 
 
 " My share in my father s estate." 
 
 " What is your share ? " 
 
 " Twenty-five thousand dollars ; and I received but 
 ten." 
 
 " You largely over-estimate your father s property." 
 
126 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " No ; I have told the sum of its value to the last 
 dollar ; and my share is twenty-five thousand, which I 
 am bound to realize, principal and interest. Having 
 taken the best legal advice our city affords, I knew just 
 where I stand." 
 
 " Who is your lawyer ? " 
 
 Edwin shook his head, and smiled in a sinister way. 
 
 " Does Adam know of this ? " asked Mrs. Larobe. 
 
 " Not yet." 
 
 " Or Frances ? " 
 
 " I have not seen her for two years." 
 
 " You are moving alone, then ? " 
 
 " Alone for the present. But when the matter comes 
 into court, I shall not, of course, stand alone. The case 
 will be open to all eyes. Adam has received his share ; 
 but Frances, and Lydia, who will no doubt be at once 
 forthcoming, have claims to an equitable division, par 
 allel with mine. Lydia, having only received one thou 
 sand dollars under the extorted, and therefore void will, 
 must have the largest award." 
 
 Mrs. Larobe dropped her eyes to the floor, and sat 
 for a long time in deep thought. 
 
 " Come and see me again to-morrow night, Edwin. 
 I must have time to think on this subject. It involves 
 too much for any hasty decision." 
 
 " It has narrowed itself down to very simple posi 
 tions," answered the young man, " and may be settled 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 127 
 
 in three minutes. You can have a law suit, with its 
 consequent exposure and certain disaster ; for, as I have 
 told you, I am in possession of evidence clearly estab 
 lishing the fact, that you and your present husband con 
 spired to murder my father, and succeeded in effecting 
 your hellish design through the intervention of a villain 
 named Du Pontz ; or, you can have immunity and se 
 curity through concession to my just claim. I am poor, 
 because your and your husband robbed me I speak a 
 plain language, madam and am in pressing need of 
 money. Necessity offers us stern and conclusive argu 
 ments, and, yielding to these, I am ready to forego jus 
 tice and vengeance for the present good I seek. But, 
 if this be withheld, then for the long and sterner task 
 of dragging iniquity into light, and gaining my ends by 
 force. I have but to cry this game, and a pack of hounds 
 will be on the scent. Now, madam, you understand me : 
 and you must elect accordingly." 
 
 " What security have I that you will keep the secret 
 you profess to hold?" said the pale-faced, agitated 
 woman agitated in presence of an appalling danger, 
 beyond all power of concealment. 
 
 " Only my word," answered Edwin. " No other se 
 curity is possible in a case like this." 
 
 " Only the word of a bitter enemy." Mrs. Larobe 
 spoke partly to herself. 
 
128 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Better trust to him, than to the law s tender mer 
 cies. Better conciliate one enemy, than defy a score." 
 
 Mrs. Larobe s figure shrunk in the chair, as if under 
 the pressure of a heavy weight. Her mind seemed par 
 alyzed by crowding fears. 
 
 " Edwin I must have time to think," she said almost 
 fretfully. 
 
 ki Madam, I cannot wait. To-night you must decide," 
 was answered, sternly. " When I leave here, I take 
 your yea or nay." 
 
 " And if nay ? " 
 
 " To-morrow the case will go to court. My lawyer 
 has everything ready, and the town will be startled by 
 revelations of an astounding character." 
 
 "If yea?" 
 
 " And your word is kept, ruin and disgrace are turn 
 ed aside." 
 
 " What will yea involve? " The woman s face was 
 still very pale, but she was now speaking calmly. 
 
 " I call my share of the estate, twenty-five thousand 
 dollars, of which I received ten thousand. My claim is 
 for the balance, with interest since the period of my 
 father s death. I demand nothing more, and will take 
 nothing less ; so chaffering as to the sum will be just so 
 much lost time, to say nothing of the irritation and ill- 
 blood it will create. I am in a position to name my own 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 129 
 
 terms, and I shall not abate one jot or tittle of the full 
 demand." 
 
 Again the woman was silent, thought beating around 
 on every side in a fruitless endeavor to find a way of 
 escape from impending danger. To yield even a small 
 part of Edwin s demand, under almost insolent threats, 
 was so deep a humiliation, that the bare idea revolted 
 her soul ; yet, to brave what lay beyond was more ter 
 rible still. She could measure the evil on one side, with 
 some degree of accuracy ; but on the other, it swelled 
 up vaguely to almost illimitable proportions. It was a 
 mountain which, if it fell upon her, must grind her to 
 powder. 
 
 " You will not give me time for reflection or consul 
 tation," she said, in a weak way, for the bold, defiant 
 spirit had gone out of her. 
 
 " Consultation ! Madam, the secret is yours, and 
 mine, and my lawyer s to-night," said Edwin, in a warn 
 ing tone. " I did not come here until the mine was 
 ready and the train laid. Let me admonish you to 
 circumspection. If there is to be consultation, our 
 parley closes. I will not wait for your subtle villain of 
 a husband to calculate the board, but checkmate you 
 all in a single move. I hold the advantage, and will 
 not let it pass. When I leave here to-night, I must 
 take, as already said, your yea or nay. If nay, to-morrow 
 
 morning, when the court opens, our proceedings will 
 6* 
 
130 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 commence. And then, you know what must follow. 
 The indictment will be for criminal offences, and when 
 the trial closes, you will hardly escape a prison." 
 
 Edwin saw a shiver run through the frame of his step 
 mother. 
 
 " You have me in your power," she said, slightly 
 rallying, " and are taking a base advantage." 
 
 " Yes, I have you in my power," answered the young 
 man, " as you once had my unhappy father in your 
 power. But, I will not take the base and w r icked ad 
 vantage you took of him. A simple act of justice, and 
 you are safe and free. Withhold that, and I wrench 
 from your hands what I claim of right, and in the act, 
 destroy you. A wise and prudent woman cannot hes 
 itate long as to a choice between these evils." 
 
 " The sum you demand is large, Edwin. It is im 
 possible for me to control such an amount," said Mrs. 
 Larobe. 
 
 " Your misfortune, if you cannot do so," was coldly 
 replied. 
 
 " Real estate cannot be sold or mortgaged except 
 through my husband." 
 
 " You have stocks. But, I am not here to discuss 
 questions of this nature. If you will not, or canno.t, 
 satisfy my just claims against the estate, say so, and I 
 will trouble you with my presence no farther," and jie 
 moved a pace or two towards the door. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 131 
 
 " I have eight thousand dollars in Union Bank stock." 
 A sense of most imminent danger extorted this. 
 
 Edwin returned a pace or two into the room. 
 
 " For the present, anything beyond that is hopeless," 
 added Mrs. Larobe. 
 
 Eager as the young man felt to grapple after this 
 large sum of money, and secure its possession, he was 
 politic enough to affect scarcely a sign of interest. 
 
 " Only a third of my claim. It will not do, mad 
 am," and he shook his head. 
 
 " If you will take this stock and give me time." 
 
 " How much time ? " 
 
 " It is impossible to say. Three, six, or even twelve 
 months may intervene, before I am able to arrange for 
 the balance." 
 
 Edwin stood for some time with his eyes cast down. 
 Then he crossed the room ; wheeled sharply and came 
 back again crossed once more, and then returned. 
 Meantime, Mrs. Larobe was in a tremor of suspense. 
 She had made the best offer in her power ; for her un 
 scrupulous husband had so managed her property as to 
 place the control of it almost entirely out of her hands. 
 
 " Madam," said Edwin Guy, pausing before his step 
 mother, " let me understand your proposition. Say 
 the best you can do, and I will answer, in less than five 
 minutes. The sum of principal and interest due me, I 
 will call, in round numbers, twenty thousand dollars. 
 
132 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 A net calculation of interest would make it exceed that 
 amount. You can pay eight thousand down." 
 
 " Yes," faintly murmured Mrs. Larobe. 
 
 " And the balance when ? " 
 
 " Not sooner than within a year." 
 
 Edwin shook his head. Mrs. Larobe s face was pale, 
 her lips colorless, her nerves in a tremor. She had 
 taken fear, as a guest, into her bosom, and fear had 
 gained the mastery over her. 
 
 " If within six months, I might accept your offer." 
 Edwin spoke as one whose mind was only half made 
 up. 
 
 " In three-quarters of a year, I may succeed in getting 
 so large a sum together," said Mrs. Larobe. 
 
 Again Edwin walked the floor, and his step-mother 
 still sat in her agony of suspense. Here was the only 
 door of escape, and she was ready to fly through it, 
 when opened wide enough, shuddering with terror. 
 
 " This I will do," said the young man " this, and 
 only this." He spoke as one dictating terms to an 
 enemy wholly in his power. " I will take your two 
 checks for four thousand dollars each, dated on to-morrow 
 and the day after. This will give you time to sell your 
 stock. I will not present the check dated to-morrow, 
 until after one o clock, in order that you may get in 
 your deposit. For the balance of twelve thousand 
 dollars, I will take your three notes at three, six, and nine 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. IS 3 
 
 months, each for four thousand . In return for them, 
 I will write you out a receipt in full for all claim against 
 mv father s estate, thus removing every legal basis for a 
 suit. Furthermore, I will take the most solemn oath you 
 may prescribe never to move myself, or in any way in 
 stigate others to move against you in regard to your 
 foul dealings towards my father. To-night, not a living 
 soul, beyond my lawyer, knows of the well linked evi 
 dence I possess bearing on this subject. It shall sleep 
 with us, safe as in a tomb." 
 
 What was left for the frightened, confounded, bewild 
 ered woman ! She was in the hands of one who had, 
 she verily believed, the power utterly to destroy her, 
 and she dared not defy him to the worst. It was in 
 vain that she pleaded for time to consider for a single 
 day. Edwin was inexorable. Now, he felt, that he 
 could work his will. To-morrow might be too late. 
 
 " Now or never," was his stern answer to all plead 
 ings and remonstrances. 
 
 " Edwin Guy," said Mrs. Larobe, as, half an hour 
 afterwards, she handed her step-son the checks and 
 notes he had demanded, and received his receipt in full 
 against the estate " Edwin Guy, this is a hard neces 
 sity." She had regained much of her old, self-poised 
 manner. 
 
 " You have still your option, madam," answered the 
 
184 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 young man, holding the papers so that she might receive 
 them back. 
 
 " I have made my election," she replied, " and it 
 must stand. In your honor, Edwin, I confide." 
 
 " My honor is sacred. I will be as silent as the grave ; 
 yet, only on one condition." 
 
 " What ? " Mrs. Larobe s face paled a little. 
 
 "You are to be as silent as the grave also. If you 
 betray anything of this transaction to a living soul, I 
 shall hold myself free of all pledges. I warn you to be 
 discreet ! " 
 
 " Fear not my discretion," was answered ; " I, too, 
 will be as silent as the grave." 
 
 " Be it so, madam and silence shall be your pledge 
 of safety. Good night ! " 
 
 And ere the miserable "woman, on whom the son of 
 Adam Guy had wrought this sharp retribution, had 
 time to rally herself, Edwin was gone. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 HE scene described in the last chapter, 
 took place nearly three months after 
 Edwin Guy s first interview with Doc 
 tor Hofland in regard to his father. 
 Larobe had proved himself a more 
 skilful strategist than either Edwin or 
 his lawyer, Glastonbury, had anticipat 
 ed, holding off his assailants, now by a 
 bold, and threatening front, and now deceiving them by 
 feigned movements, day after day, and week after week, 
 all the while endeavoring to entrap Guy into some false 
 position, where he could cripple or destroy him at a single 
 blow. Not once, after his first interview with Guy, did he 
 betray to that individual the smallest sign of apprehension, 
 concern, or concession. Forewarned, forearmed. At 
 the second interview, he was self-possessed, and very 
 reticent. He listened, coldly and patiently, to all the 
 young man had to say, leading him on by casual ques 
 tions, made in a tone that was almost indifferent, and get- 
 
136 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 ting deeper and deeper into his thoughts and purposes, 
 while he closely veiled his own. 
 
 The threatened suit was, in the mind of Edwin, only 
 a last resort. All he wanted was money, and the short 
 est way to that end was the way in which he meant to 
 walk. The foul play to his father, of which he was only 
 in possession of dark hints, notwithstanding his pre 
 tence of knowing so much, might go unavenged, so that 
 he could clutch a fair portion of the devised estate. The 
 longest and most doubtful way to reach the object of 
 his desire, was through the courts. In the beginning, 
 it had seemed the surest, and, probably, the only way ; 
 but the alarm and anxiety betrayed by Larobe at the 
 first interview, left a strong conviction on his mind, that 
 the lawyer would, to avoid the perils and disgrace of a 
 suit, yield to almost any demand he chose to make. 
 He felt certain that he had him in his power ; and be 
 gan to count over, in fancy, his thousands of dollars, 
 as already in possession. 
 
 But, his second interview with Larobe, dashed, with 
 a chill, the young man s rosy anticipations, and removed 
 to an uncertain distance that fruition on which he had 
 just seemed entering. 
 
 " I understand," he said, rising to withdraw, after an 
 hour s unsatisfactory skirmishing with the lawyer, " that 
 you wave all arrangements, and mean to accept the perils 
 of a suit ? " 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 137 
 
 " I did not say so." The tones of Larobe were al 
 most indifferent. 
 
 " So I read the meaning of what you have said to 
 night, and, accepting that meaning, I shall proceed to 
 act accordingly." 
 
 Something like a suppressed cough in the room ad 
 joining, reached at this moment the ears of Edwin Guy, 
 and, glancing towards a communicating door, he saw 
 that it stood ajar. He did not observe the wary, al 
 most anxious look fixed on him by the lawyer, as his 
 attention was turned for an instant on this door. 
 
 " I-cannot limit your actions, of course," evasively 
 answered Larobe. " All I can do, is to govern my 
 own." 
 
 There succeeded a silence of nearly half a minute, 
 when, no further remark being offered by the lawyer, 
 Guy commenced crossing the room, with the purpose 
 of retiring. His hand was on the door. 
 
 " Edwin," said Larobe. 
 
 The young man turned partly around. 
 
 " Take a word of advice in this matter." 
 
 " Say on." 
 
 "You are a little too eager are trying to move 
 too fast." There was just a shade of irony, or sarcasm, 
 in the lawyer s voice. 
 
 Guy stood still, looking at him, but not venturing a 
 reply. 
 
138 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " And may get thrown from the track. So, I coun 
 sel prudence." 
 
 " When the devil offers good advice," said Guy, 
 stung by something like contempt in Larobe s manner, 
 " we may safely assume that he is altogether disinter 
 ested, and has our good at heart." 
 
 Larobe only shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Good evening." 
 
 " Good evening, Edwin. If you wish another inter 
 view before commencing your suit, make free to call. 
 As I have already said, I am still your friend. It will 
 be for you to set me over to the. enemy s side ; and it 
 is but fair to warn you, that, as an enemy, I am never 
 scrupulous. You are treading on dangerous ground, as 
 your own lawyer, if he be honest, will tell you. An 
 attempt to extort money, under threat, is a crime in law ; 
 and you will be a sharp man at the business, if you get 
 through without punishment." 
 
 " Justin Larobe ! " said the young man, flashing out 
 in sadden anger, " I know the length and breadth, 
 even to the thousandth part of an inch, of your friend 
 ship for me it is that of the wolf for the lamb. You 
 cannot, under any provocation, be more my enemy 
 than you are to-day." 
 
 " Be it so, if you will. Only take heed that, in pro 
 voking me to strike, you are not altogether at mercy of 
 the blow." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 189 
 
 " I will take heed," said Edwin, and, opening the 
 door, he passed out, painfully aware that in this second 
 interview with the lawyer, he had gained nothing, and 
 probably lost all his first seeming advantage. 
 
 "You must not call on him again at least not for 
 
 O 
 
 some weeks," said Glastonbury, to whose office Guy 
 went immediately after his conference with Larobe. 
 
 " Not for weeks ! " Even the interval of weeks, be 
 fore getting to where he could lay his hands on the 
 money which had seemed so near his grasp, appeared 
 a long time to the eager young man. 
 
 " As before said," answered Glastonbury, " this is 
 a business in which we will have to make haste slowly. 
 Every inch of the ground we take must be well con 
 sidered, lest it prove unsafe. There is not a man in the 
 city, against whom an affair of this kind might not be 
 more safely conducted. It is evident, that he has re 
 covered from his first surprise, and now stands on 
 guard." 
 
 For over two weeks, no sign of invitation or ap 
 proach on either side was apparent. Twice Larobe 
 and Edwin had met in the street, passing with a cold 
 nod of recognition. Both were but acting, however ; 
 and both on the alert. Towards the end of the third 
 week, a note came from Larobe, asking for an inter 
 view in the evening at his rooms in the City Hotel. 
 At this meeting, the lawyer gained what he desired 
 
140 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 information as to the progress Edwin was making to 
 wards the initiation of the threatened suit. Nothing had 
 really been done, and he was, thus far, satisfied ; he 
 was, also, becoming assured that nothing would be done, 
 so long as there was any hope of driving him, through 
 fear, to the payment of the sum Edwin had demanded. 
 This payment he had, from the first, resolved to make, 
 rather than risk the consequences of a legal search into 
 all the circumstances of Adam Guy s illness, and re 
 moval to an insane asylum. But he was not the man 
 to yield anything without a struggle. Moreover, in 
 the very fact of this yielding, was an admission that 
 wrong had been done ; an admission that placed him in 
 the power of Edwin, and he was too unprincipled and 
 unscrupulous himself to have any faith in another s 
 pledges or promises. How was he to be in safety, after 
 buying off with money this dangerous foe. What 
 guarantee could he have that the contract would re 
 main unbroken ? Is the tiger rendered docile by a 
 draught of blood ? 
 
 Two or three more weeks were suffered to go by, in 
 a mutual wariness. Then Larobe received a commu 
 nication from Mr. Glastonbury, Edwin s lawyer, in 
 which he was notified, in formal manner, that he had 
 been instructed to bring suit for the purpose of break 
 ing the will of Adam Guy. This brought the two 
 lawyers into communication, and they spent several 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 141 
 
 weeks of skilful manoeuvering, each trying to get such 
 a position as would be impregnable in defence, or pos 
 sess superior advantage in assault. So much was in 
 volved on both sides, that great circumspection was 
 demanded. Enough, however, was gained by Glaston- 
 bury, to assure him that Larobe would scarcely risk 
 the suit. But there were difficulties in the way of a com 
 promise, almost insuperable. What were the guaran 
 tees for future immunity ? What surety could be giv 
 en, that similar attacks would not come from other 
 members of Mr. Guy s family, even if Edwin were, 
 ever after, to remain quiet ? 
 
 The one position taken by Larobe, in his interviews 
 with Glastonbury, was, that the movement against him 
 on the part of Edwin Guy, was simply for the purpose 
 of extorting money ; and that his only cause of hesita 
 tion in the matter grew out of an unwillingness to be 
 dragged into court on such gross charges as were as 
 sumed, and put on the defensive against bribed witness 
 es whose false statements might not only have weight 
 with a public too apt to believe the worst, but with a 
 prejudiced or stupid jury also. 
 
 " But, in avoiding one danger," he said, " I am not 
 disposed to risk another and greater." 
 
 " It is for you to make the election," replied Glas 
 tonbury. " My client has become impatient of delay, 
 and insists that proceedings at once begin." 
 
142 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " He may find himself checkmated in the third or 
 fourth move," said Larobe. " I have not been pas 
 sive for nearly three months." 
 
 " It is for you to conduct your own side of the game, 
 and I doubt not it will be skilfully played," answered 
 Glastonbury, his lip twitching, and lifting back over 
 the canine teeth, in a way peculiar to himself. 
 
 " I have secured evidence already, and shall meet 
 you with a counter suit." 
 
 "Ah?" 
 
 " Yes. Your client has been several times in my 
 rooms, blustering and threatening. All that he said 
 might not favor your side materially, if produced in 
 court. Nevertheless, I have it, word for word, written 
 out, and by a witness who will take the stand. I did 
 not choose to be alone, you see." 
 
 Larobe s small brown eyes looked forth keenly from 
 their deep coverts, and scanned the face of Glastonbury. 
 There was no change in its expression ; but the upper 
 lip twitched oftener, with its nervous motion, showing 
 the fangs, first on one side and then on the other. 
 
 " And prove what ? " 
 
 " An attempt to extort money," replied Larobe. 
 " An open demand for a certain sum, as black mail ; so 
 giving me immunity against prosecution for an alleged 
 crime. There are two points here, as you will per 
 ceive ; two criminal offences punishable under the law. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWAKDS. 143 
 
 An attempt to extort money by threat, and the com 
 pounding of felony." 
 
 Glastonbury simply answered, and without apparent 
 change of feeling, though he saw that Larobe had 
 gained an advantage over his client. 
 
 " Guy has little to lose, and all to gain in this mat 
 ter ; you have nothing to gain and much to lose. Let 
 the case go as it will, should it come into court, you 
 cannot escape without serious damage. We are pre 
 pared with evidence that will show darkly against you, 
 Mr. Larobe. It is possible that you may have testimo 
 ny running parallel, which will complement ours, and 
 give a different signification to many things veiled in 
 mystery. I trust, for your sake, that it may be so. 
 But, I would not advise you to accept all the risks. 
 Settle it with the young man, if it be within range of 
 possibility. He is, at the present time, believe me, in 
 possession of facts touching some things in your past 
 life, that make him a dangerous enemy." 
 
 Whatever impression this had on Justin Larobe, he 
 was skilful enough at concealment to hide from even as 
 keen an observer as Glastonbury, and the two men 
 closed the interview and separated, neither satisfied in 
 regard to the other. 
 
 " You have well nigh ruined your case ! " was the 
 salutation received by Edwin Guy, when next he ap 
 peared in Glastonbury s office. The lawyer s upper 
 
144 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 lip moved nervously, and his eyes looked sternly at his 
 client. 
 
 44 Ruined my case ! How ? " Edwin s face paled. 
 
 " I warned you, over and over again, to be prudent 
 in what you said to Larobe." 
 
 44 And I have always been prudent," replied the 
 young man. 
 
 44 As prudent as though a third party, your enemy, 
 were present ? " 
 
 44 Not so guarded as that. Why should I have been ?" 
 
 44 A third party was present." 
 
 44 What ? " 
 
 44 A third party, concealed, and noting down, for ev 
 idence, every word to which you gave utterance." 
 
 44 How do you know ? " 
 
 44 1 have it from Larobe himself; and he is now pre 
 paring to set off our suit with one for the two crimes of 
 attempting to extort money by threat, and for compound 
 ing a felony." 
 
 Edwin s face grew paler still. 
 
 44 Then he will abide our movement against him ? " 
 he said. 
 
 44 1 am not sure ; but it looks that way. I told you, 
 in the beginning, that we had an antagonist to deal with 
 of the most wary and determined character, and one 
 who would seek an advantage against you, and press it 
 to tho death when gained. If, as he alleges, he is in pos- 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 145 
 
 session of evidence going to show that you threatened 
 him with this suit, unless he paid you a certain sum of 
 money, your chances of gaining it are not good ; and 
 you may be so thrown at disadvantage as to be visited 
 by serious legal consequences. I m afraid you are far 
 ther away from your object to-day, than you were two 
 months ago." 
 
 There was a silence between the two men for three 
 or four minutes. Then Glastonbury said 
 
 " Other heirs are living ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Where are they ? " 
 
 " My sister Frances may be in the city. I am not cer 
 tain, however." 
 
 " No matter. We can use her name ; and that, I 
 think, will be our tower of strength." 
 
 " I do not understand you," said Edwin, looking per 
 plexed. 
 
 " Larobe does not, I think, really mean to risk a suit ; 
 but, with his present advantage, he will hold us off in 
 definitely. We do not want a suit. For, if prosecuted 
 to the end, and successful, years must elapse before any 
 thing can be realized, and then so many other claimants 
 to the estate may come in, that our share will hardly be 
 worth fighting for. If, however, Larobe is satisfied that 
 we mean to bring the suit in your sister s name, against 
 7 
 
146 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 whom he can threaten nothing, my opinion is, that he 
 will yield." 
 
 Edwin did not see much to hope for in this view of 
 the case. Delays had already wearied him. He saw, 
 in Larobe, an antagonist so skilful, so guarded, so wary, 
 that victory seemed more and more doubtful every day. 
 Nearly three months had elapsed, and he saw himself 
 farther off from the end he sought to achieve than in 
 the beginning. It was while in this state of mind that 
 he determined, without consulting his lawyer, to have 
 an interview with his step-mother, Mrs. Larobe, now 
 living separate from her husband, and try what was to 
 be done with her. His success, in that interview, is 
 known to the reader. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 EN minutes after one o clock, on the 
 day after his interview with his step 
 mother, Edwin Guy ascended the steps 
 leading to the Union Bank, holding a 
 check of four thousand dollars clench 
 ed tightly in his hand. He had many 
 doubts and misgivings in his heart, 
 and glanced about him uneasily. In 
 stead of meeting a prompt payment of his check, might 
 he not encounter an officer ? That was in the range 
 of possibilities. More probable than this, he thought, 
 might be the answer 
 " No funds." 
 
 As he entered, a lady swept past him, moving with 
 quick steps. She was in the act of drawing down her 
 veil ; but he saw a portion of her face. It was Mrs. 
 Larobe. If she saw him, she had no desire to make 
 recognition of a detested persecutor of one who had 
 forced on her the bitterest necessity of her life ; and that 
 
 
148 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 life, in these later years, had not been free from bitter 
 necessities. 
 
 Had she made the required deposit ? That was still 
 the doubtful query. Edwin was in no state to linger, 
 but moved on with a desperate hope that all was right, 
 and, standing at the counter, presented his check. The 
 teller glanced down at his face, let his eyes dwell upon 
 it for a moment, and then looked across the counter at 
 Edwin, regarding him with apparent scrutiny. Then 
 turning to a book-keeper, he asked a question, and the 
 book-keeper referred to an account on his ledger. 
 
 The teller came back, and handing the check to Ed 
 win, said, 
 
 " No funds." 
 
 " Are you certain ? " The young man lingered. 
 " The drawer of this check said that funds to meet it 
 would be on deposit by one o clock, and it is past that 
 time now." 
 
 The teller again reached his hand for the check and 
 stepped to the counter where the receiving teller stood, 
 asked a question, and received, as Edwin saw, an affirma 
 tive reply. 
 
 " How will you have it ? " The teller s hands were 
 over his money drawer. 
 
 " In hundred dollar bills," was answered. 
 
 Forty bills were counted out. Clutching them with 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 149 
 
 ill-suppressed eagerness, Edwin Guy left the bank and 
 hurried into the street. 
 
 As Mrs. Guy left the bank, only a few minutes be 
 fore, she removed the veil which had been drawn quick 
 ly, on seeing Edwin, in order to get full draughts of the 
 fresh air, for she felt like one about to suffocate. Slow 
 ly she moved up Charles street, on her way homeward, 
 weak in every limb, the effect of nervous exhaustion. 
 As she came near St. Paul s Church, she saw, on the 
 corner, an old man of such singular appearance, that he 
 was attracting the attention of passengers on the street, 
 some of whom stood still to observe him more narrow 
 ly. His dress was meagre, worn and incongruous ; his 
 hair, of iron gray, was long and uncombed, his face cov 
 ered with a white beard, that fell down from his chin to 
 a distance of six or seven inches. He stooped consider 
 ably ; and his garments hung loosely around an emacia 
 ted body. The upper part of his face, which could alone 
 be seen, had a pale and sickly hue ; but his deep set eyes, 
 looking out of almost bony orbits, had a glitter and fire 
 in them too bright for reason. 
 
 Mrs. Larobe had advanced along the pavement to 
 within a few paces of this old man, whose appearance 
 was that of an escaped pauper or lunatic, before he ob 
 served her approach. The sound of her footsteps, or 
 the rustle of her garments, reaching his ears, he turned 
 and looked into her face. As their eyes met, the old 
 
 
150 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 man gave a start, moving back, a pace or two, and mut 
 tering some incoherent ejaculation. Then advancing, 
 he leaned forward, with his wild and fiery eyes fixed 
 eagerly on Mrs. Larobe s face. Frightened at this un 
 expected encounter with what was evidently an insane 
 man, Mrs. Larobe drew down her veil, and sweeping in 
 a wide circle around him, hurried onward, without glanc 
 ing back, lest her doing so should lead him to follow her. 
 
 He was following, nevertheless ; but at so slow a 
 pace, that when Mrs. Larobe reached Franklin street, 
 and looked back for the first time, he was not visible. 
 Still excited, and inwardly trembling with a vague alarm, 
 she kept on, without checking her speed, until she ar 
 rived at home. 
 
