The course of true love looked, for a wonder, as if it were going for once to run smooth. Miracles certainly will never cease: this is the age of them!

Volume 3, Chapter XII.

"TOO LATE! TOO LATE!"

Markworth still sat in the same position in the untidy, ill-furnished private room at the sponging-house after the governess, his enemy, had left him--with his face hidden between his hands and his head bent down, the summer sun still streaming down on him, for the sun shines for rich and poor alike: for those in captivity, and for those that are free!

Clara Kingscott, meanwhile, directed her steps once more to the offices of Mr Trump and his partner, in Bedford Row. She did not dread a refusal this time: she did not hold back for fear of being denied admission: she had news--news! to communicate now, and they must see her!

"Mr Trump was out," said one of the clerks.

Miss Kingscott was in no hurry--although she was out of breath with the haste she had made from the hotel _restante_ of Abednego--she "would wait until Mr Trump came in."

That would never do, thought the clerk; his master wouldn't be pleased to find his _bete noir_ seated there in his outer office, ready to pounce upon him when he made his appearance. So fearful of a probable blowing up, the embryo Sheepskin tried again.

"Mr Trump was busy; he could not see anyone to-day."

Miss Kingscott, however, was invincible--"she would wait until the lawyer was disengaged," she said, calmly taking a seat unbidden.

Worse and worse for Sheepskin, who was in an agony of terror as to what to do. In the midst of the excitement enters Mr Trump himself from his inner sanctum, accompanied by Doctor Jolly.

"Bless my soul, Miss Kingscott!" exclaimed the latter; "who would have thought of seeing you here." But the doctor seemed embarra.s.sed; he did not offer his broad palm to the governess as he would have done in the old days at The Poplars; and his ruddy countenance was suffused with a deeper shade of crimson than was really habitual. Mr Trump advanced, however, to Miss Kingscott, and spoke out curtly in his cold, business voice.

"What do you want here, madam? You have no business with me! and I told my clerks to say I was not in whenever you came here!" glaring round at the solitary embryo sheepskin, who quaked in his shoes; the other grisly clerk, whose hair had the semblance of the fretful porcupine, was not there--probably he was at lunch, and would "return in ten minutes," as they all say.

Miss Kingscott was not staggered by the lawyer's facer; she was far too much wrapt up in her purpose to take notice of any rebuff, as she had had many already. She went in straight to her point, gasping with excitement as she spoke.

"He's found! He's found!" she exclaimed.

"Who's found? What do you mean, madam?" said Mr Trump, who, thinking the governess was going to make a dash at him, cautiously retired behind the doctor: the latter uttering his usual, "G.o.d bless my soul!" was staring at his quondam flame in astonishment.

"He's caught at last! Caught at last!" continued the governess hysterically, waving her arms frantically all the while.

"Who's found? Who's caught at last? Really, I do not comprehend you, madam; what is it to me whom you find or catch?"

"Bless my soul!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the doctor, hopelessly bewildered.

"Fool!" exclaimed Miss Kingscott, in cutting bitterness--so sharp and short was her tone, that the word sounded like a pistol-shot. "Fool!

Markworth is caught at last! Caught at last, do you hear? And I have caught him!"

Mr Trump and the doctor stared at one another in blank surprise; the former recovered himself first.

"Whew!" he whistled, between his closed teeth. "Oh, that's it, is it!

Well, and supposing he is caught, and that you have caught him, what is that to me?"

It was the governess's turn to be now surprised; she stared at Mr Trump in bewilderment.

"Why--I thought--what do you mean?" she stammered.

"I mean what I say, madam. What is it to me?" said the lawyer, coolly.

"Bless my soul!" still e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the doctor, in that stage of astonishment where one is described as "looking nine ways for Sunday."

Miss Kingscott now recovered herself.

"You must be mad, I think," she said, in her cold, grating voice. "Why, it is everything to you, as it is to me! Markworth is captured, do you hear? He is now arrested for debt; but the charge of murder has to be brought against him, and it is your place to accuse him. I have just left him," she went on hurriedly, dashing out her short, sharp sentences. "He knows that he can expect no mercy from me, or anyone else! The law must now do its part! A warrant must be at once obtained! If you will not come forward and do your duty, I will! The blood of Susan Hartshorne cries out aloud for vengeance!"

"Bless my soul!" said the doctor, aghast at the change in the bashful, timid governess of his former acquaintance, and staring with widening eyes at the stern Medea before him. "Bless my soul! Trump, why she does not know!"

"Whew!" whistled the lawyer again. "And you have told him this?" he inquired aloud of Miss Kingscott. "A fiend of a woman!" he muttered, aside to the doctor.

"Of course I have!" she exclaimed, indignantly. "Who had a better right than I to beard him at last? Have I not waited long enough, and tracked him all these months to have only that satisfaction? But it is come at last! I shall see him hanged, and then I shall be happy; my vengeance will be complete!"

"G.o.d bless my soul!" murmured the doctor, in a tone of warm congratulation to himself. "Bless my soul--that she did not catch _me_!

Why, she's a regular devil! Worse than twenty dowagers!"

The lawyer, meanwhile, was interrogating Miss Kingscott calmly, without apparently noticing her excitement. He had a wonderful sedative presently wherewith to cool this excitement down.

"And where is Markworth now?" he asked.

"He is where I've just left him, I believe. He was arrested this morning for a debt he owed to a Jew named Solomonson, who had advanced him money for carrying on that suit. He is locked up in a place somewhere in Chancery lane."

"Oh! yes; I know," said Mr Trump, interrupting her; "Abednego's, is it not?"

"Yes, that's the name," answered the governess.

"Hum-m!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr Trump, musingly. "And you are going to bring this charge of murder against him, eh?"

"I am!" she answered, sternly.

"Well, Miss Kingscott, if you will wait a short time, I will go with you."

"I've waited long enough," she said, impatiently. "Cannot you come now?"

"No, I have some matters to settle first; but, I will not delay; and, besides, I must see Markworth himself first, before anything can be done."

"See Markworth! What do you want to see him for?" she exclaimed, in surprise. "Why I have seen him there already!"

"That's my business," Mr Trump said, curtly; "but it will be better for you if you leave it in my hands. Will you meet me in half-an-hour at Abednego's place in Chancery lane?"

"I suppose I must," said the governess, after hesitating a moment, for I "cannot act very well without you. But you will be certain to be there, won't you?"

"I always keep my word," answered the lawyer, sententiously; "I will be there in half-an-hour."

"Very well," said the governess; and she went to the appointed place and pa.s.sed the time in restlessly walking up and down the pavement in front of the sponging-house, until Mr Trump should come.

At the time appointed--it was now late in the afternoon, and legal hours were nearly over--as punctual as clockwork, Mrs Hartshorne's lawyer made his appearance. He was accompanied by Doctor Jolly and a lady dressed in deep black, with her face closely veiled.