What Came Afterwards CHAPTER 15.

On the next day, Edwin Guyton made over half-a-dozen ineffectual attempts to see his lawyer. Glastonbury was occupied in court until a late hour, and then, instead of returning to his office, where Guyton sat impatiently waiting for him, went home to dinner. Twice during the evening the young man tapped 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 uneasiness felt on the day before, had increased. Suspicion crept into his mind. Doubts oppressed him. If Glastonbury chose to keep the notes, or return them to Mrs. Larobe, what redress had he?

On the morning that followed, Edwin was at Glastonbury's office by half past eight o'clock. The lawyer had not yet arrived. Nine o'clock, and he was still absent. 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 Glastonbury'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 Guyton the uncomfortable impression of having been read through and through.

"Nothing," he answered. "Only, I am naturally anxious to hear whether you have succeeded in that negotiation. 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 Washington, and will not be home for a day or two."

Edwin made a gesture of disappointment.

"Sit down." And the lawyer blandly waved his client 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 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 beginning 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. Guyton."

"But every hour is an hour of risk, Mr. Glastonbury," said the young man, not able to conceal his nervousness.

"The risks are less today, than they have been at any time since you obtained the notes," replied the lawyer. "Legally, they have been already negotiated, and no valid plea to their collection can be set up. A public notification cannot, now, render them worthless."

"But it can prevent my realizing the money on them," said Guyton.

"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 tomorrow; 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."

Guyton had partly made up his mind, in case none of the notes were discounted, to get them back into his possession 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 Glastonbury 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 meantime, a reconciliation had taken place between Mr. and Mrs. Larobe. The former had left his rooms at the City Hotel, and was now domiciled under 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 unaccountable 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 effect upon Mrs. Larobe — the call of a mysterious stranger, 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 servants, and variously 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 denied callers on the plea of sickness, or gave the custom-sanctioned falsehood — "Not at home;" but, the few- acquaintances who saw her, rendered sad accounts 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 sonervous, that she startles at the slightest sound."

"Doctor," said Doctor Hofland, speaking to his son-in-law, the husband of Diane — " 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, concerning 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 have 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 apparent displeasure, the few inquiries I ventured to make in regard to her health. Yesterday, however, she consulted 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 Hofland, 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."

"Do you think so?"

"Yes."

"Have you obtained the clue?"

"No. The cause is hidden. But, there is no mistaking the signs. Something has occurred to shock severely 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 alwaysaside or beyond him. This reconciliation, 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 think. They have been, I fear, partners in some great wrong that is now struggling towards the light."

"Do you really think, Doctor, that Mr. Guyton 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 mystery. Depend on it, Adam Guyton'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 sincere astonishment in the countenance of Doctor Hofland.

"When some people get to surmising, they will surmise anything. I thought you had heard this wild conjecture 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 not Mr. Guyton who fell from the mad-house window, but another lunatic; and that Mr. Guyton is still living."

"A wild conjecture enough," remarked Doctor Hofland.

"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 ago, 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 Hofland.

"O yes — and believed also. 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 presumption 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 established 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 sitting at the lower end of the hall. He was standing near the same place when I came downstairs."

"Had he the air of a policeman?"

"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 color 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 husband 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 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 you Doctor Hofland?" she asked, looking at the elder of the two men.

"I am Doctor Hofland," was answered.

"Can I speak with you a minute?" The woman's air became slightly mysterious.

"Certainly." Doctor Holbrook arose, and retired to the inner office.

"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.

"Maybe it don't mean anything," she said, in a low, half confidential way, "but my man just thought he'd humor him — so I've brought it to you." 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 Guyton."

Repressing as far as he had power to do so, all visible emotion, Doctor Hofland requested the woman to be seated, and then asked —

"Who gave you this?"

"My man, Hugh."

"Hugh?" —

"Hugh McBride."

"And who gave it to your husband?"

"You'll not do anything to bring harm on him, sir? You'll not give information. My man is tender-hearted, he is, and couldn't deny him. But Hugh is tender-hearted, you see; and the poor man was so pitiful. Hugh says, he's not so far gone as those who put him in, want to make us believe."

"The man that gave Hugh this paper?"

"On your honor. You'll promise not to give information on Hugh. He's so tender-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, sir."

"Where?"

"With the lunatics. Oh! Sir! And it's a dreadful place to be in for my Hugh, he's so tender-hearted you know."

"In what street is the asylum?" asked the Doctor. "Asylum? It ain't the asylum, Doctor. There's no children there. Oh no, it ain't the asylum."

"A private institution?"

The woman shook her head in a mystified way.

"The house where Hugh takes care of the lunatics, I mean."

"That's just the perplexing thing. We don't know."

"Then why did you bring me this letter?"

"Don't the letter tell you?"

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 resuming his chair, went on —

"You were right in bringing me this letter, Mrs. McBride. I know the poor man, and must see him at once."

"O, sir! And that will never do. We're bound to secrecy."

"Are you bound, Mrs. McBride?"

"Not myself, sir; but Hugh's bound, and that's all the same."

"I don't know about that," said the Doctor. If a man goes into unlawful business, and becomes 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 you, 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."

"O, Doctor, Doctor! I'm all bewilderment. Let me go home to Hugh. I must talk with him. You've set me to shiverin' all over. If any harm should come to Hugh! Oh, sir!" 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."

"With the law? What do you mean Doctor?"

"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 pretense of his being a lunatic; and it has, therefore, 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. McBride," 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 matter. I will see to that."

"It won't do Doctor! I can't. I must go home and talk with Hugh."

"Better say nothing to Hugh. He may get bewildered, 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 she 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 person is, who gave your husband this letter?"

"Indeed not, sir."

"Does your husband know?"

"He don't know anything about him. Only Mr. Black knows who he is."

"Mr. Black, who keeps the house?"

"Yes, Doctor. I can't stay here another minute. You are just confoundin' me. I must see Hugh." And Mrs. McBride started up, and was at the door before Doctor Hofland could make a movement to prevent her departure.

"Stop, stop, ma'am! A word more — "

But the Irish woman gave no heed. She jerked open the door before 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 street in a moment afterwards, glancing eagerly up and down the street, but she was nowhere to be seen. Any attempt to follow her, must, he saw, be vain work; so, after 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, Doctor Holbrook, with a policeman.

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