 Not for along time had Mrs. Larobe felt so complete 
 ly unnerved as now. The conviction which, fora year 
 or two, had been haunting her mind, that the foundations 
 of her peace were wholly insecure, and that it was too 
 late in life to commence building again, if the present 
 house fell, was now gaining confirmation. Edwin s visit 
 and imperious demand, which she dared not refuse, 
 though compliance did not remove all fear of the terrible 
 consequences threatened, was an event of such a disturb 
 ing and depressing nature, that she could not rise above 
 its influence. The night that followed this visit had 
 been almost sleepless. A dozen times she repented of 
 compliance: yet, as often, in going back over her past 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 151 
 
 life, and dwelling on certain events, a knowledge of which 
 Edwin claimed to possess, she felt a sickening sense of 
 the imperious necessity that was upon her, and saw that 
 no other way of escape remained. She had found no 
 difficulty in selling her stocks, though, in the negotiation 
 with a broker, she was compelled to make a loss of three 
 per cent., besides commissions. Five thousand dollars 
 were paid down, and she was to receive the balance next 
 day, in order to make good the second check of four 
 thousand dollars held by Edwin. Parting with these 
 large sums, was like wringing drops of blood from her 
 heart ; not that she had a miser s love for money she 
 valued it for the position and power it gave her. The 
 hardest thing to bear in this hard necessity, was the 
 triumph gained over her by Edwin, whom she had hated 
 with that implacable hatred, the wronger cherishes for 
 the wronged. Suddenly the tables were turned, and 
 she found herself at his mercy. This was too hard for 
 endurance. It seemed, at times, as if it would drive 
 her mad. 
 
 How could she get him out of her way ? For hours, 
 in the darkness, she pondered this dark question, the 
 will to compass murder full-formed in her heart. There 
 were no doubts, nor hesitations, nor weak tremors at 
 thought of steel or poison ; only at thoughts of safety to 
 herself. If the power of invisibility could have been the 
 gift of a demon, she would have accepted the boon, and, 
 
 
152 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 with her own hidden hand, sent death to the heart of 
 her step-son. But, certain immunity was impossible. 
 She could not venture into this path of crime, without 
 the encounter of risks too great to be accepted. And 
 so, the question of how he was to be removed from her 
 obstructed path, was pondered in vain. 
 
 The visit and extortion of Edwin, made in the face of 
 terrifying threats, the wild thoughts and heart-struggles 
 of the night, and the constrained work of the morning, 
 left Mrs. Larobe in that sensitive, nervous condition 
 which is liable to disturbance from the most trifling 
 causes. When she left the bank, after handing in the 
 deposit which was to make good the extorted check, 
 she was, as we have seen, in a state of nervous exhaus 
 tion. Except for this, her encounter with the strange 
 looking old man, would have been an incident to be for 
 gotten in a moment. But, trifling as the incident was, 
 it added largely to the disturbing forces by which she 
 was now assailed. 
 
 As the street door of her own house closed behind 
 her, Mrs. Larobe moved slowly and with weak steps 
 along the hall, entering one of the parlors, and sinking 
 in tremor and exhaustion upon a sofa. Over ten minutes 
 elapsed, before rising to go up stairs. A few moments 
 she stood in front of a large pier glass, stretching from 
 floor to ceiling, scarcely recognizing her own pale, 
 troubled face. How had less than twenty-four hours 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 153 
 
 of baffling contest with superior forces, marred the 
 smooth repose of her countenance. Turning from the 
 mirror, she stood, for an instant, among the curtains 
 that drapped the long low windows ; but, only for an 
 instant. Back, as if a strong arm had drawn her away, 
 she moved suddenly, catching her breath, and clasping 
 her hands over her bosom. The strange old man had 
 glanced up to her from the pavement, starting, as before, 
 at her sudden apparition, and then bending towards her 
 with a wild, eager look. 
 
 Mrs. Larobe shuddered, and sat down, again ; sat 
 down and listened breathlessly. Every moment she ex 
 pected to hear the bell ring. But, five minutes passed, 
 and no hand pulled at the wire. Then she breathed 
 more freely. A stealthy reconnoissance from behind 
 the window curtains, satisfied her that the insane man, 
 for so she regarded him, was no longer in front of her 
 house. This added excitement finished the work of 
 exhaustion. When Mrs. Larobe reached her chamber, 
 she had only enough strength left to remove her dress, 
 and loosen her under-garments. For more than three 
 hours she lay in such apparent stupefaction, that both 
 her children and servants became alarmed, and made 
 efforts to arouse her. She .gave no heed to them, be 
 yond expressing a desire to be left alone, until an under- 
 toned conversation about sending for a physician, aroused 
 
 her to the necessity of regaining a portion of her lost 
 
 7* 
 
i54 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 mental and bodily equilibrium. So she spoke in firmer 
 tones, saying that she was better, and would be down 
 at tea time. 
 
 In this she kept her word. At the tea table she ap 
 peared with little change from her ordinary manner, but 
 was paler than usual, eat scarcely anything, and spoke 
 but few sentences during the meal. After tea, she re 
 tired to her own chamber, into which only Blanche in 
 truded. Mrs. Larobe sent her away, but she soon 
 came back and insisted on remaining. Her presence, 
 considering Mrs. Larobe s state of mind, was not now 
 to be endured ; so she was thrust violently from the 
 room, and left to scream and beat the door in passion, 
 until she grew tired. 
 
 About eight o clock, a servant tapped for entrance, 
 and was directed to come in. 
 
 " There s a gentleman in the parlor," she said. 
 
 " Who is it ? " Mrs. Larobe knit her brows and 
 looked annoyed. 
 
 " He didn t give me his name, ma am," replied the 
 servant. 
 
 " Why didn t you ask him ? " 
 
 * I did, ma am, but he said it was no difference." 
 
 " Was it the gentleman who was here last evening ? " 
 
 " O no, ma am. It isn t him." 
 
 " Very well. Say I ll be down." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 155 
 
 The -servant withdrew. Mrs. Larobe felt herself 
 yielding to returning nervous tremors. 
 
 "Who can it be?" she asked herself. "I wish 
 visitors would send up their names." She was about 
 recalling the servant, and insisting on the person s name, 
 when she altered her mind, and making a few changes 
 of dress, went down to the parlors. She had been there 
 for scarcely a minute, when a loud cry was heard , fol 
 lowed by a jarring sound, as- if a heavy weight had 
 fallen. Children and servants ran down stairs in alarm, 
 and on entering the parlor, found Mrs. Larobe on the 
 floor, inensible, and alone. The visitor had made good 
 his escape. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 T was nine o clock on the same evening. 
 Mr. Larobe was in his rooms at the City 
 Hotel. Two or three gentlemen had 
 been with him, during the past hour, in 
 consultation on important business mat 
 ters, and had just retired. He was alone, 
 and moving about the apartment with 
 that occupied manner incident to busy 
 thought, when one of the waiters . handed in a sealed 
 note. A glance at the superscription, wrought an in 
 stant change in his countenance. There was an ex 
 pression of surprise, followed by a half angry knitting 
 of the brow. Sitting down at the table, over which 
 a gas light was burning, he unfolded the note with a per 
 ceptible nervousness of manner, and read 
 
 " I must see you to-night. We are in the most 
 imminent danger. All is at stake. Come instantly. 
 
 JANE" 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 157 
 
 The hand by which these alarming sentences were 
 penned had trembled with every stroke ; not more, 
 however, than the hand now holding the small piece of 
 paper on which they were written. The lines were 
 more deeply cut on Mr. Larobe s already knitted brow. 
 He knew the writer too well, to disregard her injunction. 
 If she said there was imminent danger that all was 
 at stake it was so ! 
 
 " Come instantly ! " Mr. Larobe read the closing 
 sentence again, crumpled the note in his hand, and 
 threw it into the fire. As it blazed up, he arose quickly, 
 and taking his hat and overcoat, started for the resi 
 dence of his wife. A rapid walk of less than fifteen 
 minutes brought him to the vicinity of Washington s 
 Monument, where Mrs. Larobe resided. The servant 
 who admitted him, opened one of the parlor doors ; 
 passing in, he found himself alone with his wife. She 
 was sitting in a large chair, but did not rise nor speak. 
 Her face looked shrunken and older by years than when, 
 only a few weeks since, he had seen her go past him in 
 her carriage. All the calm, resolute firmness of her 
 mouth was gone. It was almost pitiable to see how 
 feebly her lips were dropped apart ; how utter exhaus 
 tion was expressed in all the lines of her countenance. 
 
 Mr. Larobe took a chair, and drawing it up close, sat 
 down. If his heart had trembled on reading her note, 
 it shivered now. 
 
in this hour of penJ 
 growing clear." 
 
 In ten minutes, as Mr. Larobe had said, he came 
 back with a policeman, and left him in thehouse, promis- 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 159 
 
 ing his wife, on retiring, that he would see her early on 
 the next day. Mr. Larohe was not in his room in the 
 hotel that night ; nor was he to be found in his office, 
 or in any of the court rooms on the following day. 
 
 At one o clock Edwin Guy was at the counter of the 
 Union Bank. 
 
 The teller handed back his check, with a firm shake of 
 the head. 
 
 " What s the matter? " asked the young man, in a 
 tone of feigned surprise. 
 
 " No funds," said the teller. 
 
 At half-past one, Edwin called again. 
 
 " No funds," was repeated. 
 
 At two he was there, and got the same reply. 
 
 " Are you certain ? " 
 
 " Certain," answered the teller, coldly. 
 
 Half-past two saw Edwin at the counter again with 
 his check. The teller recognized him and shook his 
 head. At ten minutes of three he was there once more. 
 Now, as he offered the check, it was taken by the teller, 
 who stepped back from the counter, and spoke with the 
 cashier, who was standing at a desk. The cashier came 
 forward, with his eyes fixed keenly on Edwin. 
 
 " Is your name Edwin Guy ? " he asked. 
 
 " That is my name, sir." The young man s eyes fell 
 under the cashier s gaze. 
 
160 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " We are instructed to retain this check," said the 
 bank officer. 
 
 u By whose authority? ." demanded Edwin. 
 
 " By authority of the drawer." 
 
 " It is my property, sir, you have no right to retain 
 it. If you will not pay the check, hand it back," said 
 Edwin, partially recovering himself. 
 
 " Our orders are imperative, and we take the respon 
 sibility," said the cashier, coolly, at the same time hand 
 ing Edwin a letter, bearing his name on the envelop. 
 He knew the writing to be that of Justin Larobe, and 
 so, without further remonstrance, left the bank in order 
 to get at the contents of this letter, and thence at some 
 fair estimate touching the new difficulties, if not dangers, 
 that were in the way before him. They were in few 
 words. 
 
 " EDWIN GUY, SIR. I have seen your step-mother, 
 and the payment of her check is stopped. It will be 
 safest for you to see me to-night. If you don t call at 
 my rooms, I will order your arrest to-morrow. 
 
 JUSTIN LAROBE." 
 
 Edwin did not go to his lawyer, for he had acted in 
 this matter without consultation. During the remain 
 der of the day, he considered the question of calling upon 
 Larobe, regarding it on all sides. The decision was in 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 1G1 
 
 favor of calling. He understood very well the business 
 on which he was so peremptorily summoned. Larobe 
 would demand a return of the four thousand dollars, 
 and also of the notes for twelve thousand which he had 
 extorted from his step-mother. Touching this demand, 
 he was in no vacillating condition of mind. " A bird 
 in the hand is worth two in the bush." This adage ex- 
 
 O 
 
 pressed his state precisely. He meant to hold on to 
 what he had, and defy Mr. Larobe. 
 
 At as early an hour as eight o clock, he was at the 
 City Hotel. He found Mr. Larobe alone, and was re 
 ceived with almost angry sternness. 
 
 " Well, sir ! for what am I wanted ? " demanded Ed 
 win, in a tone of defiance. 
 
 " Sit down," said the lawyer. 
 
 Edwin sat down. 
 
 " It seems," remarked Larobe, suppressing his feel 
 ings, and speaking in a low, rather threatening voice, 
 " that you will not be at peace until you find yourself 
 in the state s prison." 
 
 " I shall at least have good company," was answered, 
 with a cold, sneering manner " which will be some 
 consolation." 
 
 It was plain that Larobe had not anticipated just such 
 a response ; for he turned his head with a slightly baf 
 fled air. 
 
 u You must restore the money paid you on Mrs. 
 
162 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 Larobe s check, and also the notes you extorted from 
 her under threat," said the lawyer, in a firm voice. 
 
 " Never ! " was the resolute answer. 
 
 Larobe turned to the table by which he was sitting, 
 and taking up a slip of paper, handed it to Edwin. It 
 read thus : 
 
 " CAUTION. All persons are cautioned against re 
 ceiving three promissory notes, each for four thousand 
 dollars, at three, six, and nine months, respectively, and 
 bearing date March 27th, 18 , drawn by Jane Larobe 
 in favor of Edwin Guy. Said notes having been extort 
 ed, under threat, by said Guy, and without equivalent, 
 will not be paid at maturity." 
 
 After reading this advertisement, Edwin coolly hand 
 ed it back, with the monosyllable 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Unless you restore the money and notes to-night, 
 that advertisement will appear in to-morrow morning s 
 papers." 
 
 " What then ? " 
 
 " In the first place, the notes will be rendered value 
 less. In the second place, you will find yourself under 
 arrest." 
 
 " And in the third place," added Edwin, speaking as 
 coldly and as resolutely, " you will find yourself under 
 arrest, also, charged with the crime of murder ! Were 
 you fool enough," he added, flushing with excitement, 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 163 
 
 " to imagine that I was to be frightened by a puny threat 
 like this, when I had my hand on your throat, and could 
 strangle you at a moment s warning. Beware, sir, how 
 you cross my path ! Publish your advertisement in the 
 morning papers. Good ! Ere twelve o clock, you will 
 find yourself over the Falls. And hark ee, my friend ! 
 Don t for an instant flatter yourself with the notion that 
 I am hare and you hound. The hunt, I fancy, will be 
 in the reverse direction. So, get out of my course, or 
 you will find, when too late for succor, my fangs in your 
 side. To-morrow morning, I shall expect to receive, by 
 ten o clock, at my office in the Custom House, the check 
 withheld at your instance to-day ; and by twelve o clock, 
 the money to make it good must be in the bank. In 
 default of this, I swear by all that is sacred, to drag you 
 and your guilty wife, stripped of your infamous dis 
 guises, into open day. Maybe you have a concealed lis 
 tener a witness, writing me down, word for word ! 
 Ah, ha ! I trust he will omit nothing." 
 
 All this was so far from what Larobe had anticipated, 
 that he sat like one confounded, not knowing what an 
 swer to make. Seeing his advantage, Edwin Guy re 
 ceded towards the door, and with his hand on the knob, 
 added these brief sentences 
 
 " Make your own election. , I am prepared for you 
 at all points. Thwart me a step farther, and your ruin 
 be on your own head! " 
 
164 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 And not giving time for Larobe to recover himself, or 
 reply, he swung open the door, and passing out, left the 
 astonished and discomfited lawyer to his own troubled 
 and deeply anxious thoughts. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 DWIN GUY was not, usually, an early 
 riser, but the next morning he was 
 abroad a little after daylight. The ob 
 ject was soon apparent. Taking a po 
 sition at the corner of one of the streets 
 crossing Baltimore street, he waited for 
 a short time, when the carrier of a 
 newspaper came by, from whom he 
 bought a copy of the " American," which he thrust in 
 to his pocket. 
 
 " Am I too- late for the 4 Chronicle ? " he asked of 
 the carrier. 
 
 " Too late, sir." And the carrier hurried on his 
 way. 
 
 " No matter for that, a " Chronicle" must be had, and 
 it was obtained from a door knob at the expense of a 
 subscriber. There was no difficulty in getting the 
 " Sun." Returning to his home, Guy commenced an 
 examination of the three morning papers, in a hasty, 
 
166 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 nervous manner, confining himself to the advertising 
 columns. Nearly a quarter of an hour elapsed before 
 he was fully satisfied. 
 
 " As I thought," he then said, speaking aloud, and 
 with the air of one relieved from an uncomfortable sus 
 pense. " A man in his position will think twice before 
 endangering the mine over which he stands." 
 
 At ten o clock, Edwin was at his desk in the Custom 
 House ; not employed in his usual duties, but waiting. 
 He waited in vain. The check which had been de 
 manded of Larobe, was not restored. If the lawyer 
 hesitated, and held off from attack,- he was not to be 
 driven from an assumed defensive. The check for four 
 thousand dollars being in his possession, he did not mean 
 to give it up. 
 
 Having acted in the matter of extorting money from 
 Mrs. Larobe without consulting his lawyer, Edwin Guy 
 found himself standing alone amid dangers, difficulties 
 and temptations, with no counsellors but cupidity and 
 desperation. The one quickened into life all his mental 
 resources adapted to the occasion, while the other made 
 him bold and unscrupulous. He had grown impatient 
 of legal strategy and delay, and abandoning his covered 
 position, dashed in upon the enemy, gaining a single ad 
 vantage ; but, already, the enemy, rallying in force, had 
 recovered a portion of its losses, and was pressing down 
 upon him with a vigor that threatened his safety. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 167 
 
 The question which, for the time, most perplexed Ed 
 win, was in reference to his legal adviser, Glastonbury. 
 To brave, alone, the perils of his new position, in face 
 of an enemy so full of resources as Larobe, left the issue 
 very doubtful. But, on the other hand, to inform Glas 
 tonbury of what he had done, would involve not only a 
 division of the spoils in hand, but a return to strategy 
 and delay, which he could no longer brook. He had 
 moved upon the enemy, and at a dash discomfited and 
 weakened him ; and, now, all his impulses were in favor 
 of trusting to his own counsels, and his own weapons. 
 Acting under legal advice, he would be in a straight- 
 jacket ; but free, alert and vigorous, while his own will 
 and thought gave sole direction to every movement. 
 From ten o clock, the time he had fixed for the return 
 of the four thousand dollar check, until twelve, Edwin 
 Guy debated this question of consultation with his law 
 yer, but without coming to a final decision. The threat 
 he had made, at parting with Larobe, could not be ex 
 ecuted without legal process ; therefore, not without 
 Glastonbury. But, it was only a threat, meant to in 
 timidate. That it had been, in a degree, effective, was 
 seen in the fact that no advertisement of the notes ex 
 torted from Mrs. Larobe had appeared. It had not 
 been effective, however, in recovering the check which 
 had been retained by the bank officers. 
 
 At twelve o clock, with this perplexing matter still 
 
168 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 unsettled in his mind, business connected with his duties 
 in the Customs, required Edwin Guy s presence in a 
 remote part of the city, whither he repaired. It was 
 night before he returned, and then the Custom House 
 was closed. If any communication from Larobe had 
 fbund its way to his desk, he could not know it until 
 morning. This left him in a state of suspense and un 
 easiness. Conjecture was busy ; but, conjecture increas 
 ed instead of allaying uneasiness. Nothing was left but 
 to wait for the next day, and whatever it might bring 
 forth. In the morning, he again arose before the sun, 
 and again made diligent search through the morning 
 papers for the threatened advertisement. But, Larobe 
 had not yet made good his word. Like Edwin, he re 
 garded a defensive attitude, just now, as safest. 
 
 Days went by, without further communication be 
 tween the belligerent parties. Guy felt a painful sense 
 of uneasiness, for, while he remained idle, he understood 
 enough of Larobe s character, to be well satisfied that 
 preparations fqr assault and meditated destruction must 
 be in progress. Still, he hesitated on the question of 
 consulting Glastonbury. 
 
 One, two, three weeks elapsed, without the sign of a 
 movement on either side. Guy had dwelt on the re 
 lation he now held to his step-mother and her husband, 
 until his mind was completely bewildered. He could 
 not see clearly in any direction. Whatever he proposed 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 169 
 
 to do, was met by the apparition of some suggested con 
 sequence that it seemed folly to brave. He had about 
 concluded to make a clean breast of it to Glastonbury, 
 when he received a note from that individual, desiring 
 him to call. Guy repaired to his office, anticipating an 
 almost angry interview with his lawyer. In this, how 
 ever, he was disappointed. Glastonbury received him 
 with a composure that amounted almost to indifference, 
 and after he was seated, said, with a quiet smile, and in 
 a tone that betrayed hardly a pulse of interest, 
 
 "So, you have undertaken to manage this case your 
 self." 
 
 The young man colored, and, in some embarrassment, 
 which he vainly tried to cover, replied 
 
 " No ; I have only ventured a movement or two, by 
 way of experiment. That is all." 
 
 " Successful ? " Glastonbury drew a cigar from his 
 mouth, and turning his head on one side, slowly blew the 
 smoke from his lips. He looked the picture of cool in 
 difference. 
 
 "Yes." Edwin tried to absorb a portion of the 
 man s coolness. 
 
 " Ah ? To what extent ? " There had been a draft 
 on the cigar, and now the blue smoke was again curling 
 lazily about his head. 
 
 " I have four thousand, dollars in cash, and notes to the 
 8 
 
170 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 value of twelve thousand, all payable within nine 
 months." 
 
 " From Mrs. Larobe ? " 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " You ll hardly get beyond the four thousand, my 
 young friend." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because, in this dash upon the enemy, you have 
 given up a strong position, which cannot be regained. 
 In the open field you are no match for him. I m sorry 
 for this imprudence. It has given Larobe the power of 
 effectually barring you against any further interest in 
 your father s estate." 
 
 " I am not able to see that, Mr. Glastonbury," an 
 swered the young man, growing serious. 
 
 " It is nevertheless true. The law does not recognize 
 as legitimate these forced transactions, and goes on the 
 assumption that right is weak where might is umpire. 
 If it had been settled, that legal redress was scarcely 
 possible, and that right must be had through extortion, 
 then your desperate course would have justification on 
 the ground of a last resort. It was not well, I think, 
 to throw away the advantage you possessed, in this 
 doubtful venture. But, the deed is done, and there is 
 no help for it now." 
 
 " Still, you do not explain how I am barred thereoy 
 from legal action," said Edwin. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 171 
 
 " You gave Mrs. Larobe some kind of a receipt ? " 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " Of what tenor ? " 
 
 " In full of all claims against my father s estate." 
 
 " Will not that bar you against recovery ? " 
 
 " If the notes and checks are paid, yes." 
 
 The lawyer shook his head. " Your receipt is in full 
 of all demands against your father s estate." 
 
 " For a consideration. In default of the consideration 
 the original claim becomes good," said Edwin. 
 
 " You were not dealing with an executor, or legal rep 
 resentative of your father s estate, remember," answer 
 ed Glastonbury, " whose failure to abide by the contract 
 restored your legal claim. The transaction was with 
 an individual, whose promises to pay you accepted in 
 lieu of all interest in the estate. It will be hard, I think, 
 in the face of that receipt, and also in the face of your 
 extortion of terms under threat, to obtain from any 
 court a favorable decision. Very sure am I, that no 
 lawyer of any standing at the bar could be found will 
 ing to undertake the case on a contingent fee." 
 
 " Which means," said Edwin, " that you abandon 
 it ? " 
 
 " To waste time and labor in attempting to reach an 
 impossible advantage, would be an act of folly," softly 
 answered the lawyer. " A new line of warfare having 
 been adopted, it becomes necessary to abandon the old. 
 
172 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 We must now see what advantage lies in the assumed 
 position, and make the most of it. You have four thou 
 sand dollars ? " 
 
 "Yes."- 
 
 " And notes for twelve thousand more ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " To whose order are these notes drawn ? " 
 
 "To my own." 
 
 " Ah ! That was a mistake ! " 
 
 " They should have been to Mrs. Larobe s order? " 
 
 " Assuredly." 
 
 " Right. I was a fool not to have seen that. But 
 there s no help for it, now." 
 
 " You must realize on these notes as quickly as possi 
 ble," said the lawyer. 
 
 " Sell them ! 
 
 " Yes. Get then off of your hands at once, for any 
 sum they will bring, and leave the purchaser to collect 
 at maturity. They will not be paid ; you may rely 
 upon that. A third party can sue them out with fair 
 prospect of recovery against Mrs. Larobe ; but any 
 such attempt on your part would certainly fail of suc 
 cess." 
 
 " I have thought of that," replied the young man, 
 " but hesitate about offering the notes. I cannot feel 
 that it would be safe to trust them in the hands of a 
 broker." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 173 
 
 Glastonbury answered, "No, not by any means," 
 speaking with decision. " We do not know to what ex 
 tent a knowledge of their existence may prevail, secretly 
 communicated to brokers and money-lenders." 
 
 " What then is to be done ? How are we to sell the 
 notes ? " 
 
 G.lastonbury s indifferent manner had quite passed 
 away, and he looked serious and business-like. Nearly 
 half a minute elapsed before he answered, with a 
 thoughtful air 
 
 " You have put the question most difficult to meet. 
 The thing must be done ; but how to do it ? there 
 lies the problem." 
 
 And the lawyer went to thinking again. " There is 
 a man with whom something might be effected. He 
 has the money, and likes large slices in the way of dis 
 counts. I don t know about him, but he may be in 
 duced to advance on this paper." Glastonbury talked 
 as if to himself. 
 
 " Are you personally acquainted ? " asked Edwin. 
 
 We see each other now and then, in a business 
 way." 
 
 " Could you approach him on this subject ? " 
 
 " That is just the question I am debating. It will 
 not do, my friend, to trust this paper with any third 
 party. Either you or I, must negotiate direct. Again, 
 its value is in jeopardy every hour it remains in your 
 
174 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 possession. Suppose a caution appear in the American 
 to-morrow morning, giving notice that it has been 
 fraudulently obtained and will not be liquidated. Its 
 market value is gone ; for no capitalist will touch it. 
 It should be endorsed to make it negotiable, and then 
 pass from your immediate possession." 
 
 Edwin Guy put his hand, almost mechanically into 
 his pocket, and drew out his wallet. Removing the 
 three notes, he unfolded and laid them on the lawyer s 
 table. Glastonbury took, and carefully examined them. 
 
 " Perhaps I had better see the person of whom I 
 spoke just now," continued the lawyer, " and try him 
 with the shortest note." 
 
 " Yery well. You understand the matter entirely, 
 and will act, I know, with all needed prudence." 
 
 " He s another Shylock in his greed of money," said 
 Glastonbury ; " and will demand a heavy discount, see 
 ing that it is a woman s note, and the endorsement of 
 no value." 
 
 " A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, Mr. 
 Glastonbury. Sell the paper for whatever it will bring. 
 I leave all in your discretion," was Edwin s prompt re- 
 
 rtr- 
 
 " Put your name on the notes." And the lawyer 
 pushed his pen towards Guy, across the table. 
 The endorsement was made. 
 " A third party holds them now. Legally, they have 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWAKDS. 175 
 
 been negotiated, and are no longer your property," re 
 marked Glastonbury, as he took possession of the notes. 
 " Their value is simply commercial, like any other 
 article bought and sold in the market, and good against 
 Mrs. Larobe in the face of all allegations. You under 
 stand me ? " 
 
 "Oyes." 
 
 " Very well. To-day, if possible, I will see my 
 man, and try what can be done with him. I do not think 
 he will bite on the instant he isn t that sort of a fish ; 
 but generally surveys the bait from all sides. When 
 he does take hold, however, it will be with a will." 
 
 " Shall I see you to-morrow ? " asked Guy. 
 
 " To-morrow ? to-morrow ? " He questioned in 
 a doubtful way. " Yes, you may call in ; but I have a 
 case down for argument, and shall, most likely, be in 
 court all day." 
 
 " In that event," said Edwin, with some anxiety of 
 manner, " you will not be able to see our capitalist. 
 Of all things, we have most to fear from delay. Too 
 much time has already been lost. An advertisement, 
 such as you referred to, is likely to appear at any mo 
 ment." 
 
 "Very true, and it is, therefore, my intention to 
 open the matter of negotiation at once. I shall not 
 wait until to-morrow. Still, two or three days may in- 
 
176 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 tervene before a transaction can be effected. He will 
 demand too large a slice. One half, at least." 
 
 " One half ! " There was no feigned astonishment 
 in the voice of Edwin Guy. 
 
 44 He s another Shylock, as I told you," said Glaston- 
 bury, coolly. 
 
 " So I should think," replied Edwin. 
 
 " But, of course, I shall not yield to and such demand." 
 
 " Of course not." Edwin was far from being altogeth 
 er satisfied, or from feeling altogether safe in this new 
 relation to his lawyer. Something in the man, never 
 observed before, stirred a latent suspicion of unfairness 
 in his mind. There was nothing clear upon which his 
 thoughts could rest ; only a vague impression that dis 
 turbed his confidence. And this dwelt with him for all 
 that day, and kept him wakeful through the succeeding 
 night. 
 
CHAPTER XY. 
 
