What Came Afterwards CHAPTER 25.

A little after ten o'clock, on the next day, Henry Guyton, 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 anteroom, where a student was writing, when a person came through, whom he recognized as Glastonbury, a well known counselor 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. Guyton!" 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 certain steadiness of the eyes, which had once given him 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 Now they fell away from his gaze, if he looked at him intently — but came back again, the moment his eyes were withdrawn, in a suspicious, searching scrutiny, which was detected over and over again. There was in his face, a worn and exhausted air, and a pinching 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 beginning to stoop.

The men touched, rather than clasped, hands. Henry took the chair that was offered. Both were ill at ease. Henry was half doubting the policy of this interview which he had sought; and Larobe was trembling in suspense for the words that would reveal what was in the mind of his visitor.

"Mr. Larobe," said Guyton, 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 composed, overspread the lawyer's face.

"What is the purpose of these rumors?"

Mr. Larobe managed to keep the tremor that ran through his body, out of his voice.

"It is said that he is alive and now in this city."

"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 Guyton.

"What else is said?"

"More than I can repeat. Chiefly, and of first concern 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 Ewbank 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.

"Yes. But, what do you know of him?"

To this interrogation, the lawyer made no reply, but sat with looks cast down.

"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 base, 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. Guyton was troubled at his manner.

"Were you advised of this plot before?" he asked.

"In part."

"Did you know that Doctor Hofland had mixed himself up with it?"

"I have inferred as much. But, have you information, Henry, as to where the man now is who claims to be your father?"

"He is living with my sister."

"In the family of Mr. Ewbank?"

"Yes. So I understood Doctor Hofland."

"How long has he been there?"

"For several months."

"It can't be possible!" There was more than surprise in the countenance of Mr. Larobe. Even Henry 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, show 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 everything."

"When did he say this?"

"Last night."

"To you?"

"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 Guyton. From a state of abstraction into which he fell, he 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 Guyton, 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 expression —

"I'll be at leisure in a few moments, Garland. Wait in the front office."

But the deputy sheriff, instead of retiring on this invitation, said —

"Let me speak with you, Mr. Larobe."

There was something in the officer's tone, which caused Henry 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.

"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 slipped, and there was no arm to save him! He must go down to swift destruction. No wonder that his face grew as white as ashes; nor that his kneestrembled and gave way.

"What is it?" said Henry, advancing. He had observed 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 movement, made a feeble effort at self-composure. But, the old strength of will was gone. He was unable to command the hitherto obedient muscles — to look indifference, while terror palsied his heart. There was an almost helpless waving of the hand towards Henry, as if to keep him off. But, Henry 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 staggered back, and would have fallen, had not the sheriff's officer supported him to a chair.

"Leave me for a few moments, Garland. I wish to have a word or two alone with this gentleman," said Larobe, 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.

"I'll be surety for him," said Henry. "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 Henry —

"What if this man should be your father?"

Henry did not answer. The question was unexpected.

"I 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 assumesto be Adam Guyton. Now, suppose the claim, right or wrong, affirmed by legal decision — how will you stand? I merely put the question."

"That is my affair, not yours," answered Guyton, 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, before Guyton repented of his stupidity in not accepting from Larobe the communication he had, evidently, intended to make. He then called after him. But the opportunity was gone.

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