 N the next day, Edwin Guy made over 
 half-a-dozen ineffectual attempts to see 
 his lawyer. Glastonbury was occu 
 pied in court until a late hour, and 
 then, instead of returning to his office, 
 where Guy sat impatiently waiting for 
 him, went home to dinner. Twice 
 during the evening the young man tap 
 ped at the office door, but found the room tenantless. 
 Until nearly ten o clock, he lingered in the neighborhood 
 of St. Paul s and Fayette streets, but did not meet the 
 individual he was so anxious to find. The vague un 
 easiness felt on the day before, had increased. Suspicion 
 crept into his mind. Doubts oppressed him. If Glas 
 tonbury chose to keep the notes, or return them to Mrs. 
 Larobe, what redress had he ? 
 
 On the morning that followed, Edwin was at Glaston- 
 bury s office by half past eight o clock. The lawyer 
 8* 
 
178 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 had not yet arrived. Nine o clock, and he was still ab 
 sent. The young man became too restless to sit still. 
 
 " Ah ! here you are ! " he exclaimed, at last, as a 
 form .darkened the door, and he looked into Glaston- 
 bury s cold, still, unreadable face. 
 
 " Anything new happened ? You look flushed, my 
 young friend." A single glance from the lawyer s 
 searching eyes, left with Guy the uncomfortable impres 
 sion of having been read through and through. 
 
 o o o 
 
 " Nothing," he answered. " Only, I am naturally 
 anxious to hear whether you have succeeded in that ne 
 gotiation. There are always so many slips between the 
 cup and lip, that I shall be nervous until all is safe. 
 Have you seen the person of whom you spoke ? " 
 
 " Not yet, I called at his office twice on the day you 
 handed me the notes, but did not succeed in finding him. 
 Yesterday, as I said would be the case, I was in court 
 until a late hour. This morning, I determined to make 
 sure of him, and called at his office on my way down. 
 Unfortunately, he left in the early train for Washing 
 ton, and will not be home for a day or two." 
 
 Edwin made a gesture of disappointment. 
 
 " Sit down." And the lawyer blandly waved his cli 
 ent to a chair, himself taking one at the same time. 
 
 " I have thought of another party," he said, " with 
 whom something may be done. But I want first, to see 
 my man, who has slipped off to Washington. He s 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 179 
 
 close-mouthed, and will never speak of the paper, should 
 he decline to purchase ; and that, you know, is a thing 
 to be considered. If we can work the whole twelve 
 thousand with him, the operation will be safe from be 
 ginning to end of the negotiation. But, if we go into 
 market before seeing him, a false play may lose us the 
 game. We cannot be too circumspect, Mr. Guy." 
 
 " But every hour is an hour of risk, Mr. Glaston- 
 bury," said the young man, not able to conceal his ner 
 vousness. 
 
 " The risks are less to-day, than they have been at 
 any time since you obtained the notes," replied the law 
 yer. " Legally, they have been already negotiated, and 
 no valid plea to their collection can be set up. A pub 
 lic notification cannot, now, render them worthless." 
 
 "But it can prevent my realizing the money on 
 them," said Guy. 
 
 " True. Still, our case would not be desperate ; and 
 that is a great gain, you know." 
 
 " You will not, then, be able to see this person for two 
 or three days ? " 
 
 " He may get back to-morrow ; and I will see that 
 no time is wasted after his return, but gain the earliest 
 possible interview. Don t grow impatient, my young 
 friend, nor do any more desperate things. The well 
 done is, in most cases, slowly done. Rome wasn t built 
 in a day." 
 
180 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 Guy had partly made up his mind, in case none of 
 the notes were discounted, to get them back into his pos 
 session again. But, sitting face to face with the lawyer, 
 and hearing what he had to say, left him in doubt as to 
 the propriety of asking to have them returned. If Glas- 
 tonbury meant in anything to play him false, he was 
 now too much in his power to take the risk of making 
 him an open enemy. To his hasty and obscure thought, 
 it seemed wisest to let things rest as they were. So, 
 he went away, but half satisfied. 
 
 In the mean -time a reconciliation had taken place 
 between Mr. and Mrs. Larobe. The former had left 
 his rooms at the City Hotel, and was now domiciled un 
 der the shadow of Washington Monument. A fact like 
 this produced the usual gossip and remark, and a great 
 many stories bearing on the causes that produced the 
 reconciliation, circulated from lip to lip. Some of these 
 were wild and improbable enough. Hints of unaccount 
 able things, said to have occurred in the family, found 
 their way to the public ear. Servants are keen eyed, 
 and not always discreet. The visit of Edwin, and its ef 
 fect upon Mrs. Larobe the call of a mysterious stran 
 ger, the very sight of whom caused Mrs. Larobe to drop 
 to the floor as one dead the summoning of Mr. 
 Larobe, and the establishment of a policeman in the 
 house for a night and a day all these things were, in 
 some form, reported by the domestics, and variously 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 181 
 
 exaggerated afterwards. Visitors spoke of a singular 
 change in Mrs. Larobe. She was no longer the cold, 
 self-poised woman, who, under all circumstances, had 
 borne herself so evenly. In a great many cases she de 
 nied callers on the plea of indisposition, or gave the 
 custom-sanctioned falsehood " Not at home ; " but, 
 the few acquaintances who saw her, rendered sad ac 
 counts of her condition. " She looks ten years older," 
 said one. " You d think her just recovering from a long 
 illness," remarked another. " She has a scared look," 
 said a third, " and is so nervous, that she starts at the 
 slightest sound." 
 
 " Doctor," said Doctor Hofland, speaking to his son- 
 in-law, the husband of Lena " there are some strange 
 stories about in regard to Mrs. Larobe. Have you seen 
 her lately ? " 
 
 The two men were alone in Doctor Hofland s office, 
 where the younger physician had called one night for 
 consultation, touching a difficult case. 
 
 " I was there yesterday." 
 
 " Ah ! Is the change in her appearance and state of 
 mind so very remarkable ? " 
 
 " It is ; very remarkable. I nave been calling every 
 week to see her oldest boy, for whom, I fear, medicine 
 will not do much. I noticed some time ago, a change 
 in Mrs. Larobe s appearance ; but, she evaded with ap 
 parent displeasure, the few inquiries I ventured to make 
 
182 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 in regard to her health. Yesterday, however, she con 
 sulted me about some of her symptoms. She said, that 
 she had spells of dizziness, followed by fainting that 
 she was not able to sleep at night had no appetite, 
 and felt herself growing weaker every day. She thought 
 there must be heart disease enlargement, probably." 
 
 " Ossification, if anything," remarked Doctor Hof- 
 land, in so cold and ironical a tone, that his son-in-law 
 looked at him in surprise. 
 
 " No symptom of either," was returned. " Every 
 valve and muscle is doing its work well. The disease 
 has another origin." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " It is mental;" 
 
 " You think so ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Have you obtained the clue ? " 
 
 " No. The cause is hidden. But, there is no mis 
 taking the signs. Something has occurred to shock se 
 verely her nervous system." 
 
 " She has been reconciled to her husband," remarked 
 Doctor Hofland. 
 
 " Yes. Mr. Larobe is with her again, and, when I 
 have seen them together, he has been kind and attentive. 
 But I notice in her one peculiarity. She never looks at 
 him ; but, always aside or beyond him. This reconciha- 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 183 
 
 tion, depend on it, is only on the outside, and for mutual 
 safety, or mutual gain. There is no heart in it." 
 
 " How could there be ; when both are selfish and 
 cruel ? You are, doubtless, correct in saying, that this 
 apparent reconciliation is for mutual safety, or mutual 
 gain. For mutual safety, I opine. They have been, I 
 fear, partners in some great wrong that is now strug 
 gling towards the light." 
 
 " Do you really think, Doctor, that Mr. Quy had foul 
 play ? " 
 
 " I have always thought so," replied Doctor Hofland. 
 " The circumstances attending his removal from home, 
 and subsequent death, were, to my eyes, veiled in mys 
 tery. Depend on it, Adam Guy s passage from this 
 world to the next, was not in the orderly processes of 
 nature." 
 
 " Some people say that he is not dead," remarked 
 Doctor Holbrook. 
 
 " What ! " There was unfeigned astonishment in 
 the countenance of Doctor Hofland. 
 
 " When some people get to surmising, they will sur 
 mise anything. I thought you had heard this wild con 
 jecture among the rest." 
 
 " No. Not dead ! What basis is there for such a 
 story ? " 
 
 " I am unable to say. The gossip runs, that it was 
 
184 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 not Mr. Guy who fell from the mad-house window, but 
 another lunatic ; and that Mr. Guy is still living." 
 
 " A wild conjecture enough," remarked Doctor Hof- 
 land. 
 
 " And it is further said, that he has recently escaped 
 from confinement, and is now, or was within a few 
 weeks, in Baltimore." 
 
 " Why Edward ! You confound me ! " 
 
 " And furthermore," continued the young physician, 
 it is said, and believed by many, that he actually called, 
 not long since, at the house of Mrs. Larobe, and that 
 at the sight of him she fell insensible to the floor. 
 When the servants, alarmed by the fall, ran to her, she 
 was lying as one dead. A strange, wild looking man 
 had been admitted, who would not give his name ; and 
 in meeting him in the parlor, this result followed. The 
 stranger went out hurriedly, and the servants found 
 their mistress alone." 
 
 " Is all this talked of seriously ? " asked Doctor Hof- 
 land. 
 
 " O yes ; and credited into the bargain. There are 
 people who stand ready to believe any improbable thing. 
 It is said, moreover, to make the story good, that her 
 husband, from whom she had been living separate, was 
 summoned immediately on her restoration to life, and 
 that he procured a policeman, who remained in the 
 house all night and through the next day. The pre- 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 185 
 
 sumption is, that the escaped lunatic was captured, and 
 restored to his prison." 
 
 Doctor Hofland drew a long breath. His brows fell 
 his lips were shut tightly a dark shadow fell over 
 his countenance. 
 
 " Strange ! Very strange ! " he said, speaking in an 
 undertone. 
 
 " But improbable," rejoined the young physician. 
 
 Doctor Hofland did not respond. 
 
 " You don t think there can be anything in all this ? " 
 Doctor Holbrook spoke in some surprise. 
 
 " It has a strange look, Edward. Let us go over it 
 again. A man of singular appearance called on Mrs. 
 Larobe, and at the first sight of him, she fell to the 
 floor insensible ? So the story runs ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Do you credit this on any sufficient evidence ? " 
 
 " Something of the kind actually occurred. This, I 
 believe, is a well established fact." 
 
 " What about the story of a policeman being estab 
 lished in the house, by direction of Mr. Larobe, for a 
 night and a day ! " 
 
 " On occasion of one of my visits, I saw a man sit 
 ting at the lower end of the hall. He was standing 
 near the same place when I came down stairs." 
 
 " Had he the air of a policeman ? " 
 
186 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " He was a stout, firmly set man, of rather coarse 
 texture." 
 
 " Did you see Mrs. Larobe at this time ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What was her appearance ? " 
 
 " She was so altered that I scarcely knew her. The 
 change since my previous visit, a week before, was 
 most extraordinary. There was not a particle of col 
 or in her face ; and it bore the impression of a painful 
 shock of some kind, the remembrance of which had not 
 yet faded from nerves and muscles. Are you ill ? 
 I asked, showing the surprise I felt. She turned her 
 face partly away from my earnest eyes, answering 
 faintly Not now. I had a terrible sick headache all 
 night. " 
 
 " Were you satisfied with her answer ? " 
 
 " No. Sick headaches are bad enough, sometimes. 
 But, no sick headache ever wrought, in a single night, 
 the effects she displayed. " She did not recover from 
 the shock, whatever it was ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 How long afterwards was it before she and her hus 
 band made up their difference ? " 
 
 " I saw Mr. Larobe at my next visit, within three or 
 four days." 
 
 Doctor Hofland became silent. After musing for a 
 while, he resumed. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 187 
 
 " What else is said ? " 
 
 Before the young physician had time to reply, the 
 office door opened, and a woman came in. She was 
 coarsely dressed, and untidy. 
 
 " Are yez Docthur Hofland ? " she asked, looking at 
 the elder of the two men. 
 
 " I am Doctor Hofland, was answered. 
 
 " Can I spake wid yez a minit ? " The woman s air 
 became slightly mysterious. 
 
 " Certainly." Doctor Holbrook arose, and retired to 
 the inner offiice. 
 
 " Well, my good woman, what have you to say ? " 
 
 The visitor commenced fumbling in her bosom, from 
 which she drew a crumpled piece of paper. 
 
 " IVlaybe it don t mane ony thing," she said, in a low, 
 half confidential way, " but my mon jist thought he d 
 humor him ; and I ve brought it till yez." And the 
 Irish woman reached out the paper. 
 
 Doctor Hofland saw that it was folded and sealed, 
 and bore his address. Opening it, he read, in an almost 
 illegible hand, to his deep astonishment, the words 
 
 " Save me. ADAM GUY." 
 
 Repressing as far as he had power to do so, all visible 
 emotion, Doctor Hofland requested the woman to be 
 seated, and then asked 
 
188 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Who gave you this ? " 
 
 " My mon, Hugh." 
 
 "Hugh?" 
 
 " McBride, an it plaze ye." 
 
 "And who gave it to your husband ? " 
 
 " Ye ll not do ony thing to bring harm on him, sir ? 
 Ye ll not give information. My mon is tender-hearted, 
 he is, and couldn t deny him. It s all agin the rule. 
 But Hugh is tinder-hearted, you see ; and the poor mon 
 was so coaxin and wheedlin . An it s sich a pity on 
 him ! Hugh says, he s not so fur gone as thim that s put 
 him in wants to make believe." 
 
 " The man that- gave Hugh this ? " 
 
 " Yis, y r honor. An ye ll promise not till give in 
 formation on Hugh. He s so tinder-hearted." 
 
 " Don t have any fear about that, my good woman. 
 Nobody shall touch a hair of Hugh s head. Where is 
 he now ? " 
 
 " He s there, y r honor." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " Wid the lunatics. Och ! Sorra ! An it s a dread 
 ful place to be in for my Hugh, he s so tinder-hearted, 
 ye know." 
 
 " In what street is the asylum ? " asked the Doctor. 
 
 " Asylum ? Taint the asylum, Docthur. There s 
 no childther there. Oh no, taint the asylum." 
 
 " A private institution ? " 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 189 
 
 The woman shook her head in a mystified way. 
 
 " The house where Hugh takes care of the lunatics, 
 I mean. 
 
 " Dade y e honor, and thot s jist the perplexin thing. 
 We darn t tell." 
 
 " Then why did you bring me this letter ? " 
 
 " Don t the letther tell ? " 
 
 Doctor Hofland thought it best not to give an answer 
 to this question. 
 
 " Then there must be something wrong ; and it s my 
 advice that you get your husband out of this business 
 as quickly as possible," he said, with a soberness that 
 made a visible impression on the woman. Then rising,, 
 he stepped to the door that opened into the office where 
 Doctor Holbrook was seated, and said, in a low, hurried 
 whisper 
 
 " Go for a policeman, Edward ! And be as quick as 
 possible." Shutting the door with a gentle hand, so that 
 his visitor might not, through betrayal of excitement on 
 his part, suspect anything wrong, he came back, and re 
 suming his chair, went on 
 
 " You were right in bringing me this letter, Mrs. Me 
 Bride. I know the poor man, and must see him at once." 
 
 " Och, indade, sir ! And thot ll niver do. We r 
 bound till sacracy." 
 
 " Are you bound, Mrs. McBride ? " 
 
190 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Not meself, sir ; but Hugh s bound, and tliot s all 
 the same. * 
 
 " I don t know about that," said the Doctor. If a 
 man goes into unlawful business, and become a party to 
 wrong and oppression, I am not able to see how his acts 
 bind his wife to the same things. This, let me tell yon, 
 is a very serious matter ; more serious, a great deal, than 
 you have imagined, and the quicker both you and your 
 husband are out of it, the safer will you be. I must see 
 this lunatic immediately." 
 
 " Och, Docthur, Docthur ! I m all bewilderment. Let 
 me go home till Hugh. I must talk wid him. YouVe 
 set me to shiverin all over. If ony harm should come 
 till Hugh ! Oh, sorra ! sorra I " And the frightened 
 Irish woman commenced wringing her hands. 
 
 " No harm will come to him if he does right. But, 
 right or wrong, he is safest with the law on his side." 
 
 " Wid the law ? How dy e mane Docthur ? " 
 
 " Through this letter," answered the Doctor, holding 
 up the crumpled note he had received, " I am advised 
 that an old and wealthy citizen is unlawfully confined 
 under pretence of his being a lunatic ; and it has, there 
 fore, become my duty, to see that he is released, and 
 harm be to all who stand in my way ! " The Doctor s 
 voice grew stern and menacing ; and the woman s fright 
 increased. 
 
 " There is no occasion for you to be alarmed, Mrs. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 191 
 
 McBridc," resumed Doctor Hofland. " Your way is 
 plain. Take me to the house where this man is confined, 
 and none shall be the wiser for your agency in the mat 
 ter. I will see to that." 
 
 " Twon t do, Docthur ! Dade un I can t. Ivmust 
 go home and talk wid Hugh. * 
 
 " Better say nothing to Hugh. He may get bewilder 
 ed, and betray himself. Just show me the house, and 
 I ll take all the responsibility beyond that." 
 
 But the Irish woman insisted upon it, that sne must 
 see her husband, and made a movement to go. 
 
 " Sit down, Mrs. McBride ; sit down ! " said Doctor 
 Hofland, as the woman rose from her chair. " I want 
 to ask you more questions. Do you know who the per 
 son is who gave your husband this letter ? " 
 
 " Indade not, sir." 
 
 " Does your husband know ? " 
 
 " He don t know ony on um. Only Mr. Black knows 
 who they be." 
 
 " Mr. Black, who keeps the house ? " 
 
 " Dade, an Docthur, I can t stay here another minit. 
 Ye r jist confoundin me. I must see Hugh." And 
 Mrs. McBride started up, and was at the door ere Doc 
 tor Hofland could make a movement to prevent her de 
 parture. 
 
 " Stop, stop, ma am ! A word more " 
 
 But the Irish woman gave no heed. She jerked open 
 
192 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 the door ere Doctor Hofland was half across the office, 
 and gaining the street, disappeared from view in the 
 darkness of a murky night. He was on the pavement 
 in a moment afterwards, glancing eagerly up and down 
 the street, but she was nowhere to be seen. Any at 
 tempt to follow her, must, he saw, be vain work ; so, af 
 ter standing a little while, quite as much confounded as 
 the Irish woman had been, Doctor Hofland went back 
 into his office to await the arrival of his son-in-law, Doc 
 tor Holbrook, with a policeman. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 N the same evening, sat Mr. and Mrs. 
 Larobe, alone, in agitated conference. 
 Mr. Larobe had said to his wife, in re 
 monstrance 
 
 " Jane, you must rally ! Your ap 
 pearance and conduct are attracting 
 universal attention, and occasioning 
 remarks and conjectures so nearly ap 
 proaching the truth, that I am in terror every moment." 
 " I try to rally," was answered, in a gloomy, depress 
 ed tone of voice ; " but have lost command of myself. 
 I seem to be like the Italian prisoner- in a cell, the 
 walls of which contract around me every day. Imagi 
 nation goes constantly forward to the moment, when 
 flesh and bones will be crushed into a lifeless mass." 
 
 " Madness, Jane ! You are but holding out your 
 hands to destruction. Be the calm, self-poised woman 
 again. Throw off this nightmare. All eyes are upon 
 you, and the word of wonder, touching the change in 
 
194 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 your appearance, goes freely from lip to lip. People 
 look at me in a strange, curious way, as I pass along the 
 street ; and I know it is because of you. Everything is 
 safe now. Day after to-morrow, he will be removed 
 from the city." 
 
 "Only from the city." Mrs. Larobe s voice had in 
 it something so icy, in its low, even utterance of this 
 sentence, that her husband felt a chill along his nerves. 
 He looked into her face ; but her leaden eyes did not 
 return his gaze did not hold outward things on the 
 sensitive retina. 
 
 " If my advice had prevailed, this would not have 
 been," she said, with a slight quickening of the voice. 
 
 Mr. Larobe understood his wife, and shuddered in 
 wardly. The movement of his chair a few inches back, 
 was involuntary. 
 
 " There is no safety in these timid measures, Mr. 
 Larobe," she added, with stern emphasis, her voice rising 
 to a fuller volume. " Unless strong enough to walk 
 resolutely to the end, it is folly to enter a perilous way. 
 I saw and urged this in the beginning ; but you tempo 
 rized and interposed, thus cursing our years with a per 
 petual menace. While he lives, we are in imminent 
 danger. It is his life or our lives ! Shall we hesitate 
 in our election ? Justin Larobe ! answer me ! would 
 not the news of his death, so you were freed from 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 195 
 
 any responsibility touching the act, be the sweetest that 
 could this moment sound in your ears ? " 
 
 " I will not deny it." 
 
 " Yon would not care as to how he died ; whether by 
 violence, or in the order of nature so you were not 
 involved ? " 
 
 " No ; I would not care." 
 
 " The passage can be made swift and easy." 
 
 Larobe shuddered again, as if a cold wind had struck 
 him. 
 
 " And it must be made ! " Mrs. Larobe s pale face 
 grew dark from sudden congestion of blood in the veins. 
 She spoke like one fearfully in earnest. 
 
 " Murder will out, Jane ! " answered her husband, in 
 a voice so altered, that his own ears scarcely recognized 
 the sound. " Murder will out ! Blood stains are never 
 washed away. Risk anything but that ! " 
 
 " I am not superstitious," replied Mrs. Larobe, with 
 covert contempt for this weakness, in her tones. " If 
 the door is left unguarded, murder will out ; if the wash 
 ing be careless, blood will remain. But, there are locks 
 and bolts a-plenty ; and whole rivers for cleansing. Let 
 the work be well done, and all signs removed ; and it 
 must be done ! Death itself were better than this hor 
 rible life. He must not be taken from the city. A 
 feeble, exhausted old man, the prick even of a needle 
 would let life and misery -out together. Why torment him 
 
196 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 longer ? It is cruel ! Let him die ; and in his rest and 
 peace, we shall find rest and peace also." 
 
 " The murderer never has rest and peace," answered 
 Mr. Larobe, solemnly. " The world s criminal record 
 is full of admonition. Call it superstition, or what you 
 will, Jane earth refuses to hide the blood of murder. 
 No no. This, depend on it, is not the way of safety ; 
 but the way to sure destruction." 
 
 " I have made up my mind to walk in this way," said 
 Mrs. Larobe, with a cruel resolution in her voice. 
 
 Her husband felt the shivering wind sweep over his 
 spirit again ; and, with an involuntary movement, re 
 ceded to a greater distance. The dull, leaden hue had 
 left her eyes which now had a steely glitter. Her body 
 was more erect ; her head drawn back ; her lips shut 
 firmly. 
 
 " This present life is intolerable, Justin ! " she add 
 ed. "I am not strong enough to bear the burden. You 
 see that I am sinking under it, daily. I shall lose my 
 senses in a month, and betray everything in unconscious 
 ravings. Even now* I catch myself muttering aloud, 
 in the presence of servants, all of whom seem to be 
 watching me with sharp suspicion. So surely as you 
 live and as I live, Justin, there is but one way of safety. 
 If that be not taken, we are lost. My poor brain can 
 not hold out much longer. I feel that it is giving way. 
 If this terror is left hanging over me, madness is in 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 197 
 
 evitable ; and then, though I may be safe from punish 
 ment, you will be lost, for confession will drop from my 
 unsealed lips. I am sure that I shall be moved to con 
 fess everything." 
 
 A change in Mr. Larobe s face, showed that his wife s 
 last argument had reached him. He did not reply im 
 mediately, but took time to weigh the argument, and get 
 to its real value. 
 
 " I am disappointed in you, Jane," he said, at last, in 
 a voice that was hoarse and impeded. " I never expect 
 ed to see you break down in this way. Self-reliant, 
 unimpassioned, cool and wary, I thought you able to 
 walk steadfastly to the end. What does it mean ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell what it means," was answered, in a 
 depressed tone. " But the fact- is upon us, and we must 
 deal with it as best we can. The nerves are not wrought 
 of insensate brass. At least, not mine ; and under the 
 present strain, they must give way. When that calami 
 ty reaches me, I shall have stepped past all danger ; 
 but you, Justin Larobe, will be in most imminent peril ! 
 I warn you in time ! Two ways are before you ; both 
 difficult to walk in, and it is for you to take that which 
 is safest." 
 
 There was dead silence for nearly ten minutes. Both 
 sat motionless. 
 
 " I must sleep on this," said Larobe, breaking, at 
 length, the stillness. " To-night, all my thoughts are 
 
198 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 confused. In the morning, they will be calmer and 
 clearer." 
 
 " Sleep ! " Ejaculated his wife, with an emphasis that 
 made him start. " Sleep, on the edge of a volcano ! or 
 over a mine with the train ablaze ! There is no more 
 sleep for me, until this terror is removed. Why hesitate, 
 Justin ? Why cut off until to-morrow, what so needs 
 to be done now. Let to-night s darkness hide from us, 
 forever, this hideous skeleton, that is blasting our eyes 
 at every turn." 
 
 " I cannot see the means," said Larobe. " Work 
 like this may not be done with ordinary agencies. There 
 is no living soul that I would trust with the power over 
 me which an accomplice in such a crime would possess. 
 If he is to be taken out of our way, by whose hand shall 
 it be done ? " 
 
 There followed a long pause. 
 
 " Is not Black to be trusted ? " 
 
 "I would not trust him." 
 
 Another long pause. 
 
 " It might be done, and the mystery of the doing left 
 impenetrable." Mrs. Larobe spoke slowly, but with con 
 fidence. 
 
 " How, and by whom ? " 
 
 u First the will, and then the way. You had him 
 taken to Black s, and can remove him at pleasure." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 199 
 
 " Remove him to night." 
 
 Whither ? " 
 
 " To some place where he will be wholly in our 
 power." 
 
 " You talk without reason," said Larobe, with some 
 impatience. " The very fact of removing him to-night, 
 and without previous notice of intention, would of itself 
 create suspicion. Depend upon it, Jane, this deed can 
 not be done with safety. Every step will be in difficul 
 ty, and no matter how lightly and cautiously taken, foot 
 prints must remain behind ; foot-prints, along which the 
 bloodhound of justice will follow as surely as fate." 
 
 The brief animation died out of Mrs. Larobe s coun 
 tenance. It grew pale, contracted, and shadowed again. 
 
 " I must sleep on this," resumed Mr. Larobe, repeat 
 ing what he had said a little while before. " To-morrow 
 morning, I shall see clearer. To act now, would be to 
 act blindly." 
 
 Mrs. Larobe made no response. Her husband did not 
 look at her while he spoke. Indeed, he rarely looked 
 into her face, for it had become a thing repulsive in his 
 eyes ; a sight to be avoided. For nearly a minute, he 
 sat waiting her answer but, as she still kept silence, 
 he glanced towards her without turning his head. In 
 doing so, he met a glance stealthy as his own, watching 
 him from the covert of half shut lids snaky, cruel, 
 and malign. In an instant it was withdrawn ; but, it 
 
200 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 left a strange shiver of fear in his heart. In all his life, 
 he had never seen so remarkable an expression in any 
 eye. It was as if a fiend had looked at him a fiend 
 thirsting with an insatiate desire to do him harm. 
 
 " Sleep if you can," said the woman, coldly, and ris 
 ing, she left the room. 
 
 He did not sleep. And the long delayed morning 
 found his brain no clearer than on the night before. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 EARLY ten minutes elapsed after the 
 woman s flight before Doctor Holbrook 
 came back with a policeman. His delay 
 gave Dr. Hofland time for reflection. 
 
 " The bird has flown," he said, as the 
 two men entered. He spoke so quietly 
 that both the policeman and his son-in- 
 law wondered at his manner ; for the 
 latter, having been enjoined to go quickly on his errand, 
 had, on finding the officer, hurried him with all possible 
 speed to the Doctor s office. 
 
 " Who was she ? " asked Doctor Holbrook. 
 " An Irish woman, who has a secret that I meant to 
 penetrate ; and I wanted your good offices in the mat 
 ter," looking at the policeman. " But, as I said, the 
 bird has flown. I pressed her so closely with questions 
 that she got alarmed, and flitted away before I could 
 arrest the movement." 
 
 " Do you know her ? " asked the policeman. 
 
202 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Never saw her before in my life." 
 
 " Does her secret involve anything criminal ? " 
 
 " I fear that it does. Not, probably, on her part ; 
 but, she has knowledge of things that are wrong, and my 
 design was to secure her person, and so get, if possible, 
 to the bottom of certain transactions of which I gained 
 dark hints in my brief interview. Her escape leaves 
 me at fault. But the intimations she threw out are of 
 so serious a character, that I deem it best to confer 
 with the Mayor. Can I see him to-night ? " 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " Will you ascertain the fact, and then bring me word 
 at what time he will give me an audience ? " 
 
 " How long will you remain in your office, Doc 
 tor ? " 
 
 " For an hour." 
 
 " Within that time you shall have the information 
 desired." And the officer withdrew. 
 
 " Common report was nearer the truth than you or I 
 imagined, Edward," said Doctor Hofland, as soon as 
 they were alone. " Old Adam Guy is not dead." 
 
 And he related the particulars of his interview with 
 the Irish woman. 
 
 " Whatever is done, must be done speedily," remark 
 ed Doctor Holbrook. " To-morrow he may be taken 
 from the city, and removed no one can tell whither." 
 
 " To be murdered," said Doctor Hofland. " That 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 203 
 
 will come next. I wonder, seeing how much his wife 
 and her accomplice have at stake, that this last act in 
 the tragedy has been so long delayed. The fact that 
 he was believed to be dead, would have made the crime 
 comparatively a safe one. Yes, Edward, whatever is 
 done will have to be done speedily. To-night he must 
 be released." 
 
 " If possible to discover where he is confined." 
 
 " There will be no trouble in that," said Doctor Hof- 
 land. " A place like the one in which he is held an 
 unwilling prisoner, can hardly be unknown to the police. 
 Mrs. McBride let drop the keeper s name. We shall 
 find him, Edward, I am confident of this." 
 
 The two men sat silent for a short time, each busy 
 with his own thoughts. 
 
 u So much for money ! " spoke out Doctor Hofland, 
 breaking in, after awhile, upon this silence. So much 
 for money ! " he repeated. " It was to fill his lap with 
 blessing; yet has it proved only a curse. Wretched, 
 wretched man ! In all these dreary years of impris 
 onment as a lunatic dead to the world what fear 
 ful things must he not have suffered? When my 
 thought touches this point in the case, I shudder as in 
 the presence of vague shapes of horror. To a man like 
 him there was no help. No materials were laid up in 
 his mind out of which to build a house for his soul to 
 dwell in, and find shelter from storms of passion. His 
 
204 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 head was naked and his body bare for sun and tempest 
 to assail." 
 
 " The probabilities are all against him," said the 
 younger physician. " His brief communication reads like 
 the despairing cry of an insane man, uttered in a lucid 
 moment. If we discover the place of his imprisonment, 
 we shall find him, I fear, but a helpless wreck. A man 
 such as you have described him, would hardly retain his 
 reason through an ordeal like this." 
 
 " The worst, in that direction, is to be feared," an 
 swered Doctor Hofland. "But, no matter what his 
 state of mind, he must be rescued from their hands, and 
 placed under conditions the most favorable to mental and 
 bodily health." 
 
 " The fact of his being alive and with the knowl 
 edge of Larobe and his wife will establish another 
 crime." 
 
 " Bigamy," said Doctor Hofland. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " These accomplices are in a desperate strait, and to 
 save themselves, will not shrink from desperate measures. 
 The tempter who has lured them into this appalling 
 danger, will not hesitate about the suggestion of mur 
 der as the only way of escape. He will magnify the 
 safety and diminish the peril of this crime ; and they, 
 bewildered and frightened, will go over to the fiend." 
 
 " If there was sufficient evidence to procure their 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 205 
 
 arrest," said the son-in-law, " so much would be done 
 towards Mr. Guy s safety." 
 
 " That point I wish to talk over with the Mayor. It 
 is barely possible, you know, that all may not be just 
 as we infer. This letter, even, may not indicate the 
 exact truth. The writer may only be a pretended 
 Adam Guy." 
 
 The young physician shook his head doubtingly. 
 
 " All circumstances considered," resumed Doctor 
 Hofland, " I think, with you, that the letter is genuine, 
 and shall act on that assumption up to the limit of pru 
 dence. But, the gravest things are involved, and every 
 step taken should be well considered. I may get my 
 self into serious trouble without benefit to any one. 
 Larobe is not the man on whom to make an assault, un 
 less you are invulnerable at all points." 
 
 The policeman came back while they were yet talking, 
 and said that the Mayor would see Doctor Hofland at 
 nine o clock. Precisely at the hour they met. The 
 interview was a long one. At first the Mayor was 
 wholly incredulous ; but, after listening to Doctor Hof- 
 land s clearly given statement of all he knew about the 
 insanity and confinement of Mr. Guy, and comparing 
 the common rumor of the town with the recent sin 
 gular change in Mrs. Guy, as noted by her friends, but 
 particularly by Doctor Holbrook, he began to see the 
 case differently. One duty, at least, was plain. The 
 
206 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 private mad-house or prison of Mr. Black, must 
 must be discovered, and that without delay. 
 
 " I will place this matter in the hands of a discreet 
 officer," said the Mayor, " who will get speedily to the 
 bottom of it." 
 
 " To-night ? " 
 
 " Nothing can be done to-night, Doctor." 
 
 " A Tew hours, and all may be lost ! " replied the 
 Doctor. " If Adam Guy be really alive, and held in 
 constraint by Mr. Larobe, too much is periled by leaving 
 him in the city too much by suffering him to live, 
 even. To-morrow may be too late, sir. Whatever is 
 done, must be done speedily. Let me conjure you to 
 act to-night, lest another crime be added to a dark cat 
 alogue. Nothing will be made public. No good name 
 will suffer in this prompt movement, if discreetly made. 
 Should no wrong be discovered, no guilt can be charged 
 upon any one. But, if wrong be arrested, and further 
 crime prevented, the gain will be incalculable." 
 
 The Mayor, as Doctor Hofland ceased speaking, 
 lifted a small bell from the table, and rang it lightly. 
 An attendant came in from the adjoining room, the 
 door of which had been shut. 
 
 " Tell Mr. Joyce that I want him." 
 
 The attendant withdrew, and in a few moments a 
 slender, keen-eyed man, entered. The first impression 
 he made was that of a slightly built person; but a 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 207 
 
 second glance, showed him to be compact and sinewy. 
 His step had a spring that indicated both mental and 
 physical confidence. 
 
 " Sit down, Mr. Joyce," said the Mayor, waving his 
 hand towards a chair. The man sat down, yet holding 
 his person erect, and with a prompt air, like one expec 
 tant and ready. 
 
 " Is there such a place in the city as a private hospital, 
 or refuge for insane people, under the care of a man 
 named Black ? " enquired the Mayor, 
 
 " I have not heard of it," was the unhesitating reply. 
 
 " Do you know an Irishman named Hugh Mc- 
 Bride ? " 
 
 " A weaver by trade ? " 
 
 " I am not informed as to that." 
 
 u I know two or three McBrides. One, a weaver, is 
 Hugh McBride." 
 
 " A married man ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Where does he live ? " 
 
 " In Commerce street." 
 
 " Take an officer, Mr. Joyce, and bring McBride and 
 his wife iiere with as little delay as possible. If he is 
 not at home, bring his wife. If neither are at home, 
 report immediately." 
 
 The man arose and went out. 
 
 "It will be desiriable for you to remain, Doctor, until 
 
208 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 his return," said the Mayor. " Can you identify the 
 woman who called at your office to-night ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " If we succeed in finding her, we shall obtain a clue 
 not likely to fail. Mr. Joyce will follow it up quickly." 
 
 In less than half an hour Mr. Joyce came back, and 
 reported the rooms of Mr. and Mrs. McBride closed 
 and locked. He had made no enquiries of the other 
 families in* the house in regard to them, lest suspicion 
 touching the nature of his business should be awaken 
 ed. So far, the movement was without result. 
 
 " Did you leave a policeman in the neighborhood to 
 watch for their return ? " asked the Mayor. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You can depend on him ? " 
 
 "O yes, sir." 
 
 " Sit down, Mr. Joyce." 
 
 The man sat down, holding himself erect, with the 
 prompt, expectant air before mentioned. 
 
 " We have intimations, Mr. Joyce," said the Mayor, 
 " of something wrong. We believe that a man is con 
 fined somewhere in the city under pretence of insanity. 
 Our information goes so far as to cover the name of the 
 individual who holds this man, with others, in confine 
 ment it is Black. An Irishman named Hugh Mc 
 Bride is one of his assistants. There are features about 
 the case that render prompt action necessary. We 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 209 
 
 must discover Black to-night, if possible, and remove 
 the person of whom I spoke. 7 
 
 " Are you certain the name is Black ? " asked the 
 officer. 
 
 The Mayor looked towards Doctor Hofland. 
 
 " That is the name I received. But, it may not be 
 the true one," answered the Doctor. 
 
 " There is a Doctor Black on East Baltimore street," 
 said the officer. " He occupies a large house beyond 
 Broadway, and has, I think, resident patients. This 
 may be the man." 
 
 " Do you know anything of this individual, Doctor 
 Hofland ? " enquired the Mayor. 
 
 " Nothing," replied the Doctor. " In riding out East 
 Baltimore street, occasionally, I have, noticed the name. 
 But, the person of Doctor Black is unknown to me. I 
 infer, that he has no standing with the profession." 
 
 " You had best follow out this thread, Mr. Joyce, and 
 see whither it leads," said the Mayor. 
 
 " May I suggest, the immediate despatch of one or 
 two policemen to the vicinity of Doctor Black s house, 
 with instructions not to let any one be removed there 
 from to-night. The fact that Mrs. McBride is away 
 from home, gives me concern. She may have become 
 alarmed for the consequences of her visit to my office," 
 said Doctor Hofland. 
 
 " Did this woman call at your office ? " asked Mr. 
 
210 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 Joyce, with the smallest perceptible shade of surprise in 
 his tone. 
 
 The Doctor glanced towards the Mayor, who answer 
 ed the policeman s question. 
 
 44 Mrs. McBride was at the Doctor s office this evening, 
 and during her visit, let drop certain things, which, 
 taken in connection with things already known, make it 
 clear that a very serious wrong exists. The suggestion 
 of Doctor Hofland is a good one. Set a watch in the 
 neighborhood, and do not permit the removal of any 
 person from the house of Doctor Black." 
 
 Mr. Joyce arose, promptly. 
 
 " A moment, if you please," said Doctor Hofland, 
 as the man was about retiring from the room. " I feel 
 deeply interested in this business* Every minute that 
 passes will be one of painful suspense. How soon can 
 we expect to hear from you ? " 
 
 44 Within an hour," answered Mr. Joyce. 
 
 44 It is now ten o clock." 
 
 44 By eleven I will report all that can be learned of 
 Doctor Black. Will your Honor be here ? " looking at 
 the Mayor. 
 
 44 1 shall remain, Mr. Joyce, until your return." 
 
 The officer bowed, and withdrew. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 HE thoughtful silence which succeeded 
 to the departure of Mr. Joyce, was 
 not yet broken, when a policeman en 
 tered, having in custody an Irish wo 
 man. 
 
 " Mrs. McBride," said Doctor Hof- 
 land, in an undertone, to the Mayor. 
 
 The woman had a half frightened 5 
 half defiant look. 
 
 "You were at Doctor Black s, in East Baltimore 
 street, to-night," said the Mayor, abruptly addressing 
 her, as she was brought forward and placed before him. 
 " Dade thin, un I ll not denoy thot same, y r honor," 
 replied the Irish woman, with an odd mixture of alarm 
 and humor in her manner. 
 
 " Did you see your husband, Mrs. McBride ? " 
 " Did I see Hugh, y r honor ? " She was trying to 
 gain time for ready wit to serve her in this narrow 
 strait. 
 
212 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Yes, Hugh McBride, your husband? " 
 
 " I saw him jist at dark, sir." 
 
 44 At Doctor Black s ? " 
 
 " Yis, y r honor." 
 
 44 Have you seen him since you were at Doctor Hof- 
 land s office ? Remember where you are, Mrs. McBride. 
 There must be no evasion. The truth, the whole truth, 
 and nothing but the truth. Have you seen Hugh since 
 you saw the Doctor ? " 
 
 44 I ll not denoy it, y r honor." 
 
 " What did you say to him ? " 
 
 "Say till him ? I sed jist these words, y r Honor 
 un I ll make, a clane breast ov it I sed, Hugh, hon 
 ey, the jig s up, and there ll be the divil to pay ; so 
 come away home wid yez." 
 
 44 And what did Hugh say to this ; Mrs. McBride ? " 
 
 44 He didn t say nothin, but 4 whist ! y r honor. 
 For, you see, Musther Black came on us all ov a 
 suddint. Und he sed till Hugh, in angry, suspicious 
 kind of way looking at me, y r honor 4 Whot s 
 thot woman doin here agin ? So Hugh sed makin 
 b lieve mad, you know Go aff home wid ye, Biddy, 
 and don t come a trapesin here ony more. I ll not 
 have it. It s agin the rule, as I ve told yez more nor 
 twenty times. And so, y r honor, I come away." 
 
 44 And this is all that passed between you and your 
 husband." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 213 
 
 " Ivery blissed word." 
 
 " You ll have to stay here all night, Mrs. McBride," 
 said the Mayor, in answer to which the Irish woman s 
 face was flooded over with ready tears, and she set up a 
 low howl of distress. 
 
 " Silence ! " cried the Mayor, sternly. " We must 
 have none of this. Take care of her for the night, 
 Wilkins," speaking to the policeman who had her in 
 charge, " and see that she is comfortable." 
 
 Mrs. McBride was removed, and Doctor Hofland was 
 again alone with the Mayor. A brief consultation fol 
 lowed, when it was determined to visit the house of 
 Doctor Black without delay, and remove Mr. Guy if 
 found there. A carriage was sent for, and in company 
 with a single policeman, they drove out East Balti 
 more street. The policeman sat with the driver, and 
 his orders were to keep a sharp look out for Mr. Joyce. 
 That person was espied, near the McKim school-house, 
 and taken into the carriage, when he was informed of 
 Mrs. McBride s arrest. A little beyond Broadway, 
 they left the carriage, and walked for a distance of two 
 or three squares, when they came to the building occu 
 pied by Doctor Black. It was a large, double house, 
 the lot fronting more than a hundred feet on each side, 
 and shut in from the street by a high board fence. The 
 entire area of the lot was more than half an acre, and 
 it was thickly covered with shade trees and shrubbery, 
 
214 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 It was now nearly eleven o clock. The house had a 
 gloomy aspect. Through only one of its many windows 
 looking down upon the street was light visible, and there 
 it was feeble, as if from the low, burning lamp of a sick 
 chamber. The bell was rung, and, almost immediately, 
 the door swung open. 
 
 " We wish to see Doctor Black," said the Mayor, as 
 he stepped in past a negro waiter who still held the 
 door-knob in his hand. Doctor Hofland and Mr. Joyce 
 followed. The door shut, and they found themselves in 
 a large, square hall, from which the stairway ascended, 
 and from which doors opened to the right and left. Be 
 fore the waiter had time to reply, the left hand door 
 opened, showing a small, well lighted office or reception 
 room, and a man came out into the hall. There was 
 nothing specially remarkable in his appearance, at the 
 first glance, nor did he betray any surprise at this un 
 timely visit of personages, at least two of whom, the 
 Mayor and Doctor Hofland, were, in all probability, 
 well known to him. 
 
 " Is this Doctor Black ? " enquired the Mayor. 
 
 The man bowed assent, and then motioned his visitors 
 to enter the room from which he had just emerged. 
 They passed in, and he shut the door. The furniture 
 of this room consisted of a table standing in the centre, 
 on which were writing materials ; a few chairs, and 
 cases filled with books. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 215 
 
 The face of Doctor Black was not one that impressed 
 favorably. If it had any distinguishing peculiarity, it 
 was immobility a thoroughly hidden and inexpansive 
 face. The eyes were blue and cold ; the mouth feeble ; 
 the nose thin and long. He had small side whiskers, 
 of a sandy hue, that were just a shade sandier than his 
 hair. 
 
 The Mayor took a seat at the table, with .the light 
 full on his face, while Doctor Hofland and Mr. Joyce 
 occupied chairs at the sides of the room. Doctor Black 
 sat opposite the Mayor and in the light. Doctor Hofland, 
 who could not remember ever having seen this man before, 
 scanned his face closely, marking even the slightest 
 change of expression, in order to form some definite 
 opinion of his character. It was soon plainly apparent, 
 that his calm exterior covered alert suspicion. His cold 
 blue eyes, which dropped away from the Mayor s direct 
 gaze, returned instantly to his face, the moment that 
 gaze was withdrawn, with a keen, intelligent scrutiny. 
 Doctor Hofland noted the constant repetition of this 
 covert scrutiny. There were but few preliminary sen 
 tences. Then the Mayor said, coming directly to the 
 matter in hand 
 
 " Doctor Black, I am Mayor of the city. One of 
 the gentlemen who accompany me, is Doctor Hofland, 
 whom you probably know, an old resident physician ; 
 the other is a policeman. Doctor Hofland has, this 
 
216 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 evening, received a note from one Adam Guy, held by 
 you in this place as a lunatic, and we are here to take 
 him out of your custody." 
 
 Doctor Hofland was reading Black s face, while the 
 Mayor thus addressed him, with an almost breathless 
 scrutiny ; but he could detect scarcely any change in its 
 expression. 
 
 " You may not be informed of all the circumsta nces 
 attendant on this case," continued the Mayor, " nor of 
 the peril in which you are involved as a suspected ac 
 complice in one of the most shocking crimes, short of 
 murder, that our city has known." 
 
 There was a change now. Doctor Hofland read sur 
 prise, mingled with alarm, in the man s countenance. 
 
 " It will be safest for you, Doctor Black," continued 
 the Mayor, " to accept the necessities of this case, and 
 at once pass your patient into our hands. For the pres 
 ent, considerations not necessary to mention, may lead 
 to the withholding of this affair from the public ; unless 
 you force us unto an arrest of yourself, which will be 
 done immediately. A thorough search of your establish 
 ment will then be made. If you are a prudent man, 
 you will interpose no obstacle." 
 
 Still, Black neither answered nor moved. 
 
 " You can have five minutes to decide on the course 
 you may deem best for your own safety and interests," 
 added the Mayor. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 217 
 
 " I have decided that already," answered the man, in 
 a cold, even utterance of the words. " It is near mid 
 night, and I am in the hands of the first executive officer 
 of this city. If I had any interest in resisting your 
 demand which I have not resistance would be folly. 
 The wretched old man after whom you have come, is at 
 your disposal." And Doctor Black arose. " Shall I 
 have him brought down ? " 
 
 " We would prefer being taken to the room where 
 he is confined," said Doctor Hofland, speaking now for 
 the first time. Black darted on him a sudden look, 
 and the Doctor caught the glitter of his eyes ; but in 
 stantly the look was withdrawn. 
 
 " As you please, gentlemen." And Black moved to 
 wards the door. The four men passed into the hall, 
 where a lamp was procured. From thence they ascend 
 ed to the second story, preceded by Doctor Black, and 
 through a passage to a wing built out from the eastern 
 side of the house. At the extremity of this passage, a 
 narrow stairway led to the third floor. Thither they 
 proceeded. 
 
 " The presence of so many strangers will, I fear, 
 greatly disturb him," said Doctor Black, pausing before 
 a door, and taking a key from his pocket. 
 
 " It will only be necessary for Doctor Hofland to go 
 in," replied the Mayor. " We can stay on the outside." 
 
 " He is probably sleeping, remarked Doctor Black, 
 10 
 
218 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 in a repressed voice, as he turned the key. Doctor 
 Hofland entered with him. The apartment was narrow, 
 with a grated window at the lower end. An iron bed 
 stead stood half way down the room. On this lay a 
 man, whose eyes sent back gleams from the light that 
 shone in suddenly upon him. He arose quickly, and 
 sat on the side of his bed. The rattling of a chain, in 
 the movement, showed that he was a closely guarded 
 patient. 
 
 44 You, of course," said Doctor Black, in a low tone, 
 " take all the risks of a removal." 
 
 44 All," was the simple, but emphatic response. 
 
 The two men went slowly towards the patient. His 
 figure w&s emaciated, one naked leg thrust out from the 
 bed showing little in its contour but sinew and bone. 
 A flannel shirt, open at the throat, exposed a lean and 
 knotted breast. His face was covered on the lower part 
 with a long white beard, that fell below the throat-pit. 
 His eyes shone away back from hollow orbits, with an 
 intense, almost fiery brightness. 
 
 44 Thank God ! " This man was first to speak, and 
 these were the unexpected words that dropped from his 
 lips, uttered in a low, fervent voice. " Thank God ! " 
 he repeated, now with a tremor of eager life. He stood 
 up, reaching out his hands, all in a quiver of excitement. 
 44 Doctor Hofland ! Doctor Hofland ! Oh, my friend ! 
 my friend I " 
 

 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 219 
 
 Doctor Hofland went quickly forward, and the wretch 
 ed old man fell into his arms, sobbing, moaning and 
 crying like a weak, long-suffering child, restored to its 
 mother s bosom. The recognition was not mutual. 
 Nothing in the appearance of this poor lunatic recalled, 
 with Doctor Hofland, a memory of his early friend. 
 
 " Why didn t you come before, Doctor ? I ve sent 
 *V>r yon, O, so many times ! " The old man raised 
 himself as he spoke, yet still clinging to Doctor Hofland. 
 
 " No one brought me word till now," replied the 
 Doctor. " Did you ever write to me before ? " 
 
 " Write ! I ve written a hundred times. And they 
 always said you got the letters. But, I couldn t believe 
 it." 
 
 " How did you sign them ? " 
 
 " How ? " The question was not understood. 
 
 44 With what name, I mean ? " said the Doctor. 
 
 " With my own name, Adam Guy." The answer 
 was prompt and outspoken. 
 
 " Unfasten this chain ! " said Doctor Hofland, sternly, 
 looking towards Black. The rattle of its links had 
 wounded, that moment, his ears. The man drew some 
 keys from his pocket, and stooping, sprung the bolt of 
 a padlock that held the chain to the prisoner s ankle. 
 
 " You are free again, Mr. Guy." The Doctor spoke 
 softly, but with a meaning that no ear could doubt. 
 Free ! Free ! Great God ! " Then a strange cry 
 
220 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 filled the room, as the man started up and tossed his 
 arms wildly about his head. If reason had kept even 
 partial supremacy until this time, now its dethronement 
 was, alas I too sadly apparent. 
 
 " I feared this," said Doctor Black, moving quickly 
 upon his patient, and endeavoring to seize him. 
 
 " Off, fiend ! " shouted Guy, starting away with a 
 look of fear and hate. " Off, I say ! " Then crowding 
 back on Doctor Hofland, he added, in a subdued and 
 pleading voice 
 
 " Don t let him touch me ! " 
 
 " He shall not touch you," was the assuring answer. 
 
 " Wont you take me away from here ? " Still in 
 low, pleading tones. 
 
 " If you will compose yourself. Loud cries and toss- 
 ings of the arms wont do among people, you know." 
 
 " I ll be all that you ask, Doctor. Only take me out 
 of this horrible prison. They ve nearly made an end 
 of me. Flesh and blood can t stand it much longer. 
 I forget myself sometimes. O, why didn t you come 
 sooner? " 
 
 He was beginning to lose himself again, when Doctor 
 Hofland said 
 
 " Get on your clothes as quickly as possible: I have 
 a carriage down stairs, and will take you right away." 
 
 Hurriedly the poor toilette was made it was not 
 very presentable and then, clinging to the arm of 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 221 
 
 Doctor Hofland, eager, trembling with excitement, and 
 like one fleeing in terror, Mr. Guy went down to the 
 carriage, which he entered without an instant s hesita 
 tion, ejaculating 
 
 " Thank God I Thank God ! " 
 
 If, in all his life before, this unhappy man had not ac 
 knowledged a Divine agency in human affairs, that ac 
 knowledgment came now, and from the heart. Human 
 prudence and human strength had been as nothing. 
 They had not saved him from the worst of calamities ; 
 and now, when succor came in the conscious waning 
 of reason weak as a child amid giant enemies, he 
 looked upward, and thanked God for deliverance. 
 
 " What next ? " asked the Mayor, drawing Doctor 
 Hofland a little away from the carriage door, and speak 
 ing in an undertone. " Where shall we remove him ? " 
 
 "I will take charge of him for the present," answer 
 ed the Doctor. 
 
 " You don t purpose taking him to your house ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " An insane man ! Think what consequences may 
 follow." 
 
 " He will not give me any serious trouble. Still, as 
 a matter of precaution, I would like a discreet officer 
 to remain in the house during to-night and to-morrow. 
 My profession takes me away from home at all hours, 
 
222 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 and while absent, he might get restless or alarmed, and 
 attempt to get off." 
 
 " Mr. Joyce is at your service, Doctor," replied the 
 Mayor. 
 
 " Thank you. With him at my right hand, all will 
 be well. To-morrow morning I will see you at an early 
 hour." 
 
 " If you please, Doctor. This is a strange affair, and 
 must be well considered." 
 
 The two men, accompanied by Mr. Joyce, now enter 
 ed the carriage, and drove away. During the ride to 
 Doctor Hofland s, old Mr. Guy did not speak, nor show 
 signs of uneasiness. When the carriage stopped, he 
 aroused himself and asked 
 
 " Where are we ? " 
 
 " At my house," replied Doctor Hofland. 
 
 " Oh Oh ! " There was a prolonged tone of satis 
 faction in the almost murmured ejaculation of Mr. Guy. 
 
 " Good-night, Doctor," said the Mayor, as the four 
 men stood on the pavement. 
 
 " Good-night, sir." The Mayor took Mr. Joyce, the 
 policeman, aside, and after a whispered conference, re- 
 entered the carriage, and was driven away. 
 
 " Who is that man ? " asked Mr. Guy, almost sharp 
 ly, and with an air of suspicion. 
 
 " The Mayor," answered Doctor Hofland. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 223 
 
 " The Mayor ! " Surprise took the Dlace of suspicion. 
 " Then he s on my side ! " 
 
 " He s on your side, and against all your enemies," 
 was the Doctor s assuring reply. 
 
 Again came the fervent " Thank God ! Thank God ! " 
 And with the words still murmuring on his lips, the pre 
 maturely old man, a wreck in body and mind, crossed 
 the threshold of the earliest, best, and truest friend he 
 had ever known ; the friend between whom and him 
 self wealth had, years before, thrown up a wall of sep 
 aration. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HE first concern of Doctor Hofland was 
 to ascertain, with all possible exactness 
 the mental condition of his patient. It 
 was after midnight, when he sat down, 
 alone, with him, in a chamber luxuri 
 antly furnished in comparison with any 
 thing Adam Guy had seen for over ten 
 desolate years ; a chamber that could 
 not fail to bring back a vivid remembrance of the past. 
 " You are safe here," said the Doctor, with a kind 
 assurance. " Call this room your own, and occupy it 
 as long as you please." 
 
 He gazed earnestly into the changed face of his old 
 friend, trying to recall former looks and features ; but 
 the search baffled him. Adam Guy, if living, would 
 not be over fifty-four years of age ; this person seemed 
 not less than threescore and ten. Doubts crept in, 
 stealthily. 
 
 " Call this my room my room ? " With a dumb, 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 225 
 
 bewildered air, the man let his eyes wander around the 
 apartment. " It s a long time since I called such a room 
 mine. Ah, well ! " He sighed deeply, dropped his 
 eyes to the floor, and seemed to lose himself. 
 
 " You find me very much changed, Doctor," he said, 
 looking up in a few moments, and speaking with the 
 quiet composure of a self-possessed mind. " Would 
 you have known me if you had met me on the street ? " 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 He let his eyes fall again, shook his head, and seemed 
 to have troubled thoughts. 
 
 " I m very much hurt here, Doctor very much," 
 and he laid his hand on his forehead. " Very much," 
 he repeated. Do you think I ll ever come right again ? " 
 
 There was a mournfulness in Mr. Guy s voice, as he 
 put the question, that touched Doctor Hofland. 
 
 " Why not ? " was asked, in an assuring voice. " The 
 past is past. You are free again." 
 
 " But, am I altogether safe, Doctor ? Wont they 
 find me out here ? " 
 
 " You have all the power of the law on your side, 
 and woe be to him who attempts anything against you. 
 Yes, Mr. Guy, you are altogether safe ; that is, if you 
 will be discreet, and let the judgment of your friends 
 determine what is best for the present." 
 
 "Discreet? How? What?" The thin brows 
 
 knitted themselves. He looked puzzled. 
 10* 
 
226 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 "It is now late, Mr. Guy past midnight," said 
 Doctor Hofland. " Both of us need rest and sleep. In 
 the morning we will have a long talk, and see what is 
 best to be done. If, as you say, you are hurt here " and 
 the Doctor touched his forehead "our first concern 
 must be to cure that hurt. It can be done ; but every 
 thing will depend on your giving yourself up to me, as 
 your physician, and strictly following the rules I shall lay 
 down. To-night there must be sleep. Compose your 
 mind. Try to forget the past and its wrongs in a spirit 
 of thankfulness to God who has wrought out for you a 
 great deliverance ; and who will do for you still better 
 things, if you will look to Him, and trust in Him." 
 
 " I prayed God to help me," said the poor old man. 
 " I prayed all last night. I never prayed before. Do 
 you think He heard me ? " 
 
 " His ears are always open to the cries of His children. 
 Yes, He heard you." 
 
 " And sent me this deliverance ? " 
 
 " All good is from His hands. Keep that ever in 
 your thought, and so always look to Him and trust 
 In Him. He is the Great Physician, and will cure the 
 hurt of which you complained just now. Good-night ! 
 May His peace be with you." 
 
 The Doctor moved to retire. 
 
 " His peace - His peace." The thought seemed new 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 227 
 
 to Mr. Guy, as evidenced in his repetition of this part 
 of Doctor Holland s concluding sentence. 
 
 " Yes, His peace, which flows like a river," said the 
 Doctor. Then added, as a suggestion came into his 
 mind, taking up a book as he spoke, " Let me read you 
 one of the Psalms of David. It will compose your 
 mind." And he read aloud the fifty-sixth Psalm. Mr. 
 Guy listened with an absorbed attention. 
 
 " If sleep does not come quickly, recall the words of 
 this Psalm, and let them dwell in your thoughts." The 
 Doctor closed the volume, and repeating his " good 
 night," went out. In the passage, near the chamber 
 door, he found Mr. Joyce, who had, by arrangement, 
 remained within call. A room adjoining the one occu 
 pied by Mr. Guy, and communicating therewith, was 
 assigned to the officer, and all needed precautions ob 
 served. 
 
 The night passed without further incident. Mr. Guy 
 went to bed on the withdrawal of Doctor Hofland, and 
 was soon fast asleep, not awaking till long after daylight. 
 He was then supplied with suitable clothing, and at his 
 own request, a barber was sent for to remove his long 
 white beard. There was considerable change in him, as 
 compared with his condition on the night before. His 
 eyes had lost tjieir glitter, and were dull. He showed 
 no excitement of manner, and but little interest in things 
 
228 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 around him. The bow, tensely strung so long, was now 
 for a time unbent. 
 
 For prudential reasons, Doctor Hofland thought it 
 best to conceal from his own family, except his wife and 
 son-in-law, the real name of the person he had received 
 into his house. At an early hour, he called on the Mayor. 
 Both men had thought, with much concern, over the 
 difficult questions involved in the case of Mr. Guy. If 
 he were really the man he represented himself to be 
 and they had few doubts on this head crime had been 
 committed, and justice must have way. When to act 
 and how to act, were things not so easily determined. 
 The decision was, to wait for a brief period in the 
 meantime, securing for Mr. Guy everything needed for 
 his comfort and restoration to mental health. Mr. La- 
 robe was to be closely observed, and his appearance and 
 movements noted from day to day. 
 
 Returning home, after this conference, Doctor Hofland 
 found his wife in much concern about their guest. 
 
 " He isn t at all in his right mind," she said ; " I 
 can t make anything out of him." 
 " Has there been any change since I left ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 "Of what kind?" 
 
 " He seems entirely lost. If you speak to him, he 
 answers vaguely. 
 
 " Where is he ? " 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 229 
 
 " Sitting in the parlor, and as still as one asleep." 
 
 Doctor Hofland went into the parlor, and found Mr. 
 Guy, as his wife had represented him, reclining in an 
 easy chair. His eyes were open ; but there was no 
 thought in them. 
 
 " How are you now ? " said the Doctor, in a cheer 
 ful voice, as he drew a chair and sat down beside him. 
 
 " Oh ! ah ! it s you, Doctor ? " A faint gleam of in 
 telligence lit up Guy s dull face. 
 
 " Yes, it s me. How do you feel now ? " 
 
 " What did you say ? " Thought, startled from lead 
 en sleep, was folding back its wings again. 
 
 " Yes, I m Doctor Hofland." 
 
 " Oh ! ah ! Doctor " The sentence died out in 
 
 partial utterance. 
 
 No effort to arouse Mr. Guy brought him nearer to 
 rational consciousness than this ; and Doctor Hofland, 
 after spending an hour in observation and study of his 
 condition, was forced to the conclusion that reason had, 
 for the time, at least, passed under an almost total eclipse. 
 Such being the case, it was necessary to have him in 
 charge of a constant attendant. This duty was, for the 
 day, and until better arrangements could be made, as 
 signed to a colored waiter, whose instructions were on 
 no account to leave him. 
 
 From this time until two o clock, Doctor Hofland was 
 absent among his patients. On returning home, he 
 
230 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 found no change in Mr. Guy. He was sitting where 
 he left him, apparently unconscious of external things. 
 Dinner being announced, he suffered himself to be taken 
 to the table, where he eat sparingly, finishing his meal 
 before the others were half done. This change partial 
 ly aroused him, and several times the Doctor noticed a 
 look of curious inquiry in his countenance, as he glanc 
 ed, almost stealthily, from face to face, around the table. 
 But, after dinner, the former stupor returned, and did 
 not pass off during the day. 
 
 The position in which Doctor Hofland found himself 
 was one of great delicacy. At first, on reflection, this 
 course seemed plain : To bring the facts in his pos 
 session to the knowledge of Adam Guy, jr., and place 
 his father at his disposal, thusrelieving himself from all 
 care or responsibility in the matter. But, the longer he 
 pondered this course, the more did objections multiply 
 themselves. He had no faith in the humanity of Adam 
 Guy, jr. By inheritance, he had received from his 
 father an absorbing love of money, which had become a 
 god, on whose altars he was ever ready to lay the most 
 precious things in sacrifice. No gain could arise to him 
 from his father s reappearance on the stage of life. Loss, 
 in all probability, would ensue ; for the will, by which 
 a portion of the estate had been divided to him, must 
 fall. In this view the Doctor did not wrong him, when 
 he doubted and, hesitated. It would be the interest of 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 231 
 
 Adam Guy, jr. to assume that the man claiming to be 
 his father was an imposter ; and, therefore, instead of 
 searching for evidence in favor of the claim, he would 
 most likely collude with Mr. Larobe for the production 
 of proofs on the other side. Moreover, if his father 
 were given up to him in his present mental stupor, he 
 would be placed in an asylum, and might again come 
 under the power of Mr. Larobe and his wife, whose 
 stake in the case was highest of all, and who, if they 
 lost in the desperate game they were playing, lost every 
 thing. 
 
 The more Doctor Hofland dwelt on this latter view, 
 the less inclined was he to let the poor wreck in his 
 hands pass beyond all possible control. 
 
 " In providence," he said in his thought, " the guar 
 dianship has been committed to me ; and, as things are, 
 I cannot see that it would be right to pass it to another. 
 To give him over to them as he now is, would be, in 
 my opinion, little less than abandoning a lamb to the 
 wolves. He is in no condition to prove his identity, and 
 I have not the clue by which the mystery of this wrong 
 may be surely unravelled." 
 
 This opinion of the case strengthened the longer it 
 was dwelt upon, and the final determination of Doctor 
 Hofland, after further conference with the Mayor, was 
 to let everything rest, until some change in Mr. Guy s 
 mental condition, or some movement on the part of 
 
232 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Larobe, made action necessary. In the 
 meantime, the restoration of Mr. Guy s darkened reason 
 was to be the chief object in view, so far as he was con 
 cerned. 
 
 And now let us return to Mr. and Mrs. Larobe, whom 
 we left shuddering in the face of a dreaded retribution. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 LL through the sleepless night that 
 followed the last recorded interview 
 between Justin Larobe and his wife, 
 the former heard, at not remote in 
 tervals, movements in the room ad 
 joining the one he occupied, which, to 
 his excited imagination, had myste 
 rious import. A door communicated 
 with this room ; but before retiring he had turned the 
 key, which happened to be on his side of the lock. 
 Two or three times he fancied that a hand was laid on 
 this door, and an attempt made to open it ; and on 
 these occasions he would rise up in bed, and listen with 
 that breathless concern which makes every heart-beat 
 audible in the ears. It was a night full of strange 
 terrors. Out of the darkness looked upon him a ma 
 lign face. He saw it with shut or open eyes, just the same. 
 Watching him from the covert of half closed lids, was a 
 
234 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 spirit cruel as death atliirst with an insatiate desire to 
 work him evil. Well did he know the face ! 
 
 Morning came at last, and with the firot feeble in 
 trusions of dull gray light, the haunting face withdrew. 
 Rising, almost with the dawn, Mr. Larobe dressed him 
 self, and went down stairs. His movements had been 
 quite noiseless. No sound coming at this time from 
 the adjoining chamber, occupied by his wife, he acted 
 on the presumption that she was asleep, and moved 
 silently in order not to disturb her. Half way down he 
 stopped to listen. Had his ears deceived him ? or 
 was that the rustle of a dress ? He stood still, hearken 
 ing. 
 
 " A mere fancy," he said to himself, and kept on. 
 Only a dim light penetrated the hall. One of the par 
 lor doors stood half open. Pressing it back with his 
 hand, Mr. Larobe entered, and was near a window, 
 which he designed opening, when a sound in the room 
 arrested his steps. Turning quickly, he tried to make 
 out some object ; but the light was insufficient. A mo 
 ment afterwards, and his hand had thrown a shutter 
 open, letting in the day. In the effort to conceal her 
 self behind a column, stood Mrs. Larobe, with a face 
 like marble cold and changeless. She did not move, 
 as the light came in. 
 
 " Jane ! " The word dropped in sudden surprise 
 from Mr. Larobe s lips. No response was made. Close 
 against the column, which partly hid her person, the 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 235 
 
 woman continued to stand, with her eyes fixed on Mr. 
 Larobe the same eyes that all night long had haunt 
 ed him. 
 
 " Jane ; why are you here at this time ? " Mr. 
 Larobe came slowly down the room. He spoke with 
 assumed severity. She did not answer, nor for an in 
 stant withdraw her eyes. Something in their expres 
 sion chilled him. On coming nearer, he saw that she 
 was dressed for going out ; and that her bonnet and 
 cloak were lying on a sofa. 
 
 " Jane ; there is one thing you had best understand," 
 said Mr. Larobe, speaking with impressive earnestness, 
 not severely as just before and in the tone of one who 
 appealed to reason. " Unless we act in concert, all is 
 lost. There must be no unconsidered step. A false 
 movement, and we are at the end. It is too late now 
 for retrograde action. Everything done, for good or 
 ill, will abide. I pray you, therefore, to be circum 
 spect. Trust in me a little longer. My mind is calm 
 er than yours. Imminent danger does not unnerve me, 
 as it unnerves you. The cool head, the alert will, the 
 self-reliance that cannot be overthrown in these lie 
 our only hope." 
 
 " It is too late, sir ! " she answered,- in a dull, per 
 verse way, as she moved from the column behind which 
 she had been standing. " Not the cool head, but the 
 fiery heart, now. This ! " half unsheathing a long 
 
236 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 dirk "Not that!" touching significantly her fore 
 head. Mr. Larobe shuddered. 
 
 " Dead men," she added, " tell no tales. If you 
 could have been made to understand the value of that 
 saying years ago, our feet would have been on a rock." 
 
 Turning away, Mrs. Larobe went to the sofa on 
 which her bonnet and shawl were lying, and catching 
 them up in a resolute manner, commenced putting them 
 on. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " was demanded, in a tone 
 of authority. 
 
 " To do my own will," replied Mrs. Larobe, with 
 undisguised contempt, yet fiercely, as one who meant 
 to have her way. 
 
 " I warned you last night, Jane ! " 
 
 " You ! Coward ! A woman means to shame you ! " 
 The words were flung at him in bitter scorn. 
 
 She had fastened her cloak, and was now tying her 
 bonnet strings. The stronger light that was coming 
 in through the window, fell upon her face. Its cold 
 impassiveness was gone. Flashes of insane fire shot 
 from her eyes cruel resolution dwelt on her firm lips. 
 From an almost insensate image, she had become trans 
 formed to a fiend. 
 
 " There are some things more to be dreaded, Justin 
 Larobe, than a conviction of murder," she said. " More 
 fearful risks attend on his life than on his death. Place 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 237 
 
 the seal of eternal silence on his lips, and you remove a 
 witness whose testimony is destruction. The dead 
 body of a poor lunatic is voiceless. Let him die, and 
 his secret with him ! As for after consequences, we can 
 meet them as they come ; the worst having been es 
 caped." 
 
 She was moving towards the hall while she spoke, 
 with a determined step, evidently intending to leave 
 the house ; but Mr. Larobe started forward, and gain 
 ing the door, stood directly in front of her. 
 
 " It must not be, Jane ! " He spoke with stern res 
 olution in his manner. " You are beside yourself! " 
 
 " Hinder me at your peril ! " cried Mrs. Larobe, 
 raising her hand quickly, and dashing it forward. The 
 gleam of a dirk knife caught Mr. Larobe s eyes, and he 
 leaped backward in time to avoid the blow which had 
 been aimed at him. In the fright and irresolution that 
 followed, Mrs. Larobe nearly succeeded in getting off; 
 but, he recovered himself in time to grapple with her 
 before she passed the vestibule door and wrest the in 
 strument of murder from her hand. In the struggle, 
 she lost all self-control, and filled the house with wild 
 hysteric screams, arousing the servants and children, 
 who came running down with frightened faces, half 
 dressed, or in their night-clothes. Their presence had 
 the effect to allay, in a degree, the mad excitement of 
 Mrs. Larobe. 
 
238 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Go for Doctor Holbrook," said Mr. Larobe, speak 
 ing to one of the servants, " and say that I wish to see 
 him immediately." 
 
 Mrs. Larobe did not object. Even in her blind pas 
 sion, she saw that it would be safest to let the mystery 
 of this scene find explanation in supposed mental de 
 rangement, in order to draw conjecture as far from the 
 truth as possible. So, she permitted herself to be taken 
 to her chamber. Into this apartment, Mr. Larobe did 
 not suffer either the servants or children to intrude ; 
 but, shutting them on the outside, attempted to deal 
 with the case alone. 
 
 Pale, panting, quivering in every nerve, Mrs. Larobe 
 sat down, and lifting her wild eyes to the face of the 
 man she had no legal or moral right to call her husband, 
 demanded of him his purpose in ordering the attendance 
 of their physician. 
 
 " You can see him or not, according to your own 
 good pleasure,-" was his coldly spoken answer. 
 
 " I shall not see him," she replied. 
 
 " As you will. But, if I were in your place, I 
 would feign sickness. I covered your wicked attempt 
 on my life, by ordering the physician. He will be here, 
 I doubt not, in less than twenty minutes. Some good 
 reason must appear for the hurried summons. Invent 
 one to suit yourself but see him ; that is my advice." 
 
 "What will you say to him? " demanded Mrs. La- 
 robe. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 239 
 
 " I have not come to a decision yet," was evasively 
 answered. She looked at him with sharp suspicion. 
 
 " One thing, madam, is clear," said Mr. Larobe, 
 speaking now with a stern severity of tone, " from 
 what has occurred this morning, it is clear that you are 
 not a safe person to be at large." 
 
 He paused to observe the effect of this declaration, 
 made almost without thought. There was little appar 
 ent change in Mrs. Larobe. Almost the only notice 
 able response was a repressed manner, as if she felt con 
 scious of a superior force. 
 
 " Life is too precious a thing to be left unguarded." 
 He paused again, but she did not answer. 
 
 " You have grown desperate, and would take the 
 life that stands in your way Knowing this, my duty is 
 plain." 
 
 " What ! " She threw out the word with a quick, 
 yet half repressed impulse. 
 
 " I would be guilty before the law, if I did not limit 
 your power to do harm." 
 
 A long shivering sigh was the only response. 
 
 There came a knock at the chamber door. Mr. La- 
 robe crossed the room, and partly opening the door, re 
 ceived a letter which the hand of a servant passed in. 
 His name was on the envelope. Opening it he read 
 
 " JUSTIN LAROBE, ESQ. SIR : Last night after 
 eleven o clock, the Mayor of the city, accompanied by 
 
240 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 Doctor Hofland and a police officer, came to my house, 
 and removed the old man. I give you the earliest pos 
 sible notice of the fact. I m afraid there is trouble in 
 the wind. I hope you have not deceived me as to this 
 person s identity. 
 
 " Yours, &c., BLACK." 
 
 " What is it ? Who is it from ? " Mrs. Larobe 
 was questioning eagerly before the contents of the let 
 ter were half comprehended. Mr. Larobe, after twice 
 reading the commnuication, handed it to his compan 
 ion, and sitting down, covered his face. The long 
 dreaded catastrophe was knocking at his door. 
 
 " Fool ! Fool ! Fool ! " Mr. Larobe started from 
 his shrinking posture. The word was sent into his ears 
 in a mad, despairing cry, the voice rising with each rep 
 etition. 
 
 " For heaven s sake, Jane, keep down this excite 
 ment ! All is not yet lost ; but, all will be, unless 
 complete self-possession is restored. As things are, so 
 must we take them and deal with them. Suddenly we 
 come into new peril. Shall we sit down, like fright 
 ened children, or dumb animals, and let destruction 
 overwhelm us ; or shall we look right and left, upwards 
 and downwards, for a way of escape ? " 
 
 " There is no escape," Mrs. Larobe answered, her 
 face a dead blank. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 241 
 
 " When the ship is sinking, who escape ? " said the 
 other. " Those who fold their arms in despair, or 
 those who are on the look-out for means of safety ? 
 The courageous, the hopeful, the alert they come 
 out of danger, while the doubting perish. Jane, if 
 there ever was a time when both you and I needed to 
 be cool, self-possessed, and united in action, it is now. 
 There is a magazine under us, and all the steps we take 
 are on grains of powder that friction may ignite. 
 Even caution may not save us ; but, blind dashing 
 about from side to side, and heedless stampings of the 
 feet, can only make destruction sure. Sit down, and 
 listen." 
 
 Mrs. Larobe sat down, and looked with a kind of 
 passive incredulity at her companion, who went on 
 
 " Jane, there is one thing to be remembered. Proof 
 of identity in a case like this will be difficult. Almost 
 everything will rest with Du Pontz ; and his safety is 
 involved as well as our own. The death and burial of 
 Mr. Guy are things of record and public notoriety. 
 This man will have the disability of supposed impos 
 ture to contend with from the start. Adam will deny 
 and contest his claim from the very outset ; for, if 
 made good, it will dispossess him of twenty thousand 
 dollars, and the interest on that sum for ten years. My 
 standing in the community, and yours, also, will have 
 
 weight. The case will present unpleasant and huinili- 
 11 
 
242 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 ating features ; but, it cannot go against us, if we de 
 fend it bravely and with fair-fronted innocence." 
 
 Mrs. Larobe made no reply. In the pause that fol 
 lowed, came another rap on the door. 
 
 " What is wanted ? " called Mr. Larobe. 
 
 " The Doctor has come." 
 
 " Very well. Say that I will be down in a moment." 
 
 The servant retired. Mr. Larobe stood in thought 
 for some time. 
 
 " How do you propose meeting the case, Jane ? " 
 
 "I do not intend seeing the Doctor," was replied. 
 " Make what excuse you please. Anything to suit 
 yourself. I am indifferent. You can have me put in 
 the insane hospital, if that please your fancy. Perhaps, 
 as things now stand, this course would be prudent." 
 
 Mrs. Larobe spoke in a dead level tone. The per 
 plexed lawyer looked at her searchingly, but tried in 
 vain to read her state. Was the last suggestion made 
 in irony, or from a latent conviction that there might 
 be safety in this direction? As Mr. Larobe went 
 slowly down stairs, he pondered this view of the case. 
 
 " Good morning, Doctor," he said, in an assumed 
 cheerful voice, as he met the young physician. " You 
 were rather hastily sent for, in a moment of needless 
 fright. Mrs. Larobe was up rather earlier than usual 
 having had a sleepless night from neuralgia and 
 in going down stairs, slipped and fell. In her fright. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 243 
 
 she screamed out, and alarmed the family ; and you 
 were sent for in the confusion that ensued. Fortunate 
 ly, no hurt was sustained. She is now sleeping, and it 
 will be best not to disturb her." 
 
 " You think there was no injury ? " The Doctor s 
 suspicious eyes gave Mr. Larobe an uneasy sensation. 
 
 44 None whatever," he returned, " beyond a slight 
 bruise on the arm." 
 
 44 Did the neuralgic pain continue ? " 
 
 44 No. The shock received in falling, dispersed the 
 pain entirely. Sleep naturally followed relief. This 
 is a new remedy, Doctor, not down in the books." 
 And Mr. Larobe affected a humorous state of mind. 
 44 But one hardly safe in application." 
 
 44 Hardly," answered the Doctor, but without res 
 ponding to the smile Larobe had forced into his troubled 
 countenance. 44 1 will leave a prescription, the medi 
 cine to be taken when she awakes. There may have 
 been an internal shock, the effect of which has not yet 
 become apparent." 
 
 44 Do so, if you please, Doctor. I will send for the 
 medicine immediately, and see that she has it as soon as 
 this sleep passes." 
 
 Doctor Holbrook wrote a prescription, and then went 
 away. Something in his manner left an uneasy feeling 
 with Mr. Larobe. He did not remember, until after 
 the physician s departure, that he was son-in-law to 
 
244 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 Doctor Hofland. When this recollection came, it was 
 as if water had fallen on his head and trickled coldly to 
 his feet. 
 
 * How the path narrows ! " he said, w r ith a shiver* 
 and sat down alone to think. But, he did not long re 
 main alone. There was a foot-sound on the floor, and 
 looking up, he met the cold, hard face of Mrs. Larobe 
 hard with the congelation of bad passions. 
 
 "Where is the Doctor ? " She glanced around the 
 room. 
 
 " Gone." 
 
 " Gone ! What did you say to him ? " 
 
 " That you were asleep." 
 
 " Ah ! asleep ? God knows if I shall ever sleep again ! 
 It were better to be dead, than to live in this terror. 
 Asleep ! Ha ! ha ! You are quick witted, Mr. Larobe, 
 quick witted ! Game to the last ha ! ha ! That was 
 handsomely done ! Asleep, but somnambulic ! Don t 
 look at me with such a scowl. I must laugh a little. 
 And so we are rid of the Doctor. But, do you know 
 who he is, Justin ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 kt Doctor Hofland s son-in-law ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The Devil s net has many meshes. I doubt if we get 
 free, Justin. Reynard, with all his turnings and doub 
 lings is generally caught at last. This is a hard way to 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 245 
 
 walk in sore-footed and weary-limbed, I can go no 
 farther. Long and long ago our feet departed from 
 smooth and level roads, and ever since sharp stones 
 have cut, steep hills wearied, and miry sloughs exhausted 
 the strength. And now, as I look onward, I see stonier 
 ways and steeper hills, and blacker pools, down into 
 which we must sink and be lost. Let us end all this, 
 Justin." . 
 
 Her voice sunk into a calm, persuasive tone. 
 
 " Let us put the baying hounds forever off of our 
 track. What if, in the fierce struggle for all we hold 
 dear in life, that is now coming upon us, we are victors ? 
 Will not even victory be defeat ? What will be left 
 worth living for ? I can see nothing nothing. Tar 
 nished honor shattered fortune, most likely social 
 ostracism. No no no ! I am not now strong 
 
 O 
 
 enough to meet all this. I want rest and peace rest 
 and peace, and where shall I find them but in " She 
 paused, looking earnestly at Mr. Larobe, reading the 
 expression of his face. " The grave ? " she added, 
 speaking the words in a rising instead of a falling in 
 flection. 
 
 Mrs. Larobe shut her lips tightly, and with an erect 
 position of her body, awaited an answer. It came in 
 these words 
 
 u While there is life there is hope, Jane. I have 
 still manhood enough left for a strife with fate ; and I 
 
246 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 will battle, bold-fronted, to the last. If you can stand 
 up by my side, well ; if not " 
 
 The sentence was left unfinished, but his meaning 
 was clear. A little while they stood opposite to each 
 other, in a mutual effort to penetrate the veil that hid 
 interior thoughts and purpose. Mrs. Larobe moved 
 first. Slowly turning, but without remark, she went 
 into the hall, and ascended to her room. Mr. Larobe 
 did not follow her. It was impressed on his mind, that 
 she would act in the line of her intimation ; and he 
 was not wrong. At the breakfast table they met again. 
 She had the cold, stony look he had noticed earlier in 
 the morning. The children observed her with strange, 
 questioning eyes ; and Blanche, the simple-minded girl, 
 left her place two or three times during the meal, and 
 putting an arm around her mother s neck, said plaintive- 
 
 iy- 
 
 " Don t look so, ma. It hurts me." 
 
 At dinner time they met again. The face of Mrs. 
 Larobe was colder, stonier, and more unreadable. 
 Neither was disposed to be communicative. 
 
 At early twilight they met again ; but now it was as 
 the dead and living meet. Another act in this life- 
 tragedy is over, and as the curtain falls, you see the pulse 
 less body of Mrs. Larobe, lying upon a sofa, in her own 
 chamber, where it had been lying for an hour. As to 
 the cause and manner of this death, we will not curious- 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 247 
 
 ly inquire. Enough, that life s fitful fever was over, 
 and that she slept her mortal sleep. Of the dreams that 
 came inthis sleep, we have no revelation ; and so, the 
 curtain that fell, as the act closed, must rise on other 
 scenes. 
 
H^oT^C^: 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 WO months have passed. Mr. Guy 
 is still at the house of Doctor Hofland, 
 but the secret of his presence there 
 has not transpired. The sudden death 
 of Mrs. Larobe gave rise to many 
 stories, some of them so near the truth, 
 with all its strange and improbable 
 features, that sensible people rejected 
 them as the baldest kind of inventions. 
 
 Contrary to expectation, Mr. Guy did not rally from 
 the mental torpor into which he fell after his prison 
 door was opened and his fetters stricken off. The re 
 laxed fibres of the overbent bow, did not contract and 
 toughen again. A harmless, quiet, dreaming old man, 
 he would sit for hours in his room, or with the family, 
 not a thought seeming to stir the external surface ot 
 his mind. The book of his past life was shut, or the 
 writing therein effaced. Memory was a blank. Some 
 times, as the inner man looked out into the world of 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 249 
 
 external things, and curiosity stirred as in a child, he 
 would ask the name of some common thing, as a knife, 
 a spoon or a chair, and repeat it over, trying to fix the 
 answer in his thought. Observing him closely from, 
 day to day, Doctor Hofland saw that he was beginning 
 to gather up a few shreds of knowledge, and that the 
 possession of these was interesting him, and creating a 
 hunger for further acquirements. Very, very slow was 
 the progress ; but still there was progress. This fact, 
 when clearly seen by Doctor Hofland, determined his 
 future course. He recognized a Providence in the series 
 
 O 
 
 of events which had placed Mr. Guy in his hands, and 
 so far as his agency for good towards the now helpless 
 imbecile would go, it must be freely given. The secret 
 of his identity rested with himself -and the Mayor, and, 
 for the present, would rest there. 
 
 Very closely had Doctor Hofland studied the charac 
 ter of Mr. Ewbank, and that of his wife. Soon after 
 Mr. Guy came into his house, he had conceived the 
 plan of giving him into the charge of his daughter and 
 her husband ; and with this in view, he had gone nearer 
 to them, and made observation at all points. The more 
 he saw, and the deeper he reflected, the stronger was 
 his conviction that, with them, Mr. Guy would be in 
 the best attainable condition. The question as to 
 whether it were advisable or not, to let them into the 
 
 grave secret of his personality, or leave it for time and 
 11* 
 
250 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 circumstances to discover, was for a long time debated. 
 He had them frequently at his house, where they saw 
 Mr. Guy, and became much interested in him. The case 
 presented many novel features to Mr. Ewbank, and he 
 thought of, and talked of it with Doctor Hofland, a 
 great deal. When, at last, the Doctor suggested his 
 taking charge of the case, with a view to drawing forth 
 the slumbering faculties and educating them anew, the 
 proposition was not unfavorably received. Mrs. Ewbank 
 had been interested in him from the first, and he had 
 responded in a pleased way to her attentions. The 
 pecuniary consideration, which Doctor Hofland felt 
 justified in offering, was in itself so liberal, that taking 
 the limited means of Mr. and Mrs. Ewbank into con 
 sideration, it offered" a motive not to be disregarded. 
 
 " I have heard, or read, of cases resembling this," 
 said Mr. Ewbank, in talking over the subject with Doc 
 tor Hofland, " but always thought them exaggerated. 
 Standing face to face with a mental phenomenon so very 
 remarkable, I confess to being deeply interested. Mem 
 ory is completely veiled. He is like one newly born, 
 with the pages of his spirit yet unwritten upon, and like 
 a child in the simple innocence of ignorance. He is not 
 insane nor idiotic but with the undeveloped mind 
 of a child. He must be taught and led. Have you 
 found him always docile ? " 
 
 " Always," replied the Doctor. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 251 
 
 t 
 
 " And gradually gaining interest in things around 
 him ? " 
 
 " Gradually, but very slowly." 
 
 " What do medical books say in regard to these cases. 
 Memory is suddenly restored, I think ? " 
 
 " That is the usual result. Suddenly the veil is rent, 
 and the past revived." 
 
 44 Do you know the particulars of Mr. Elliot s former 
 life ? " (Elliot was the name by which Mr. Guy was 
 called in Doctor Hofland s family, and he accepted it as 
 a true name, just as he did that of a chair or a door.) 
 
 44 Something of them. But, as I have intimated be 
 fore, there are circumstances which make it necessary 
 to let former things, so far as he is concerned, lie buried 
 for the present. I can only say, that the righting of 
 great wrongs depends on his being once more clothed 
 and in his true mind ; and that if you can aid in the 
 work, you will have done what must prove to you a 
 life-long satisfaction." 
 
 44 1 try to hold myself ready for all good work, Doc 
 tor ; and, somehow, my heart goes forth towards this, 
 with a living desire. When I spoke of his former life, 
 it had more reference to his interior than to his exterior 
 state. Was he a selfish, sordid, worldly man ; or, gen 
 erous and humane? Did he live only for himself; or, 
 was others good kept in his regard ? " 
 
262 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 r 
 
 " He was selfish, sordid, worldly seeking no good 
 but his own." 
 
 Mr. Ewbank looked disappointed. 
 
 " I had hoped that it was different," he said. 
 
 " He lived only for himself. Even natural feeling 
 seemed dead in his heart," said the Doctor. " I could 
 almost wish the past never restored, if with the restora 
 tion his former life returned. Ah ! if he could, as an 
 innocent child, under better auspices, grow up to reason 
 ing manhood. If tender and holy affections could be 
 so ..stored up in his forming mental states, that in a 
 second manhood he might be saved by their influence. 
 My fear, Mr. Ewbank, is, that when memory comes 
 back, and old habits of feeling and thought revive, he 
 will be the hard, selfish man of old. But He, without 
 whom a sparrow falls not, holds him in the hollow of 
 His hand ; and I have faith in the good to come from 
 the great suffering through which he has been led, and 
 now given, as a passive child, into our care." 
 
 "Was he religious in early life?" asked Mr. Ew 
 bank. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " ftave you any knowledge of his childhood? " 
 
 " Very little. It was not a pleasant childhood, how 
 ever. A few times I heard him make reference thereto, 
 and it was, generally, coupled with a sneer at bigots and 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWAJtDS. 253 
 
 hypocrites. With these he classed the majority of reli 
 gious people." 
 
 " One thing is plain," said Mr. Ewbank. " The first 
 and greatest work is, to teach him that there is a God, 
 who loves him and cares for him a God who is ever 
 present, though unseen, and watching over him for 
 good. If this idea can be fixed among the first things 
 that find entrance into his mind, so as to be woven in 
 with all that follows, we may sow precious seed in the 
 ground of this new childhood ; seed that may bear 
 fruit even in the old manhood, if it returns." 
 
 " Ah, sir ! There is a great work here; If you are 
 equal to the task, a human soul in imminent peril may 
 be saved." Doctor Hofland spoke with much feeling. 
 " It looks as if in you, God has provided for the case of 
 this man." 
 
 " I cannot say how that may be," answered Mr. 
 Ewbank. " What seems right to be done, in the 
 present, I hold it my duty to do and it seems right 
 that I should take charge of Mr. Elliot." 
 
 " You have talked it over with your wife ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How does she feel about it? " 
 
 "As I do. Something in Mr. Elliot has interested 
 her from the beginning ; and you have seen how like a 
 pleased child he acts whenever she comes here. If she 
 
254 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 were to ask him to go home with her, I am sure ho 
 would answer yes." 
 
 " The way seems plain, Mr. Ewbank." 
 
 " It does." 
 
 " And you will walk therein ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 As Mr. Ewbank had supposed, the invitation extend 
 ed to Mr. Elliot (as we will now call him) by his wife, 
 was accepted with manifestations of delight. He was 
 all eager for the visit, and entered the carriage that was 
 to convey him to the house of his daughter without a 
 shade of suspicion crossing his mind. Once there, un 
 der all the tender care and watchful solicitude with 
 which he was regarded springing in the case of Mrs- 
 Ewbank from an impulse that she could not explain, and 
 in the case of her husband, from high moral and reli 
 gious principle Mr. Elliot seemed to have no thought 
 of going away. He remembered Doctor Hofland and 
 his family ; but more as one remembers a vivid dream 
 to be dwelt upon, but not restored in actual experi 
 ence. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ewbank were not now in that poor 
 dwelling where Doctor Hofland found them on that 
 
 o 
 
 cold winter evening when the child Esther called for 
 him to go and visit little dying Theo. They had re 
 moved to a larger and pleasanter house, farther in the 
 western portion of the city ; the income of Mr. Ewbank 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 25.* 
 
 from pupils, justifying the increased expense. Mr 
 Ewbank s health was steadily improving. From the 
 time that Doctor Hofland arrested the progress of a 
 disease that seemed rapidly bearing him away, there 
 had been a steady accumulation of vital power, and 
 now he was strong for his work as well in body as in 
 mind. 
 
 It was on the afternoon of a pleasant June day that 
 Mr. Elliot found himself in the home of his new friends. 
 For a little while, Esther and Jasper, the children of 
 Mrs. Ewbank, were shy of the strange old man, who 
 looked at them in such a curious way "Just as a 
 baby looks," Esther said. But they were soon drawn 
 towards him, and mutual good feeling established. 
 Before the afternoon had gone, they were so much in 
 terested in their visitor, and he in them, that, on a sug 
 gestion being made to Mr. Elliot about his returning 
 home to Doctor Hofland s, a joint demurrer was prompt 
 ly entered. 
 
 " Why can t he stay here all night ? " asked little 
 Jasper. 
 
 " That might not be agreeable to Mr. Elliot," replied 
 Mrs. Ewbank. 
 
 " Yes, it will be agreeable. Wont it, Mr. Elliot ? " 
 said the child. 
 
 " I like it best here," he answered. 
 
256 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Oh, well, if that is so, we shall be happy to have 
 you remain," said Mr. Ewbank, in a pleasant voice. 
 
 And so it was settled that he should stay all night. 
 
 During the two months in which he remained with 
 Doctor Hofland, much time and care had been given 
 by each member of the family to his peculiar mental 
 needs, and pains had been taken to lead his mind as 
 much as possible into that knowledge of things which 
 had been so strangely lost. The names and use of 
 most common articles by which he was surrounded, 
 had been acquired, and he had not only learned his al 
 phabet anew, but was beginning to unite letters into 
 words. Thus, a fair commencement had been made. 
 The children of Mr. and Mrs. Ewbank were not very 
 liberally supplied with books and playthings ; but, they 
 had enough to afford interest and amusement to Mr. 
 Elliot during the whole afternoon. He was attracted 
 by pictures, and listened with all the pleased attention of 
 a child to the explanations that were given by Esther. 
 A box of building blocks afforded him an hour s em 
 ployment ; and when he had constructed, by their aid, 
 some architectural form, he would gaze upon it with an 
 expression of childish satisfaction not unmixed with 
 wonder. Many times, during this first afternoon of his 
 presence in the family of Mrs. Ewbank, did she pause 
 in her work to look at him, and always with an irrepres 
 sible yearning in her heart. Something beyond his 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 257 
 
 mere helplessness touched her. What it was she did 
 not know, or even try to discover. It was, with her, 
 one of those intruding mysteries of the soul, that lie out 
 of the reach of thought or experience. 
 
 In the evening, when Jasper s bed-time came he 
 was five years old he retired with his mother, and 
 after being undressed, came back and knelt down by 
 his father, to say his nightly prayer. With small 
 hands laid together, face uplifted, and eyes shut, softly, 
 the child repeated, " Our Father." The look of sur 
 prise, shaded with reverence, that fell on the counte 
 nance of Mr. Elliot, did not escape Mr. Ewbank. As 
 Jasper arose from his knees and went out with his 
 mother, after giving to all around his good night kiss, 
 the old man drooped his eyes to the floor and sat like 
 one lost in a dreaming reverie. 
 
 " What is it ? " he asked, speaking in a hushed 
 voice, and with an impression of mystery in his face, as 
 he looked up at Mr. Ewbank. 
 
 " Jasper was saying his prayers." 
 
 But Mr. Elliot was not enlightened. 
 
 O 
 
 " He was praying to God," said Mr. Ewbank, point 
 ing upwards. " To God who made us all, and who 
 loves us and takes care of us." 
 
 " Did he make me ? " 
 
 " O yes. He made you and me, and every living 
 
258 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 soul. And lie loves you and cares for you, just as he 
 loves and cares for all his children." 
 
 "Is he my father? Jasper said, Our Father in 
 Heaven. Where is Heaven ? " 
 
 " Heaven is where God is, and where good angels 
 dwell with him j and God is your father and my fath 
 er, and the father of us all." 
 
 Mr. Elliot looked down at the floor again. These 
 things were almost too much for him. They crowded 
 his feebly acting thoughts. He did not speak for sever 
 al minutes, and Mr. Ewbank waited for his mind to fix 
 itself on some definite idea. At last he said, with a sigh 
 that expressed a state of relief, after effort 
 
 " My father, and he loves me ? " 
 
 The voice trembled just a little trembled with feel 
 ing. The heart of Mr. Ewbank felt a thrill of pleas 
 ure. Just what he desired had taken place. 
 
 44 Yes, your father, and he loves you," giving back 
 the thought in slowly spoken, emphatic words, that it 
 might become fixed and remain among the first and 
 most distinct things of his newly forming life. 44 And 
 to be loved by One who is as good as he is powerful, is 
 to be in safety. Only we must be obedient children. 
 He says that we must be kind and good to one an 
 other, as he is kind and good to us." 
 
 44 Does Esther pray, when she goes to bed ? " 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 259 
 
 Thonght was still searching about among the new 
 things which had come into his mind. 
 
 " O yes." 
 
 " Do you pray ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 A shadow came over the pale, exhausted counte 
 nance. 
 
 " I never pray." There was a touching sadness in 
 Mr. Elliot s voice, mingled with self-condemnation. 
 
 " Never ? " As if in surprise. 
 
 " No ; I have never prayed. I didn t know about 
 God. How do you know about him ? Who told 
 you?" There was a rising eagerness in Mr. Elliot s 
 tones. 
 
 " We have God s book, the Bible. In that he tells 
 us all about what we are to do in order to please Him." 
 
 " The Bible ! " It seemed, from his manner, as if 
 an old memory had awakened into life ; but, if it had 
 stirred, its sleep was not broken. 
 
 " Yes, the Bible." And Mr. Ewbank lifted a copy 
 of Sacred Scripture from the table near which he was 
 sitting, and opening it, read aloud a portion of one of 
 the chapters in Matthew not selected with a view to 
 Mr. Elliot s state, but simply as a portion of God s 
 Word, trusting to Divine influence for the effect. It 
 was a part of his faith, that, interior to the sense of the 
 letter of Holy Writ, which comes to the natural under- 
 
260 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 standing of man, was a divinely spiritual sense, by 
 means of which God, who is the Word, is actually pres 
 ent to all who read or hear in states of innocence and 
 true worship. And so, while not looking for this por 
 tion of Scripture to give distinct religious ideas to the 
 mind of Mr. Elliot," he trusted to its interior influence 
 and not in vain. The disturbed condition in which 
 he had been a little while before, subsided into a peace 
 ful state ; and he said, after Mr. Ewbank had finished 
 reading 
 
 " I ll pray, if you ll teach me." 
 
 When bedtime came, Mr. Ewbank went with the pas 
 sive old man to his chamber, and there heard him repeat, 
 as he gave him the sentences, that all-embracing pray 
 er, which has gone up from millions of Christian lips 
 since Christ said to his disciples 
 
 " After this manner pray ye." 
 
 Earnestly, innocently, as one of God s little ones, did 
 he offer this prayer, kneeling as he had seen Jasper 
 kneel, with hands uplifted and shut eyes. And then, 
 lying down in peace, he was asleep ere a minute had 
 passed from the time his head was on the pillow. For 
 a good while Mr. Ewbank remained looking on his wan 
 and wasted face, now so tranquil. His wife came in, 
 and stood by his side, her hands drawn through one of 
 his arms and clasped together. 
 
 " I don t know what it means," said Mrs. Ewbank, 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 261 
 
 in a whisper, " but, whenever I look at him, I feel tears 
 coming into my eyes. It is the strangest case I ve heard 
 tell of. Everything lost! His name even; for I don t 
 believe that Elliot is his true name." 
 
 " Perhaps not. All that concerns him is shrouded in 
 mystery." - Mr. Ewbank moved back from the bed, as 
 he spoke, and they retired from the chamber. u But 
 one thing is clear to my mind, Lydia," he added, as 
 they sat down in the adjoining room, " in God s provi 
 dence, he is in our hands, and we must do all for him 
 that lies in our power. It is not probable that he will 
 continue, for a very long time, in his present isolation 
 from the past. As thought awakens, through the agency 
 of instruction, it will break through the veil that has 
 dropped between his inner and outer life. This may be 
 gradual, or it may be sadden. Whenever it takes place, 
 our work is ended. Now, we have him as an ignorant 
 and innocent child ; and we must do for him what is 
 best for a child. It seems to me, that God has, in us, 
 provided for the storing up in his mind of the elements 
 of a new and truer life, by which, when reason is re 
 stored, he may have power to rise out of the old selfish 
 ness and sordidness that I learn shadowed his manhood. 
 This work is more entirely in your hands than it is in 
 mine, for it is a mother s work dealing with affection 
 more than with thought. Dear wife ! " feeling trembled 
 in his voice " you are chosen of Him whose love reache? 
 
262 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 down to the condition of every human being, to care for 
 this weak old man ; to awaken kind, tender, loving, rev 
 erent impulses in his soul. To give him a new and 
 better childhood. The seed now planted by your hands 
 may grow and bring fruit in his restored manhood. The 
 new knowledge of things which we may impart, will be 
 of use only in the degree that they help in the formation 
 of tender, unselfish, and pious states. If memory re 
 vives, he will come back into all the former things of 
 his life. My hope is, that something of what we give 
 him now, may so dwell with these things, as to form the 
 base of a new column in the structure of his mind, the 
 top of which shall reach far above the old building, and 
 stand where the pure sunlight of heaven may rest upon 
 it as a crown." 
 
 " I do not see in all things as you see," Mrs. Ewbank 
 answered, leaning towards her husband, and looking up 
 to him with loving confidence. "My eyes are not so 
 clear. But, as you lead, dear husband, I will walk. 
 The path of duty I have learned, after long discipline, 
 to be the path in which peace is to be found. It is the 
 safest way, I am sure/ 
 
 " Rightly said," answered Mr. Ewbank, " for they 
 who walk in it walk with God and when he is near 
 us evil is far distant." 
 
 " How shall I plant this seed of which you speak ? 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 263 
 
 How shall I awaken pure and good affections in his 
 mind ? " 
 
 " Love kindles love," replied Mr. Ewbank. " Show 
 him, in all your conduct, that you love and care for him 
 that you desire to make him happy ; this will draw 
 his heart towards you, and give impressiveness to all 
 you say and do. Then, into the love he will bear for 
 you, cast seeds of reverence and love for God, as they 
 are cast into the minds of children. These cannot per 
 ish. God will give increase, dear wife ! A strange 
 work has been committed to our hands. Let us, in all 
 faithfulness and humility, looking to God for help, see 
 that nothing suffers through our lack of diligence. If 
 we can save a soul, we shall do the work of angels." 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 >E shall not dwell with particulari 
 ty on the life of Mr. Elliot the 
 name by which Mr. Guy was 
 |N known in the family of Mr. 
 Ewbank. He remained there for 
 several months, during which time 
 he was docile, innocent, and often 
 sportive as a child. In this period 
 he had learned to read a little, and would often take a 
 book and sit alone, trying to gather meaning from the 
 sentences. For Mrs. Ewbank, he manifested the purest 
 love ; and was always happiest when by her side. Her 
 word was his law ; not her word spoken in author 
 ity, but the simple expression of her will. When 
 she read to him, as her husband desired her to do fre 
 quently, those Bible stories which all young child 
 ren delight to hear, about Joseph and his breth 
 ren the Hebrew children of Abraham, David 
 and Daniel and of the nativity of our Lord ; he 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 265 
 
 would listen to her with that absorbed attention which 
 appropriates every sentence. Thus, his newly forming 
 memory became peopled with the men and women of 
 olden times, whose words and deeds, representative of 
 divine things, God has established as holy Scripture. 
 
 In all these months, Mr. Elliot had expressed no de 
 sire to pass beyond the threshold of his new home. He 
 would sit or stand by the window, and look on the living 
 panorama with a vague, childish wonder ; but the hard, 
 strong, involved things on the outside, instead of attract 
 ing, made him shrink back with an emotion of dread. 
 
 But at last, signs of a new state were visible ; and 
 the friends who had cared for him until care wrought 
 itself into love, began to fear and tremble. Mrs. Ew- 
 bank, noticing one day that he was unusually quiet, 
 asked, as we sometimes ask a child 
 
 " What are you thinking about ? " 
 
 He raised his eyes, and looked at her for some mo 
 ments ; then dropped them without answering. The 
 expression of his face was so completely changed, that 
 he did not appear like the same person. 
 
 " What are you thinking about, Mr. Elliot ? " Mrs. 
 Ewbank repeated the question, after a little while. 
 
 " I must have been dreaming," he answered, looking 
 up again, half perplexed, and with a faint smile breaking 
 around his lips. 
 
266 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Of what were you dreaming ? " Mrs. Ewbank 
 half held her breath for the reply. 
 
 " I don t know. It s all gone now," he answered, 
 with a sigh of relief. 
 
 On the evening of the same day, Mr. Ewbank, in ad 
 dressing his wife, called her Lydia. 
 
 " That s a sweet name," said Mr. Elliot, in a tone 
 of voice that caused both Mr. and Mrs. Ewbank to look 
 at him curiously. 
 
 " Do you think so ? " remarked the latter. 
 
 " Yes. And I ve heard it before. I used to know 
 a Lydia. I wonder where she is ? " And his face grew 
 shaded and intent. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ewbank turned to each other in si 
 lence. It wajs plain to them that a few pencils of light 
 had penetrated the veil which hung between the past 
 and the present. 
 
 " Oh, I remember .now. She went away." There 
 was a quiet sadness in his voice. " She went away 
 somewhere and left me." 
 
 " And never came back ? " Mrs. Ewbank ventured 
 to enquire. 
 
 " Never ! " He sighed again, but more deeply. 
 " Never came back again." 
 
 With a quick motion, Mr. Elliot now lifted his hand 
 and pressed it hard against his forehead, as if in pain. 
 
 " Does your head ache, Mr. Elliot ? " 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 267 
 
 He did not answer, but turned partly away, so as to 
 hide his face ; and sat perfectly motionless. Presently, 
 as they looked at him intently, they saw a slight move 
 ment of his head, and caught a stealthy look, that was 
 instantly withdrawn. He was still again for some time. 
 Mr. Ewbank now spoke to him, calling his name. Slow 
 ly turning, and withdrawing his hand from his forehead, 
 Mr. Elliot asked, with a degree of intelligence in his 
 voice that startled Mr. and Mrs. Ewbank 
 
 " How long have I been here ? " 
 
 " Don t you know ? " said Mr. Ewbank. 
 
 Mr. Elliot shook his head. 
 
 " Five months." 
 
 A hand was pressed tightly to his forehead again. 
 " Five months ! " He repeated the answer in a perplex 
 ed tone. Then withdrew his hand, stood up, gazed at 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ewbank searchingly, then all around the 
 room. 
 
 " Am I sleeping or waking? What does it all mean ? " 
 There was something mournful in his voice. 
 
 " Awake, Mr. Elliot, and with true friends," replied 
 Mr. Ewbank, not rising, nor seeming to be disturbed or 
 surprised. 
 
 " Mr. Elliot ! Why do you call me Mr. Elliot ?" he 
 demanded, with apparent irritation. 
 
 " It is the name your friend, Doctor Hofland, gave 
 us," was replied. 
 
268 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Doctor Hofland ! " He startled Mr. and Mrs. Ew- 
 bank with his emphatic repetition. Clasping his fore 
 head again, now with both hands, he sat down and re 
 mained entirely motionless as before. 
 
 " Will you send for him? " he asked, at length, with 
 repressed feeling. 
 
 " To-night ? " 
 
 4 Yes. I would like to see him to-night." 
 
 " He lives at a considerable distance from here, and 
 it is growing late," said Mrs. Ewbank, in a gentle, per 
 suasive way, going up to Mr. Elliot, and laying her hand 
 on him. The touch was like a charm ; for, when she 
 added " Wont it do as well for you to see him in the 
 morning?" he answered submissively 
 
 " Yes, it will do as well in the morning ; but I must 
 see him then." 
 
 " You wont go away and leave us, I hope." - Mrs. Ew 
 bank said this with real emotion, for her heart, so long 
 interested in the docile old man, had learned to love him, 
 and the thought of parting was painful. 
 
 " I will come back again, or you shall come to me," 
 he answered, almost fondly. 
 
 His mind seemed to wander a little after this to 
 play between the past and the present, and to mingle re 
 mote with recent things. 
 
 o 
 
 " I wonder where she is ! Do you know ? " He lift 
 ed lis eyes to the face of Mrs. Ewbank, after a period 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 269 
 
 of silence, in which it was plain that he was endeavor 
 ing to untangle the confused things in his mind, and 
 gazed at her with a look of troubled inquiry. 
 
 " Who ? " asked Mrs. Ewbank. 
 
 " My Lydia." And the perplexed look deepened. 
 " My Lydia," he repeated. " Didn t you know her ? 
 I m sure you must have known her." 
 
 A sudden flush came his eyes enlarged his lips 
 fell apart a tremor seized him. For a short period, he 
 was like one startled by an apparition. This passed, 
 and he was in repose again. 
 
 " Your name is Lydia." He looked at Mrs. Ewbank 
 with returning fondness. 
 
 " Yes, that is my name." 
 
 " And her name was Lydia." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 A shadow crept over his face he sighed, and turn 
 ed away. 
 
 " I m trying to think," he said, speaking soon after 
 wards, but a little mournfully. " I don t know where 
 she went. Oh-h I " The ejaculation was sudden, pro 
 longed, and uttered as a cry of pain. Some bitter 
 nemory had flashed into light. 
 
 " What is it, Mr. Elliot ? What hurt you ? " Mrs. 
 Ewbank drew closer, and spoke with fond familiarity. 
 
 " Dead ! Dead ! " His voice was full of grief. 
 
 " Who is dead ? " 
 
270 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Lydia my poor Lydia ! I remember it now. 
 She grew sick and died. Poor Lydia ! I m afraid " 
 He checked himself; shrunk down a little, as if under 
 the weight of some unhappy thought, and became once 
 more silent. 
 
 " Was it a long time ago ? " asked Mrs. Ewbank. 
 
 He started, with face flushing anew, and turned full 
 around upon Mrs. Ewbank, rising at the same time to 
 his feet. Eagerly, almost wildly did he search her 
 countenance. 
 
 " There was another Lydia," he said, his voice shak 
 ing. " A dead Lydia and a living one. They had the 
 same voice, and I heard it just now the same eyes 
 and hair. O, my God ! " The trembling old man 
 shut his hands over his face and stood for 1 a few moments. 
 Then withdrawing them, he said with constrained calm 
 ness 
 
 " My name is Adam Guy ! " 
 
 " And I am Lydia ! Oh, my father ! My father ! " 
 Mrs. Ewbank sprang forward, thro wing her arms around 
 his neck, and laying her head on his breast. 
 
 Past the form clinging to him, the old man looked to 
 Mr. Ewbank, who had started up, and now stood near 
 them looked to him with an almost helpless, but im 
 ploring expression, as one in a swiftly running stream, 
 ready to be swept away. Mr. Ewbank understood the 
 appeal, and, astonished as he was by so unlocked for a 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 271 
 
 denouement, said, as he made an effort to lift his wife 
 away 
 
 "If you are indeed Adam Guy, who was thought to 
 be dead, this is your daughter Lydia." 
 
 " I am Adam Guy," was almost solemnly answered. 
 
 " Father ! Father ! Father ! " Mrs. Ewbank lifted 
 her face from his breast, and with eyes full of light and 
 tears, looked at him lovingly, yet wonderingly. " And 
 you have been with me so many months, and I did not 
 know it ! O father ! Do you love me ? Do you love 
 your Lydia ? " 
 
 He did not answer in words only with kisses and 
 embraces. Love had begotten love. The old, sordid, 
 selfish father had not really loved his child; but love was 
 the chief element in that new state, which, through a 
 forming period of nearly half a year, had gained suf 
 ficient power to dwell in safety, even amid the hard, 
 cold, repellent things of his former life. 
 
 Mr. Ewbank, fearing the consequence of excitement 
 on the mental condition of Mr. Guy as we must now 
 call him drew his wife gently away, and in calm 
 words to both, suggesting gratitude to God for this 
 wonderful restoration, led their thoughts into smoother 
 channels. Still, in her eagerness to know something of 
 the great mystery enshrouding the past ten years of her 
 father s life, Lydia kept asking questions, that disturbed 
 instead of tranquillizing. Memory was still confused 
 
272 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 all its pages were not open. There was obscurity and 
 incoherence in the old man s answers ; and a troubled 
 effort to untangle many things. With a wise solicitude, 
 that comprehended his state, Mr. Ewbank drew his 
 thoughts as much as possible away from the unhappy 
 past, that it might dwell with present good, and have, 
 now that he was coming into his right mind, a distinct 
 perception of that Christian love and charity, in the 
 sphere of which he had been dwelling. Everything, 
 he felt, depended on the crisis which had come. If the 
 good affections and true thoughts that dwelt with him 
 in the late childhood condition of his mind, could be 
 linked, as a golden chain, whose staple was in heaven, 
 to the thoughts and affections, which, on the return of 
 reason and memory, would move his heart and brain, 
 then he might become a true man, and his last days be 
 better than his first. It was for this he had been work 
 ing, and now must come a fruitful field, or rust and 
 stubble. If the record of all that had passed in these 
 months of planting and culture, was to be sealed up, 
 alas for the restored ! Old passions, intensified by 
 wrong, would sweep him away, and he would be in the 
 hands of enemies tenfold more cruel than those from 
 whom he had escaped. No wonder that Mr. Ewbank, 
 conscious of his ignorance and weakness in a case like 
 this, looked up and prayed " Lord, give wisdom and 
 strength." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 273 
 
 Right thoughts came at the right time. Into his 
 unselfish desire to do good, flowed true perceptions. 
 As the states of Mr. Guy varied, he was able to see 
 what was best to be said or done, in order to keep those 
 golden links fast to the newly forming life. And so, as 
 the old past came slowly back, getting more and more 
 distinct, with all its horrible wrongs, the present was 
 clung to as an ark of safety, and the love that was to 
 save him kept warm love for his daughter, which so 
 flooded his heart that coldness was impossible. 
 
 After that sudden awakening to a consciousness of 
 who he was, Mr. Guy did not recover reason and mem 
 ory in full strength for a long time. 
 
 In this slow restoration was his true safety. It gave 
 opportunity for Doctor Hofland, who saw him frequent 
 ly, and for Mr. Ewbank, who watched over him with a 
 manly solicitude, to take counsel as to all that was best 
 to be done. With a passiveness that was remarkable, 
 he generally submitted to their judgment of his case, 
 letting his indeterminate thought dwell with their calm 
 er reason. 
 
 " If you think best." How often he so replied to 
 their arguments against his expressed wish to summon 
 Mr. Larobe to the defensive, and drive him to punish 
 ment and restitution. They understood better than he, 
 the difficulties that were in -the way. The proof of 
 identity must be complete, and many links in the chain 
 
> 274 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 of evidence were lacking. Sometimes, in his varying 
 states, Mr. Guy would grow restive, or impatient. 
 Then it was that his daughter s power over him became 
 manifest. A word of gentle remonstrance the pres 
 sure of her hand on his hand or arm a soft, persuasive 
 smile there was a magic in these that softened him 
 into confidence and submission. The love she had 
 awakened did not die, but seemed to gain strength daily, 
 twining itself as a golden thread amid all his awakening 
 thoughts, passions, desires and purposes. In the new 
 future that opened to his onward-reaching eyes, he saw 
 l.er always ; saw her, and the great reward of love and 
 benefit that it was in his heart to bestow. 
 
 It is a fact to be noticed, that no suspicion of a selfish 
 end in Mr. Ewbank, crept into Mr. Guy s heart. As 
 one of the guards against this, Doctor Hofland had taken 
 occasion, at the earliest moment in which he would be 
 comprehended, to assure Mr. Guy, that neither his 
 daughter or her husband- had entertained a suspicion of 
 who he was until he discovered himself. There was 
 another reason. A man of pure motives bears with 
 him a sphere of his quality, which those who come into 
 intimate association perceive. Mr. Guy felt this sphere, 
 and it had power not only to keep all suspicion back, 
 but to win his perfect confidence. He felt safe with 
 Mr. Ewbank felt that he was a friend, in a higher and 
 truer sense than he had before understood that term ; 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 275* 
 
 
 
 and not only this, but of such judgment and discretion, 
 that he might trust him as the wisest of counsellors. 
 
 Thus it stood with Mr. Guy, two months from the 
 period when light broke into his mind. Without con 
 sulting him in regard to what they were doing, Mr. 
 Ewbank and Doctor Hofland, through the agency of 
 one of the soundest and most discreet lawyers in the 
 city, were diligently, but secretly, at work, searching 
 for evidence that, when brought together, would prove 
 the identity of Mr. Guy beyond the reach of cavil, and 
 so establish him in all his legal rights. The movements 
 of Mr. Larobe were observed closely. The property 
 which his late wife held in her own right, by reservation 
 at marriage, and which, by will, she had left to her 
 children, did not come under his control, as she named 
 executors. But, a considerable portion of it was in 
 volved in mixed transactions under his old executorship 
 of Mr. Guy s estate. The executors under Mrs. La- 
 robe s will, early became satisfied that all was not right, 
 and gave the lawyer peremptory warning of their pur 
 pose to press matters to a legal inquiry, unless the prop 
 erty claimed by the instrument under which they were 
 acting, was placed, free from all entanglement with any 
 other interests, into their hands. There was demur, 
 and affected defiance on his part ; but, standing as he 
 knew himself to be, on the brink of a precipice, he took 
 counsel of prudence, and yielded everything so that 
 
276 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 the entire property claimed by the testator, amounting 
 in value to over sixty thousand dollars, was safe for her 
 heirs. Thus, only about twenty thousand dollars of all 
 the large estate which Larobe had ventured upon the 
 crime of bigamy to secure, actually remained with him. 
 He had accepted the terms of settlement required before 
 marriage, trusting to his future power over his wife, and 
 ability to mismanage her affairs in -a way to secure all 
 the benefits contemplated in this criminal alliance. But, 
 the events he would have shaped, were under that high 
 er control which always limits the power of evil, and 
 surely, sooner or later, casts down the wicked. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 HE movements of Larobe, as we have 
 said, were closely observed. It was 
 plain to those who had him under 
 surveillance, that he had lost much of 
 the old self-reliant manner ; was alert 
 suspicious uneasy. Even in court, 
 a change was apparent. He did not 
 come up to the defence or prosecution 
 of his cases, with that absorption of himself into the 
 causes under trial, that distinguished him of old, and so 
 often wrought the success which would not otherwise 
 have been achieved. In a comparatively short time 
 age had marked him, as though touched by years. His 
 hair was losing its darker shades rapidly, and his flesh 
 shrinking. Care-worn that word gives the expression 
 of his face, when in repose. He was beginning to stoop 
 a little, as if yielding to the weight of a perpetual bur 
 den. 
 
 As far as could be ascertained, no changes m the con- 
 
278 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 dition of his real property were made, beyond what was 
 necessary in his settlements with the executors of his 
 late wife s estate. He seemed to be like one hiding and 
 waiting for a danger to pass a danger so threatening, 
 that the very effort to escape might ensure destruction. 
 
 Mrs. Larobe s death took place before Edwin Guy 
 had succeeded in negotiating the notes extorted from his 
 unhappy mother-in law. Mr. Glastonbury s conduct in 
 this matter did not seem open and fair to Edwin, and 
 more than once he suspected him to be playing false. 
 There was always some plausible reason why the notes 
 were not sold, and always some new opening, with flat 
 tering chances. At last, losing all patience, Edwin de 
 manded of his lawyer a return of the notes. A little 
 to his surprise, Glastonbury took a pocket-book from his 
 fire-proof, and produced the paper. 
 
 " Take them," he said, quietly, " but let me suggest 
 caution. There is something in the wind that I cannot 
 make out. You may stumble on a wasp s nest, and get 
 stung." 
 
 " What do you mean ? From whence is danger 
 threatened ? " asked the young man. 
 
 " I am not at liberty to speak of what is in my 
 thoughts. Some under-current of things is moving ad 
 versely to our friend Mr. Larobe I can see that 
 but of its character I am not advised. Since the death 
 of his wife, he has changed rapidly. It is scarcely a 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 279 
 
 month since her sudden decease, and her loss, or some 
 thing else " 
 
 " Something else you may be sure," said Edwin, with 
 sarcasm in his voice. 
 
 "Has profoundly disturbed his peace," added the 
 lawyer. 
 
 " He may have murdered her, as he murdered my 
 father. It is the guilty conscience, you may depend on t. 
 No, not conscience either; that was seared long ago. 
 It s fear of retribution a haunting terror, that is eat 
 ing into his life." 
 
 " I know not how that may be. Such grave charges, 
 however, my young friend, should not be made, except 
 on very clear evidence, and I must caution you against 
 toofree speaking in this direction. Trouble, not antici 
 pated, may be the consequence." 
 
 " What would you suggest in regard to these notes ? " 
 asked Edwin, not responding to Mr. Glastonbury s last 
 remark. 
 
 " Keep them in your own possession." 
 
 " They will not be paid at maturity, by the executors 
 of my mother-in-law s estate." 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 " Would you advise a suit, or an offer to abandon the 
 notes for a consideration ? " 
 
 " I am not, as things stand, prepared to suggest any 
 thing in the way of action. For the present, keep just 
 
280 WHAT CAME AF.TERWARDS. 
 
 where you are. If there is no gain, there is no loss. 
 Before the maturity of these notes, events may happen 
 that will not only make them as worthless as waste 
 paper, but " 
 
 Mr. Glastonbury checked himself so suddenly, that 
 Edwin looked at him in surprise. 
 
 " But what ? " 
 
 " You are not a very discreet young man, Mr. Guy," 
 said the lawyer, speaking with entire self-possession. 
 " So far, in this business, you have acquired an advant 
 age by some four thousand dollars, but in a way I could 
 not have advised. On the principle, that a bird in the 
 hand is worth two in the bush, you have considered 
 yourself the gainer, and maybe you are ; but, we never 
 can tell what a day may bring forth. I am of the 
 opinion, that events will prove you to have lost, instead 
 of gained in this transaction." 
 
 " Why do you say this ? What do you know ? " de 
 manded Edwin. 
 
 " I know, from long observation, that operations of 
 this kind rarely pay ; and, without being much of a 
 prophet, I may venture the prediction, that it will not 
 pay in your case. If we could determine the action of 
 events, all would be well ; but this is beyond our ability. 
 Man proposes, as it is said, but God disposes. Unac 
 ceptable as the truth may be, my young friend, it is a 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 281 
 
 fact in all experience, that we cannot make things come 
 out in the line of our purpose." 
 
 The best laid plans of mice and men 
 Gang all aglee, 
 
 as the bard has it." 
 
 " Mr. Glastonbury, there is something back of all 
 this ! " said Edwin, showing considerable disturbance. 
 " You are in possession of facts that I should know ! " 
 
 The lawyer s manner did not change. 
 
 "What are they?" 
 
 Glastonbury shook his head. His eyes and face were 
 a sealed book. Edwin continued 
 
 " Again, Mr. Glastonbury, I must put the question 
 what had I best do ? You have said wait ; but I am 
 not of the waiting temperament." 
 
 " If my advice pleases, you will take it," answered 
 the lawyer. 
 
 " I will be governed by what you say," replied the 
 young man. " But we all like reasons for the course 
 we are counselled to pursue. Blind action is of all 
 things most distasteful." 
 
 " My young friend," said the lawyer, speaking with 
 unusual seriousness, " it is always safest to undo what 
 is wrong, than to let the wrong abide ; for, somehow or 
 other, there is in all wrong a hidden impulse towards 
 retribution, that never dies. You were wrong in ex- 
 
282 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 torting money and notes from your mother-in-law ; and 
 I believe, as I told you a little while ago, that you lost 
 heavily in the transaction. As you seem to be in doubt 
 as to what is best, I will say, in plain words, what I 
 think." 
 
 " Say on." 
 
 " Go to the executors of your mother-in-law s estate, 
 and offer to destroy the notes in their presence, if they 
 will return your receipts." 
 
 " You seriously advise this ? " 
 
 " Seriously." 
 
 " Suppose you were in my place ? " 
 
 44 Knowing what I do," said the lawyer, " I would 
 not hold them a day." 
 
 " Knowing what you do ! " The young man s color 
 came and went. " You confound me with mysteries. 
 Why cannot you speak out plainly of what concerns 
 my interests ? " 
 
 " I have spoken plainly enough, Mr. Guy, for all 
 practical purposes. It is for you to act now in the way 
 your reason may determine. But I warn you of dan 
 ger, if you take any other path than the one I have sug 
 gested." 
 
 44 Danger ! What kind of danger ? " 
 
 44 Impatient self-willed unwise! I have given 
 you my best counsel, and can do no more. Follow it, 
 or keep on in your own blind way. But, remember, 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 283 
 
 that of all bitter experiences, that is among the bitterest 
 in which is wrung from us the unavailing words : It is 
 too late ! I said danger ; perhaps loss may better ex 
 press what I meant. Let me repeat a declaration made 
 just now. If I were in your place, knowing what / do, 
 I would not keep those notes a single day in my pos 
 session." 
 
 Edwin lingered for a short time. 
 
 " What afterwards ? " he asked. 
 
 " After you have given up this paper ? " ^ 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Wait." 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 " Time will best answer that question. I only say, 
 wait." 
 
 Beyond this, Edwin Guy was not able to get anything 
 from the lawyer. He did not act immediately on his 
 advice ; but, after a week s perplexed debate, concluded 
 to abandon the notes, which was done. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 here had come many hindrances in the 
 work of collecting evidence, bearing 
 upon the identity of Mr. Guy. Hav 
 ing to move secretly, and with great 
 circumspection, it required a long time 
 to accomplish a little. But at length 
 the completing links were found, and 
 all was in readiness for action. The 
 only thing to determine was the initial step. There 
 had been fear that Larobe, forewarned, might escape, 
 and put himself beyond the reach of justice, ere it would 
 be safe to order his arrest. Doctor Hofland almost 
 hoped for this, as such a flight would be regarded as 
 conclusive of his guilt ; but Mr. Guy was of another 
 mind. The double wrong he had sustained at his hands, 
 fired his soul with a thirst for retribution ; and this be 
 came more intense, as mind and body grew stronger. 
 
 " He must not, shall not escape ! " was his oft repeat 
 ed declaration. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 285 
 
 Mr. Ewbank was at the office of Doctor Hofland, and 
 the two men were in final conference touching the case 
 of Mr. Guy. The yet undetermined question regarded 
 Adam Guy, Jr. Up to this point, no communication 
 had been held with him, and every precaution had been 
 taken to keep him in ignorance of his father s presence 
 in the city. Still, he had been carefully observed, in 
 order to know if anything passed between him and La- 
 robe. The conclusion reached, at the present interview, 
 was in favor of seeing him, and making a full statement 
 of facts. While yet considering the subject, a student 
 came in and said that a gentleman had called and wish 
 ed to see the Doctor. On going into the front office, 
 he found, much to his surprise, the very person of whom 
 they were talking. The countenance of Mr. Guy was 
 very serious. 
 
 " Doctor," he said, with a natural contraction of the 
 brows as he spoke, and a half mysterious, half troubled 
 tone of voice, " I have called to ask the privilege of a 
 private interview." 
 
 I am at your service, Mr. Guy," answered the 
 Doctor. 
 
 The student retired, and they sat down. There fol 
 lowed considerable embarrassment and hesitation on 
 the part of Mr. Guy. He then remarked 
 
 " There have been a number of strange things said 
 recently, about my late father. I don t make any ac- 
 
286 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 count of them, and yet such gossip is not pleasant, 
 you have heard something of them no doubt. In fact, 
 your name is mixed up with the tattle." 
 
 Mr. Guy paused. As the Doctor did not answer 
 he resumed : 
 
 " It is even said, absurdly enough, that my father is 
 not dead" and he laughed faintly. 
 
 Something in the expression of Doctor Hofland s face, 
 caused an instant change in the visitor s manner. 
 
 44 What does it all mean, Doctor ? " Mr. Guy was 
 sober enough now. " Your look confounds me ! " 
 
 " It means," replied Doctor Hofland, speaking slow 
 ly and emphatically, " that your father is not dead." 
 
 A sudden paleness swept over Guy s face, and he 
 almost gasped for breath, as he stammered out 
 
 44 Not dead ! Not dead ! Impossible, sir ! " 
 
 4 k What I have said, Mr. Guy, is the truth noth 
 ing less, nothing more. Your father, imprisoned for 
 over ten years as a lunatic, has finally made his escape, 
 and is now in this city." 
 
 " No sir ! No sir ! No sir ! " Guy shook his 
 head slowly, as he repeated his emphatic rejection. 
 
 44 No sir ! That story is too absurd. But, have you 
 seen this man who claims to be my father." 
 
 44 Yes." 
 44 And you credit his imposture ? " 
 
 44 1 credit the man," replied the Doctor. " As sure 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 287 
 
 as you live and I live, Mr. Guy, your father is now in 
 the city ! I say this knowing all that it involves." 
 
 " A bold attempt at imposture, Doctor. It can be 
 nothing less. That my father was actually deranged, 
 I know ; for I visited him at the institution on Staten 
 Island, where he was removed from the Maryland Hos 
 pital. I went into the room where he was confined, 
 and shall never forget the unhappy interview. He was 
 a raving madman." 
 
 " Did it never occur to you, Mr. Guy, that the man 
 you then visited in his gloomy cell was not your father ? " 
 
 " I know he was my father," answered Mr. Guy, 
 most positively. " Do you imagine, for a moment, that 
 I could have been deceived ? " 
 
 " You were deceived," said Doctor Hofland, speak 
 ing as one who had full knowledge of what he declared. 
 " Du Pontz, the largely paid accomplice of Mr. Larobe 
 and your mother-in-law, was notified of your coming, 
 and prepared to receive you. Instead of taking you to 
 your father, who was simply a prisoner, yet of sound 
 mind, he introduced you into the cell of a confirmed 
 lunatic, shocking you with the terrible sight of a mad 
 man, whom you thought to be your wretched parent. 
 The same deception was practised in regard to his 
 death. The insane man who fell from a window, in 
 trying to make his escape, was not your father, al- 
 
288 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 though he now lies in your family vault at Green 
 Mount." 
 
 " Ingenious, but it wont pass current with me," an 
 swered Mr. Guy, with cold incredulity. He was re 
 gaining the self-possession lost, when the Doctor so 
 positively asserted the presence of his father in the city. 
 " Such things happen in books, but scarcely in real 
 life. That wrong was done to my father^ I have al 
 ways believed, but not a wrong like this. In my opin 
 ion, he should never have been removed from our own 
 hospital to another." 
 
 " That removal was only one step in a contemplated 
 series. Your father s mind was only partially affected 
 when taken there ; and I had it from the resident phy 
 sician, at the time he was removed, that he was fast 
 recovering his mental equipoise, and in a fair way to 
 an early and entire restoration. The physician was 
 told by your mother-in-law, that she was going to take 
 him home. Why this deception? Instead of taking 
 him home, she had him sent away to a private madhouse, 
 two hundred miles distant, and that is the last that was 
 known of him, until the announcement of his death, 
 not long after which she was married to her accom 
 plice. She has gone to her reward in the other life ; 
 but her partner in crime is yet within the reach of 
 justice, and must not escape. With all solemnity, 
 Adam Guy, I summon you to the vindication of your 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 289 
 
 father s rights, and to the punishment of those who have 
 done him such cruel wrong. All the evidence bearing 
 upon liis identity is secured, and you were about being 
 placed in full possession of every particular." 
 
 " And pray sir," demanded Mr. Guy, his color ris 
 ing, " under whose direction has all this been progress 
 ing, and why have I been kept in ignorance of what 
 was going on until this time ? I don t like the look of 
 it, Doctor. It smacks of imposture. If my father had, 
 really, come back from the dead, as it were, to whom 
 but to his own son would he have made himself 
 known?" 
 
 " His own son," replied the Doctor, with some sever 
 ity of tone, " might have rejected him as an impostor, 
 and refused to look at any evidence." 
 
 " And so, he came first to you ? " said Guy, with 
 manifest ill-feeling, and some scorn. 
 
 " He managed to communicate with me, and I res 
 cued him from his jailer," replied the Doctor. 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Months ago." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " In this city. He had escaped from Staten Island, 
 
 a weak, half-crazed old man body and mind broken 
 
 down by his long and cruel imprisonment. Here he 
 
 was taken, and again placed in confinement But, be- 
 
 13 
 
290 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 fore he was murdered, or removed to a distance, he 
 managed to get word to me, and I saved him." 
 
 " You have been deceived, Doctor. The man is not 
 my father ! " said Guy, with almost angry positiveness. 
 
 " And yet, sir, within twenty-four hours after the 
 chain was struck from his ankle I speak literally, for 
 I found him chained to an iron bedstead your step 
 mother committed suicide." 
 
 " Suicide ! I never heard that cause for her death 
 affirmed," said Guy, with a confounded look. 
 
 " Yet, I know it to be true ; for my son-in-law was 
 her physician." 
 
 " Where has this person been ever since ? " asked 
 Mr. Guy. 
 
 " With your sister Lydia." 
 
 " And I kept in ignorance of the whole proceeding 
 up to this time ! Doctor Hofland, this does not look 
 well ! There is about it a savor of fraud and imposture. 
 As the oldest son of my father, there lay with n;e the 
 right to be consulted. With my sister Lydia, indeed i " 
 He said this with bitter contempt. 
 
 " Throughout this whole affair, Mr. Guy," returned 
 Doctor Hofland, without manifesting any resentment, 
 " I have acted from reason and conscience. After 
 your father s rescue, the long agony of hope deferred 
 being over, he sunk into a state of total oblivion as to 
 the past. He was as a child, with memory like an un- 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 291 
 
 written page. In this state he had to be placed in the 
 care of persons who would not only treat him kindly, 
 but do all in their power to strengthen his feeble mind. 
 Careful observation of your sister and her husband, 
 satisfied me that they were, of all whom I knew, best 
 fitted for the work, and at my solicitation, they received 
 him into their family, both entirely ignorant as to who 
 he was, and as unsuspicious of the truth then as you 
 were. Nor did Lydia know him, until in the sudden 
 rush of returning memories, he rejected the name by 
 which she had been used to address him, and said that 
 he was Adam Guy." 
 
 " Where is he now ? " demanded the son, without 
 showing a sign of natural feeling. The lines on his 
 forehead were stern his lips hard and cold. 
 " With your sister still." 
 
 " Ah yes ! And, of course, she is ready to swear 
 to his identity. A nice little arrangement, truly ! But, 
 it wont go down, Doctor, mark my word for it." The 
 voice of Mr, Guy was pitching itself to a higher key. 
 " I begin to see a little deeper into the affair," he add 
 ed, still in a loud voice. " You are a dupe of that 
 wench and her husband ! They have got up the whole 
 thing. Her husband is, I ll warrant you, a scheming 
 villian, who " 
 
 The door leading into the Doctor s private office, or 
 consultation room, which had been ajar, opened sudden- 
 
292 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 ly, and a man entered. He was tall, and of erect 
 bearing. His countenance was refined and intelligent 
 
 his look dignified, yet a little stern. He had large, 
 strong eyes, and a broad forehead, away from which 
 the fine black hair curled short and clean. 
 
 " Mr. Ewbank Mr. Adam Guy, Jr." Doctor 
 Hofland introduced the two men. There was keen 
 penetration on the one hand, and disconcerted surprise 
 on the other ; but, it was plain that Guy did not know 
 Mr. Ewbank as the husband of his sister, a fact at 
 once perceived by Doctor Hofland. The large, dark, 
 powerful eyes of Mr. Ewbank, rested in those of Mr. 
 Guy, until the latter wavered and fell away with a 
 sign of weakness. Man to man, the stronger was felt, 
 and, by force acknowledged. 
 
 " You spoke, sir, louder than you thought, just now," 
 said Mr. Ewbank, in a deep, manly voice, that had in 
 it a throb of indignation, " and I could not help but 
 hear. I am your sister s husband ! " 
 
 " You ! " Guy stepped back, in manifest astonish 
 ment. Mr. Ewbank looked at him steadily, until he 
 fairly shrunk in the presence of superior manhood ; 
 then said 
 
 " Knowing your sister as I her husband, know her 
 
 pure, true, womanly and good I cannot hear, 
 with silent indifference, the coarse language you so 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 293 
 
 wantonly applied to her just now. It does not hurt 
 her ; but it wounds me, and disgraces you." 
 
 " Sir ! " Guy endeavored to rally under cover of 
 indignation. But, he was in the face of one so far 
 above him in moral power, that he felt himself almost 
 as weak as a child. 
 
 " I regret," said Mr. Ewbank, u that our first meet 
 ing should be in this spirit. But I would be less than a 
 man, if I did not rebuke your assault upon a sister, 
 who, in the chiefest things that give beauty and worth 
 to human character, is rivalled by few of her sex. For 
 having ministered, in all tenderness and self-devotion, 
 to your father, through months of watching and care 
 she merits something different from you. 4 Wench 
 was not the word that should have fallen from your 
 lips, Adam Guy ! " 
 
 So stern and strong was the voice so intense the 
 eyes of Mr. Ewbank as he stood drawn to his full 
 height in front of the mean-souled man he was rebuk- 
 ing, that Guy shrunk, and cowered in silent confusion. 
 There followed a brief pause. Guy rallied himself 
 enough to affect a dignified air, with which, bowing low, 
 he retired from the office, paying no heed to Doctor 
 Hofland, who called after him to remain. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 
 
 LITTLE after ten o clock, on the next 
 day, Adam Guy, Jr., entered the office 
 of Justin Larobe. The lawyer was 
 engaged, and he had to wait nearly 
 half an hour before he could obtain an 
 interview. He was sitting in an ante 
 room, where a student was writing, 
 when a person came through, whom 
 he recognized as Glastonbury, a well known counsellor 
 at law. He had been all this time in conference with 
 Mr. Larobe. It was now his turn. A look, searching 
 and suspicious, met him as he went in. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Guy." The lawyer arose and received him 
 formally, and with an air of deference. What struck 
 him was the great change in Mr. Larobe, who did not 
 look, to him, like the same man he had known ten years 
 ago, and, occasionally, met during the lapse of that 
 period. Particularly did he note the absence of a cer 
 tain steadiness of the eyes, which had once given him 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 295 
 
 an advantage over timid people, and those not entirely 
 self-confident. Now they fell away from his gaze, if he 
 looked at him intently, but came back again, the mo 
 ment his ey^s were withdrawn, in a suspicious, searching 
 scrutiny, that was detected over and over again. There 
 was in his face a worn ^and exhausted air, and a pinch 
 ing of the features, as if he had suffered from bodily 
 pain. The long nose and wide nostrils were sharp and 
 thin his hair turning gray rapidly his form begin 
 ning to stoop. 
 
 The men touched, rather than clasped, hands. Mr. 
 Guy took the chair that was offered. Both were ill at 
 ease. Guy was half doubting the policy of this inter 
 view which he had sought ; and Larobe was trembling 
 in suspense for the words that should reveal what was 
 in the mind of his visitor. 
 
 " Mr. Larobe," said Guy, forcing himself to speak 
 " I have called for the purpose of talking with you 
 on the subject of certain extraordinary rumors that are 
 afloat in regard to my father. You have heard them, no 
 doubt." 
 
 A deadly paleness, in spite of his effort to be com 
 posed, overspread the lawyer s face. 
 
 " What is the purport of these rumors ? " 
 
 Mr. Larobe managed to keep the tremor that ran 
 through his spirit, out of his voice. 
 
 " It is said that he is alive and now in this city." 
 
296 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Do you believe it ? " asked the lawyer. 
 
 " Of course not." 
 
 The face of Mr. Larobe was no longer of a deadly 
 paleness. He leaned in a more confidential way, towards 
 Guy. 
 
 44 What else is said ? " 
 
 " More than I can repeat. Chiefly, and of first con 
 cern to us, that a person, said to be my father, is in the 
 hands of designing and interested individuals one of 
 them my sister s husband who asserts that they are in 
 possession of all that is required to prove the claimed 
 identity. Of course, you are to be convicted of crime 
 and punished, and I am to be robbed of so much of my 
 father s estate as came fairly into my hands by his will. 
 A precious plot, truly ! " 
 
 " In the hands of your sister s husband ! And pray 
 who is he ? " 
 
 " A fellow named Ewbank. I never saw him until 
 last night. If I had heard the name, it was forgotten. * 
 
 " Ewbank ! " Larobe looked confounded. " Not, Ew 
 bank the teacher ? " 
 
 " Teacher or preacher, it is more than I can say." 
 
 " And is he your sister s husband ? " Larobe s look 
 of surprise remained. 
 
 44 Yes. But, what do you know of him ? " 
 
 To this interrogation, the lawyer made no reply, but 
 sat with looks cast down. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 297 
 
 " Who is in league with Mr. Ewbank ? " he asked, 
 at length. 
 
 " Doctor Hofland." 
 
 " Who else ? " 
 
 " I am not informed." 
 
 There was silence again. 
 
 " This Ewbank, then, is your sister s husband," said 
 Larobe, after musing for some time. 
 
 " Yes. So I learn." 
 
 " Which sister ? " 
 
 " Lydia." 
 
 " Lydia. I thought she married a low, worthless 
 fellow." 
 
 " So she did. But he died, I believe ; and this shrewd 
 rascal picked her up, in order, no doubt, to make her a 
 stepping-stone to fortune through the imposture now 
 attempted." 
 
 Larobe did not answer. He looked stunned. Guy 
 was troubled at his manner. 
 
 " Were you advised of this plot before ? " he asked. 
 
 " In part." 
 
 " Did you know that Doctor Hofland had mixed him 
 self up with it ? " 
 
 " I have inferred as much. But, have you informa 
 tion, Mr. Guy, as to where the man now is who claims 
 to be your father ? " 
 
 " He is living with my sister." 
 
 13* 
 
298 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " In the family of Mr. Evvbank ! " 
 
 " Yes. So I understood Doctor Hofland." 
 
 " How long has he been there ? " 
 
 "For several months." 
 
 " It can t be possible ! " There was more than sur 
 prise in the countenance of Mr. Larobe. Even Guy 
 was startled by its expression. The gleam of his eyes 
 the curve of his lips the quiver that ran through 
 all the facial muscles gave signs of evil passion ; of 
 malice, hate, and cruelty. For an instant, he looked 
 the wolf at bay. 
 
 " Where does your sister live ? " asked Larobe, as he 
 dropped a veil of apparent indifference over his face. 
 
 " I am not informed." 
 
 " Have you seen the man ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It is a most extraordinary case ! " said the lawyer. 
 " And this long waiting, and working in secret, shows 
 that we have skilled plotters against us." 
 
 "The chain of evidence is complete, according to 
 Doctor Hofland." 
 
 "He -said that to you?"- 
 
 " Yes. That all the testimony was ready, and that 
 I was about being informed of every thing." 
 
 "When did he say this ?" 
 
 "JLast night." 
 
 " To you ? " 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 299 
 
 " Yes. I called to ask the meaning of some things 
 that came to my ears yesterday, and he then made the 
 astounding communication about my father 
 
 " Who were implicated ? " 
 
 " You, and my step-mother. He says, that neither 
 the man I saw at the Institution on Staten Island, nor 
 the lunatic who was killed in falling from the window, 
 and whose body now lies in our family vault, was 
 my father. He was very positive, and talked like one 
 who believed all he said." 
 
 " You don t know where your sister lives ? " Larobe 
 had not replied to the last sentences of Guy. From a 
 state of abstraction into which he fell, lie looked up, 
 asking this question in a tone of interest, that a little 
 puzzled his companion. 
 
 " No," was answered. 
 
 They sat silent* again. 
 
 "What can be done?" asked Guy, breaking the 
 pause. 
 
 " Nothing, until a move is made," 
 
 The office door opened quietly, and a sheriff s deputy 
 came in. Larobe looked up with a slightly annoyed ex 
 pression 
 
 " I ll be at leisure in a few moments, Garland. Wait 
 in the front office." 
 
 But the deputy sheriff, instead of retiring on this in 
 vitation, said 
 
300 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Let me speak with you, Mr. Larobe." 
 
 There was something in the officer s tone, that caused 
 Guy to look at him curiously, and made Larobe s face a 
 little paler. Rising, the lawyer crossed the room and 
 stood near the officer, who said a few words in his ear. 
 
 44 For me ! " exclaimed Larobe, his face becoming 
 white. 
 
 The officer handed him a paper. He did not read 
 the legal form, for he understood too well its import. 
 He was under arrest. For years, a haunting terror had 
 dogged his steps. For years, he had lived in dread of 
 this hour. For years, his steps had been close upon the 
 edge of a dark abyss, and in all that time had dwelt with 
 him a painful sense of danger. Now, his feet had slip 
 ped, and there was no arm to save him ! He must go 
 down to swift destruction. No wonder that his face 
 grew white as ashes ; nor that his knees trembled and 
 gave way. 
 
 "What is it?" said Guy, advancing. He had ob 
 served the blank fear in Larobe s countenance. The 
 lawyer, aware of the presence in which he stood of 
 the keen eyes that would read every look, and move 
 ment, made a feeble effort at self-composure. But, the 
 old strength of will was gone. He was unable to com 
 mand the hitherto obedient muscles to look indiffer 
 ence while terror palsied his heart. There was an al 
 most helpless waving of the hand towards Mr. Guy, as 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 301 
 
 if to keep him off. But, Guy pressed close upon him, 
 grasping his arm, and crying out, sternly 
 
 " Is it all, then, true ! Villain ! speak ! " He shook 
 Larobe with violence, in his excitement. 
 
 All this was too much for the guilty man. He stag 
 gered back, and would have fallen, had not the sheriff s 
 officer supported him to a chair. 
 
 " Leave mexfor a. few moments, Garland. I wish to 
 have a word or two alone with this gentleman," said La- 
 robe, in a weak, exhausted way. 
 
 But the officer did not move. 
 
 " Don t be afraid. I shall make no effort to escape. 
 Just a minute or two, Garland. I have something very 
 particular that I must say to him alone." The pale, 
 shivering prisoner plead with the officer. 
 
 44 I ll be surety for him," said Guy. " Give us a few 
 minutes alone." 
 
 A little while the officer hesitated, and then went 
 slowly into the next room, leaving the door partly open. 
 As soon as they were alone, Mr. Larobe, striving anew 
 to compose himself, said to Guy 
 
 44 What if this man should be your father ? " 
 
 Guy did not answer. The question was unexpected. 
 
 41 1 do not say that he is your father. I only ask, 
 
 what if he is ? This arrest is for the purpose of giving 
 
 importance to the claim about to be set up for unknown 
 
 person, who assumes to be Adam Guy, Sr. Now, sup- 
 
302 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 pose the claim, right or wrong, affirmed by legal decision ; 
 how will you stand ? I merely put the question." 
 
 u That is my affair, not yours," answered Guy, with 
 considerable impatience. 
 
 " Very well. I have no more to say." The lawyer s 
 voice was choked and husky. Rising, he called to the 
 officer, who immediately came in. 
 
 "I am ready, Garland. Thank you for waiting." 
 And the prisoner went out with the deputy sheriff. 
 He was scarcely past the threshold, ere Guy repented 
 of his stupidity in not accepting from Larobe the com 
 munication he had, evidently, intended to make. He 
 even called after him. But the opportunity was gone. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 OT in vain had Mr. Ewbank, through 
 all the months of Mr. Guy s childish 
 state, wrought with him for good not 
 in vain had Mrs. Ewbank ministered 
 to him in patience, in gentleness, and 
 in love. Too deeply had the impres 
 sions they sought to make, imbedded 
 &<r ~ themselves in his consciousness. A 
 sudden and entire restoration of the past, might have 
 obliterated much ; but, old things came back so gradu 
 ally, that opportunity was given to blend with them 
 new and better states of life. 
 
 The old hardness the old love of money the old 
 intense selfishness, manifested themselves at times 
 but, love for his daughter, born of her love and care for 
 him, and a regard for, and confidence in Mr. Ewbank, 
 upon which no suspicion could intrude, were softening 
 and countervailing elements with Mr. Guy. Light had 
 come into his mind, showing him a different relation of 
 
304 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 things. He saw higher truths than had ever before 
 presented themselves; saw beauty in goodness, and. a 
 charm in self-denial. Limited, for a period of time, to 
 the society of his daughter, her husband, and Doctor 
 and Mrs. Hofland, he became familiar with traits in 
 human character never seen before. In the old life, he 
 did not believe that such a thing as unselfishness existed. 
 It was a dream of the preacher and the enthusiast. 
 But, in the new life, it was a conviction that no reason 
 ing could disturb. 
 
 Everything in regard to his family that could be 
 learned, from the period of his removal to the hospital 
 until the present time, was communicated to Mr. Guy. 
 By many things that were related, he was touched deep 
 ly ; and many things aroused his fiery indignation. Al 
 ways, Mr. Ewbank endeavored to draw from his anger 
 the spirit of retaliation ; to lift him above revenge into 
 a regard for what was just and humane. Towards his 
 son Adam, on learning how heartlessly he had separat 
 ed himself from his brothers and sisters, and how basely 
 and unnaturally he had acted towards Lydia, when in 
 formed of her presence in the city under circumstances 
 of extreme destitution, his feelings were very bitter. 
 No argument, ho excuse, no representation, could soft 
 en him towards Adam. 
 
 " He is unworthy the name of son or brother ! Don t 
 speak of him ! " 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 305 
 
 In sentences like these, varied with harsher words, 
 he answered all the attempts made by Lydia and her 
 husband to draw, in his mind, a veil over Adam s heart 
 less conduct ; and they finally ceased all reference to a 
 subject, that only made him sterner and less forgiving. 
 
 Late in the afternoon of the day on which Larobe 
 had been arrested, Doctor Hofland received a note from 
 him, asking an interview on matters of importance, at 
 eight o clock in the evening. The place named was 
 the lawyer s office. He had given bond for his appear 
 ance at court, and was at liberty. At the hour men 
 tioned, Doctor Hofland called, as desired. He found 
 Mr. Larobe alone. His appearance shocked him. 
 Never had he seen, in any face, a more exhausted, worn, 
 and hopeless expression. But, his eyes were steady as 
 he looked at him steady, with some desperate pur 
 pose. 
 
 " Excuse me, Doctor, for having put to the trou 
 ble of coming to my office," he said, calmly. " I would 
 have called on you, but here we shall be free from 
 chance interruptions ; and I have that to say which 
 needs to be calmly considered. And, first of all, Doc 
 tor, will you receive from me any communication I may 
 think best to make, and hold it sacred to the extent I 
 desire. I can trust jour honor. Your pledge given, I 
 know it will bind." 
 
306 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 The Doctor, after a few moments reflection, answer 
 ed 
 
 " Is any good to arise from this communication ? " 
 
 " That will depend, mainly, on your judgment in re 
 gard to it. If what I have to propose meets your ap 
 proval, good will arise if not to me, at least to others. 
 If it does not meet your approval, I stipulate for an 
 honorable silence touching all that I may communicate. 
 On no other terms will I utter a sentence of what is in 
 my mind. You are, no doubt, aware that I was, to-day, 
 placed under arrest." 
 
 " I am aware of it." 
 
 " And you know something of the cause ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " It is of this that I desire to talk with you. Are 
 you prepared to hear me, in the strictest confidence ? 
 To hold my communication as sacred as it made at the 
 confessional ? I have no purpose of deception or hind 
 rance. What I shall say will not embarrass you in the 
 smallest degree. Your present relation to the case will 
 remain undisturbed, if you decide not to act in the line 
 of policy I wish to present for your consideration." 
 
 " I will hear you," said the Doctor, after a silence of 
 over a minute. 
 
 " In honorable confidence ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 They were sitting at opposite sides of a table, and 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 307 
 
 Larobe was leaning, in nervous expectation, towards 
 Doctor Holland. At the answer he drew back, with 
 stronger signs of relief than he meant to have betrayed. 
 
 " Of course," he said, after a pause for collected 
 thought, " I have not been in ignorance of the move 
 ment for some time planned against me ; nor of the 
 nature of the evidence that will be adduced to convict me 
 of crime. I know just how much it is all worth, and 
 how to meet and dispose of it ; and I feel sure of being 
 able to thwart all the plans laid for my ruin. Still, I 
 shrink from the infamous notoriety which must come 
 when the case opens. Of late years, my health has not 
 been good. I am losing in both nervous and mental 
 stamina, and do not feel equal to the strain that must 
 come. Therefore, I am looking for some door of escape ; 
 and will abandon much that I hold dear for the privilege 
 of a quiet exit. You understand me ? " 
 
 The Doctor bowed. 
 
 " Shall I go on ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Of course, I cannot obtain the privilege asked, ex 
 cept by yielding all this suit is designed to secure." 
 
 44 Say, in the fewest and directest sentences, just 
 what you wish to communicate, Mr. Larobe." Doctor 
 Hofland drew himself up, and spoke with firmness. " I 
 have passed my word of honor to betray your confidence 
 in nothing." 
 
308 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 " Iii a sentence, then, Mr. Guy is living." Larobe s 
 face crimsoned slightly ; and then became paler than be 
 fore. 
 
 " I am aware of that," replied the Doctor, unmoved. 
 
 " But the evidence in possession of his friends is not, 
 in all respects, complete, and may be so obscured by the 
 testimony of witnesses on the other side, as to make the 
 issue doubtful. I shall fight in this contest hard, and 
 without scruple as to the means employed to gain suc 
 cess, for, with me everything is at stake. A desperate 
 man, Doctor, will use desperate means. But, all doubt 
 as to the issue may cease if you will. I am ready, if 
 permitted, to retire from the field. It is to say this, 
 that I have asked an interview." 
 
 " What are your stipulations ? " 
 
 " The abandonment of this suit, on condition that I 
 place in you hands such evidence as will, at once, restore 
 Mr. Guy to his proper legal status." 
 
 " It is not with me, Mr. Larobe, to say yea or nay to 
 such a proposal," replied Doctor Hofland. 
 
 " I am aware of that. But, being in possession of 
 my offer, you may ascertain without committing me, the 
 chances of its acceptance. It will be better, all round, 
 I think. The issue of the suit will go no farther, at the 
 worst, than the establishment of Mr. Guy s identity. 
 I shall escape legal consequences. The loophole is 
 open." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 309 
 
 " What then? " asked the Doctor. 
 " Within twenty-four hours after I am satisfied that 
 the suit is to be abandoned, and my surety safe, I shall 
 retire from this city." 
 
 "Whither?" 
 
 A shadow of pain swept over his face. 
 
 " I shall drop down, like a wind-blown seed, in some 
 unknown spot," he answered, in a sad voice. u But 
 whether the soil be rich or barren, my roots will not 
 strike deep ; for there is no vitality in me. I have 
 played madly, in life, Doctor, risking honor, happiness, 
 safety, everything and I have lost ! O, fool ! fool." 
 He shivered as he said this, like one a-cold. 
 
 " Something more than you have offered will be re 
 quired," said the Doctor. 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " You will have to restore some twenty-five or thir 
 ty thousand dollars appropriated from the estate of Mr. 
 Guy." 
 
 There was a look of blank dismay in the face of 
 Larobe. 
 
 " That demand will be cruel and oppressive," he 
 answered. " I am not debtor in any such sum to Mr. 
 Guy s estate. All that I am worth, would not cover 
 it/ 
 
 * The executors under the will of Mrs. Larobe, find 
 evidence going to prove the claim ; and this evidence is 
 
310 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 in Mr. Guy s possession. Of one thing you may be 
 sure, he will never abate one jot or tittle of the de 
 mand." 
 
 " Then, driven to the wall, there is nothing left for 
 me but desperate battle." The eyes of Larobe were 
 fierce with a sudden gleam. His lips drew back from 
 his teeth. He looked savage and defiant. 
 
 " And certain defeat," was replied. " Ah, sir ! 
 You may well affirm that you have played madly in 
 life, as all play, who seek, through wrong, a coveted 
 good ; for in all wrong lies hidden the seeds of a just 
 
 retribution, which, sooner or later, surely comes. If 
 
 
 you give desperate battle, according to your threat, the 
 
 more disastrous will be your defeat. Take my advice, 
 and let your offer include full restitution in every par 
 ticular. As I have just said, there is evidence now in 
 Mr. Guy s hands, going to show that you have between 
 twenty-five and thirty thousand dollars of his estate in 
 your possession. He is not the one to yield a farthing 
 of his just rights ; and of all other living men, you have 
 the least title to his consideration." 
 
 For the space of nearly five minutes, Larobe sat 
 with his eyes on the floor. Heavy lines furrowed his 
 row his face was rigid. 
 
 " What is the extent of your influence with Mr. 
 Guy ? " he asked, at length. His voice had regained 
 its calmness. 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 311 
 
 " He has yielded in many tilings to my judgment," 
 replied the Doctor. 
 
 Do you think he will act according to your judg 
 ment in the matter I have presented ? " 
 
 " It is impossible for me to say, Mr. Larobe." 
 
 " What do you think ? " 
 
 " He may be influenced." 
 
 " What will be your course ? " 
 
 " That is not decided." 
 
 Larobe had not expected this answer, as the half 
 surprised, half alarmed expression of his face showed. 
 
 " What I have offered, will secure all that can be 
 
 
 
 gained through the courts, after long delays for, I 
 will fight him to the .last." 
 
 " Possibly you may be right in this possibly wrong. 
 I will give sober consideration to what you have said, 
 and then, after sounding Mr. Guy and his friends, see 
 you again." 
 
 "When will you see me ? I want no delays." 
 
 " Say to-morrow night." 
 
 " Very well. To-morrow night. Will you call up 
 on me at my office ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The Doctor arose, and withdrew. Larobe did not 
 accompany him to the door. He was too much op 
 pressed for courtesy. When alone, he bent forward 
 on the table at which he was sitting, with an abandoned 
 
312 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 air, letting his chest and face rest heavily down upon it. 
 A groan parted his lips. He did not stir for a long 
 time. Then he arose, heavily, like one who had been 
 stunned, and moved about the office with an uncertain 
 air. Finally, he took from an iron safe a bundle of 
 papers title deeds, certificates of stock, and various 
 securities and, spreading them out on the table, 
 passed several hours in examining and arranging them. 
 In this work he was active and in earnest. It was 
 nearly twelve o clock when he replaced them in his 
 fire proof, and throwing himself on a lounge, passed 
 the remaining part of the night in a heavy sleep. 
 

 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 HE two interviews held by Adam 
 Guy, Jr., with Doctor Hofland and 
 Mr. Larobe, left his mind in a state 
 of doubt, anxiety and alarm. To 
 him, the re-appearance of his father 
 would be regarded as a calamity. No 
 natural affection, no love of justice, no 
 righteous indignation towards the al 
 leged perpetrators of a dreadful crime, had power over 
 his basely sordid spirit. " How will it affect me ? " 
 Beyond that, he had no concern asked no question. 
 It was not his interest to have his father alive ; and, 
 therefore, he assumed the negative, instead of examin 
 ing all affirmative evidence ; and, because he wished 
 his father dead, tried to accumulate arguments against 
 the possibility of his being alive. 
 
 He could not help being profoundly disturbed. The 
 fact that his father or, as he had it, the person claim 
 ing to be his father was with his sister Lydia, towards 
 
 whom he had acted with such cold hearted indiffer- 
 14 
 
314 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 ence, was particularly distasteful to him. On the pre 
 sumption that this claim was valid, the fact suggested 
 many unpleasant consequences. The meeting with 
 Mr. Ewbank had left impressions and reflections by 
 no means agreeable. He saw in him a man of superior 
 mind and quality one, so far as his sister was con 
 cerned, full} r competent to maintain her rights in the 
 impending contest. 
 
 Two or three days were spent by Adam Guy, Jr., 
 in perplexed debate touching his own action in this 
 strange complication. Then, with something of blind 
 desperation, he resolved to call at his sister s and see 
 for himself the man who claimed to be his father. The 
 time chosen was evening. In reply to a note written 
 to Doctor Hofland, he got the location of his sister s 
 house. It was late past nine o clock when he 
 stood at the door of a moderate sized dwelling in the 
 western part of the city. In answer to his inquiry for 
 Mrs. Ewbank, he was informed that she was not at 
 home. 
 
 " Can I see Mr. Ewbank ? " he then asked. 
 
 " He is out also," replied the servant. 
 
 Partly turning, he stood for a little while ; then said, 
 like one who had constrained himself to speak 
 
 "Is Mr. Guy at home?" 
 
 " No, sir. They all went away together." 
 
 " Went where ? " 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 315 
 
 " To Mr. Larobe s, I think I heard Mr. Ewbank 
 say down by the Monument." 
 
 " When did they go ? " 
 
 "This morning; and the children went with them." 
 
 Adam Guy, Jr., turned away without a word more. 
 He was confounded. What could this mean ? Affairs 
 were rapidly assuming most unwelcome shapes. All 
 the family gone to the residence of his late step-mother ! 
 
 He had returned to the central portion of the city 
 before reaching a decision on the course to be pursued. 
 Still undetermined, he yet walked in the direction of 
 the Monument, and at last found himself in front of the 
 house where, for the time, all his thoughts centred. 
 Acting more from impulse than from any clear judg 
 ment of the case in hand, he ascended to the door and 
 rang the bell. He had not even decided the question 
 as to who should be inquired for ; and this decision had 
 to be made in the face of an expectant servant. 
 
 " Is Mr. Larobe at home ? " He knew that he was 
 not there, when he asked the question. But this 
 would give him time. 
 
 " No, sir. Mr. Larobe does not live here novr." 
 The answer dashed him a little. 
 
 " Mr. Larobe s children are still here ? 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Mr. Guy turned away partly, and stood with an ir 
 resolute air for some moments. 
 
316 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 "Is Mr. Mr. Ewbank " He hesitated and 
 faltered in his speech, leaving the sentence imperfect. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Mr. Ewbank is here," promptly answer 
 ed the servant. 
 
 " Can I see him ? " 
 
 " Walk in, sir." And the servant moved back. 
 Mr. Guy entered and stood in the hall. The parlor 
 doors were open, and a strong light from the chande 
 lier poured through them. The sound of voices was 
 on the air. 
 
 " I would like to see Mr. Ewbank here. And the 
 yet undecided visitor, shrank back from the glare of 
 gaslight towards the dim vestibule. In the few mo 
 ments that elapsed from the time the servant left him 
 until Mr. Ewbank appeared, Mr. Guy sought in vain 
 to bring his thoughts in order, and to determine some 
 line of action. Mr. Ewbank did not recognize him. 
 
 " Mr. Guy," said Adam, introducing himself. 
 
 " Oh ! " Mr. Ewbank s ejaculation was in a sur 
 prised tone. He made no other response, but stood in 
 a waiting attitude, for Mr. Guy to speak his wishes. 
 But, what had he to say ? All his thoughts were still 
 in confusion. Half stammering, he uttered the sen 
 tence 
 
 " I called at your house this evening, and they told 
 me you were here." 
 
 Yes, sir." 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 317 
 
 " I would like to have a few words with you." 
 
 " On what subject ? " 
 
 " About this person who assumes to be my father." 
 
 " Ah ! He is here, Mr. Guy. Perhaps you had 
 better see him for yourself," said Mr. Ewbank." 
 
 " Just what I desire. It was with this end in view 
 that I called at your house." 
 
 "Walk in." And Mr. Ewbank moved back, fol 
 lowed by Mr. Guy, who, never in all his life before, 
 had experienced such strange, confused, and oppressed 
 feelings. Ere he had recovered himself, he was usher 
 ed into the parlor, where he found nearly a dozen per 
 sons, old and young, assembled. On one of the sofas 
 lay a pale-faced boy, whose large bright eyes turned 
 wonderingly on him as he entered. Sitting in a large 
 chair with purple linings and cushions, close by the sick 
 boy, and with one hand on his forehead, was a man, 
 against whom leaned a singular looking girl, whose 
 half vacant, half intelligent face, expressed wonder and 
 delight. The moment he entered, he was transfixed 
 by the eyes of this man, who leaned slightly forward, 
 with contracting brows. All doubt left the mind of 
 Adam Guy, Jr. He knew this man . As if the dead 
 had been raised up, his father was before him. He stood 
 still, all power of speech and motion for an instant sus 
 pended. 
 
318 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 "At last," said his father, speaking sternly. At last, 
 Adam ! " 
 
 There followed a breathless silence. Adam then 
 came forward slowly, pausing within a few feet of his 
 father, and looking at him with straining eyes. 
 
 " My father ! " dropped from his lips not coldh 
 not with constraint but with a kind of wild, gush 
 ing surprise, mingled with so much feeling that every 
 heart felt the throb in his voice. "My father! 5 he 
 repeated. Then covering liis face he stood trembling. 
 
 " Adam ! " The old man s voice softened a little ; 
 and he made an effort to rise from his chair. Lydia 
 was by his side in a moment, and her lips were at his 
 ear. 
 
 " Forgive him ! " she whispered and Adam heard 
 her words " He is your son. Forgive the past, 
 father the dark and dreadful past and bless God s 
 love for the sunshine that lies about us now. Don t 
 let anger shadow this happy hour, dear father ! " 
 
 " Adam ! " Mr. Guy reached forth his hand. It 
 was grasped and held tightly for a little while. Both 
 father and son were strongly moved. Adam was first 
 to recover himself. With returning composure, came 
 a measure of embarrassment. The position he had 
 maintained towards all his family his conduct and 
 language with reference to his father since becoming 
 aware of his presence in the city his conscious selfish- 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 319 
 
 ness and cupidity all had their effect. He felt 
 humbled, unworthy, if not debased in the presence of 
 his father, and of the sister he had despised, cruelly 
 neglected and basely insulted. The sister who now 
 said to his father " Forgive him ! He is your son ! " 
 and said it with a manifest power that showed her 
 influence. 
 
 At the earliest opportunity, Adam Guy, Jr., took 
 Doctor Hofland aside, and asked 
 
 " What of Larobe ? " 
 
 " He has confessed everything," replied the Doctor. 
 
 " I am amazed ! Confessed that he kept my father 
 imprisoned for ten years ! " 
 
 " Yes. We have the painful narrative in his hand 
 writing, and sworn to, thus every impediment to the 
 restitution of your father s legal rights is removed." 
 
 " But, such a confession must consign him to a crimi 
 nal s cell. I wonder that he made it." 
 
 " He has fled from the city." 
 
 " And betrayed his surety," said Guy. " So, dis 
 honor is the twin of crime." 
 
 " Your father will abandon the prosecution." 
 
 " Was this agreed to ? " 
 
 " It was, no doubt, understood. Barred away from 
 the city of his nativity stripped of fortune broken 
 in health and spirits and bearing with him the un 
 dying memory of all he had madly risked and lost 
 
320 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 I think his bitterest enemy might willingly abate the 
 prison cell. Let not man follow him with retribution. 
 His punishment, like Cain s, will be greater than he can 
 bear. He is in the hands of the Just and the Merciful, 
 and we may safely leave him there." 
 
 " I am not of your spirit, Doctor. I would hunt him 
 to the death," answered Guy. " No retribution is too 
 severe for such an infamous crime. He should never 
 have been permitted to escape." 
 
 " Your father thought differently," replied Doctor 
 Hofland. " As you have evidence to-night, he is under 
 the influence of those who draw him towards forgive 
 ness. Your sister and her husband, Mr. Guy, are not 
 of your hard, stern, unrelenting quality ; else, had re 
 conciliation been a more difficult thing than you found 
 it. You owe them much, if you set any value upon 
 this reconciliation. A word, a motion, from Lydia or 
 her husband, would have thrown up a wall between 
 you and your father that you might have striven in vain 
 to pass. But, they are above such base and selfish ac 
 tion. Lydia has been learning in a new school, under 
 anew teacher, lessons of humanity and forgiveness, that 
 you and all the members of your family should learn 
 also. Mr. Guy, pardon me ; but, it has so happened in 
 the order of Providence, that my relation to your father 
 and some members of his family, has assumed features 
 that make it my duty to use plainness of speech and 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 321 
 
 I now say to you : Let there be laid as heavy a man 
 tle as possible over the past ; and let the present, as it 
 unfolds itself, be accepted in a new and better spirit than 
 you have ever shown. Against you, Mr. Guy, as the 
 oldest son and brother, all have cause of complaint. 
 You did not act well the part assigned you in the Prov 
 idence of God ; but drew away from the weak and the 
 helpless and lefc them to the world s tender mercies. If 
 they are ready to forgive, accept the proffer. Of all your 
 sisters and brothers, Lydia was most cruelly neglected ; 
 yet, is she the first to speak for you the first to step 
 in and turn aside your father s anger." 
 
 Mr. Guy was visibly affected. He saw his own im 
 age as he had never seen it before distorted and hid 
 eous, in contrast with the beautiful image of his sister. 
 Not answering, Doctor Hofland resumed 
 
 " As for her husband, I have, during several months, 
 observed him closely, and my testimony to his worth is 
 without abatement. A purer, truer man, I do not know. 
 And he is, also, a man of education and enlarged views. 
 One of superior quality in all respects. Of necessity, 
 taking all the peculiar circumstances of your father s 
 restoration to society, Mr. Ewbank will, hereafter, ex 
 ercise much influence over him, and I need not add, 
 after what has just been remarked, that this influence 
 will be for good. In everything, it will, I know, for I 
 
 have talked with him freely, lead towards- family re- 
 14* 
 
322 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 union on the right basis. Accept him, Mr. Guy, as a 
 true friend a wise, unselfish friend. Don t assume a 
 hostile attitude ; this will hurt only yourself, for he is 
 a strong, clear-seeing man, and brave as strong. In the 
 line of duty, he can be as inflexible as iron. I say all 
 this freely, that you may know just where you stand." 
 
 Mr. Evvbank joined them at this moment, and Doctor 
 Hofland saw, by Guy s subdued and respectful manner, 
 that his counsel would be heeded. He left them togeth 
 er, and was pleased to see them in earnest conversation, 
 for a long time. 
 
 " My son," said the father, holding Adam s hand, as 
 the latter was about going away Lydia stood with an 
 arm drawn in one of her father s, and leaning her face 
 against him tenderly " My son, there is for us all a 
 better and a truer life, if we will lead it. Your sister 
 and her good husband have helped to open for me the 
 door of this better and truer life, and my feet, I trust, 
 are on the threshold, trying to enter. Will you not 
 enter with me ? Touching the past, my son, I have 
 much to complain of you " Lydia moved uneasily, 
 and looked up into her father s face. He went on 
 " But I will throw a mantle over the past ; and I pray 
 you, Adam, not to remove it. This is now my home, 
 and the home of Lydia and her husband. Let there be 
 no jealousies towards them, for they will provoke none. 
 Had my impulses ruled, you and I would not now be 
 
WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 323 
 
 standing face to face ; for my anger was like fire when 
 I learned all that you had been and all that you had 
 done. But for them, I would not have forgiven. Un 
 der this roof, my son, a new home is to be constructed, 
 in which love and peace are to dwell. We have heard 
 from your sister Frances. She is in the west, and is 
 now returning to make one with us. Edwin has not 
 been here. May I trust you to see him, and take a 
 message from his father ? " 
 
 " I will do faithfully, all you may desire." Adam s 
 voice trembled. 
 
 " Say to him, that I know all that he has recently 
 done ; and that I understand the motives from which 
 he acted. Say also, that I have laid it away with the past 
 which I have forgiven, and desire to forget. I wish to 
 see him. You understand me, Adam ? " 
 
 " I do. 
 
 " And the spirit in which I speak ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Father and son held each other s hands with a tighten- 
 
 & 
 
 ing clasp for some moments. When Adam turned away 
 and left the room, his eyes were dim with moisture ; and 
 wet eyes looked after him. 
 
 " May God s peace be on this dwelling," said Doctor 
 Hofland, taking the hand of his old friend, as Adam re 
 tired. 
 
 Mr. Guy lost his self-control, and leaning down, laid 
 
324 WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. 
 
 his face on the head of Lydia, who was still at his side, 
 and sobbed aloud. 
 
 On this last scene in our drama of life, the curtain 
 falls. Its foreshadowings of days to come are full of 
 promise so full, that their blessing will not be count 
 ed dear even at the great price through which the pur 
 chase came. The fire is never too hot that burns out 
 the dross, leaving only precious gold. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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