Mrs Peixada

by Henry Harland

  CHAPTER IX.—AN ORDEAL.

  ARTHUR ran up the steps of Mrs. Hart’s house, and, opening the doorwith his latch-key, entered the parlor. The gas was burning at fullhead. Hetzel was stretched at length in an easy-chair, his hands thrustdeep into his trowsers-pockets. At sight of Arthur, he rose and advancedon tip-toe to meet him.

  “Hush-sh,” he said, putting his finger to his lips. He pointed tothe sofa, upon which Mrs. Hart lay, asleep. Then he took Arthur’sarm, and led him through the hall into the back room. There they seatedthemselves.

  “I didn’t expect to find you up,” said Arthur.

  “We haven’t been abed,” said Hetzel.

  “I suppose nothing new has happened? You haven’t heard from heragain?”

  “No.”

  They remained silent for some time.

  Hetzel began, “After you left in that abrupt way, Mrs. Hart, whohad borne up wonderfully, quite went to pieces. She has been in a halfhysterical condition all night. I persuaded her to lie down about anhour ago, and now she’s asleep.”

  Arthur vouchsafed no comment.

  “We have had a lot of reporters pestering us, too,” Hetzel went on.“Of course I refused to see them, one and all.”

  At this Arthur started.

  “Then I suppose the whole thing is in the papers, curse them!” hecried.

  “I am afraid so.”

  “Haven’t you looked to see?”

  “It isn’t time yet. The papers haven’t been delivered yet.”

  Arthur pulled out his watch.

  “Not going—run down,” he said; “but of course it’s time. Itmust be seven o’clock.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know it was so late. I’ll go see.” Hetzel wentaway. Presently he returned, saying, “Surely enough, here they are.”

  “Well?” queried Arthur.

  Hetzel undid the newspapers, and commenced to look them over.

  “Yes, it’s all here—a column of it—on the front page,” hegroaned.

  “Let me see,” said Arthur, extending his hand.

  But the head-lines were as much as he had the heart to read. He threwthe sheet angrily to the floor and began to stride back and forth acrossthe room.

  “Sit down,” said Hetzel, “or you’ll wake Mrs. Hart.”

  “Oh, to be sure,” assented Arthur; and did as he was bidden.

  By and by, “Do you know at what hours visitors are admitted?” Hetzelasked.

  “I—I think between ten and four.”

  “Well, then, we’ll want a carriage here at halfpast nine. I’llsend out now to order one.”

  For a second time Hetzel left the room. When he got back, he said thathe had dispatched a servant to the nearest livery stable.

  At this juncture Mrs. Hart appeared, very old and gray and pallid. Shecame in without speaking, and took a chair near the window.

  “I hope your nap has refreshed you,” Hetzel ventured.

  “Oh, yes,” she replied dismally, “I suppose it has.—Where haveyou been, Arthur?”

  “Nowhere—only out of doors.”

  All three held their peace.

  Presently the servant returned from her errand, and told Hetzel that thecarriage would be on hand at the proper time.

  “Bridget,” said Mrs. Hart, “you’d better brew some coffee, andserve it up here.”

  When Bridget had gone, “You have sent for a carriage? At what hour arewe to start?” Mrs. Hart inquired.

  “At half-past nine.”

  “Then, if you will excuse me, I’ll go up-stairs and get ready.”

  “Certainly,” said Hetzel. “And while you’re about it, you’dbetter put a few things together to take to her, don’t you think?”

  “Why, she won’t need them. She’ll be with us again to-day, willshe not?”

  “You know, Mr. Flint can’t see Mr. Orson till this evening. So, itseems to me——-”

  “Oh, yes, I had forgotten,” said Mrs. Hart, gulping down a sob, andleft the room.

  During her absence, Bridget brought in the coffee.

  “Take a cup up to your mistress,” said Hetzel.

  Then he poured out a cup for Arthur. He had to use some persuasion toinduce him to drink it; but eventually he prevailed. Having swallowed aportion for himself, he lighted a cigarette.

  “Better try one,” he said, with a woful attempt at cheerfulness,offering the bunch to Arthur. “There’s nothing like tobacco to bracea man up.”

  But Arthur declined.

  Half-past nine was leisurely in arriving. At last, however, they heardthe grinding of carriage-wheels upon the pavement outside.

  They climbed into the carriage. The coachman cracked his whip. Off theydrove.

  That drive was a purgatory. At its start their hearts were oppressed bya nameless terror. It had intensified into a breathless agony, beforetheir drive was over. Their foreheads were wet with cold perspiration.Their lips were ashen. As they turned from Broadway into Leonard Street,and knew that they were nearing their journey’s end, each of theminstinctively winced, and gasped, and shuddered. When the carriagefinally drew up before the prison entrance, not one of them dared tospeak or to stir.

  At last Hetzel said, “Well, here we are.”

  No answer.

  After an interval, he went on, “Mrs. Hart, you, of course, will go infirst. You must explain to her about Arthur, and induce her to see him.You can send word, or come back, when she’s ready to.”

  With this, he opened the carriage door, dismounted, and helped Mrs. Hartto follow. Arthur remained behind. He closed his eyes for a little,and held his hands to his forehead. His hands were cold and damp. Hisforehead was now dry and hot; and he could count the pulsations ofthe arteries in his temples. His throat ached with a great lump. Hemechanically watched the people pass on the sidewalk, and wonderedwhether any of them were as miserably unhappy as he. The myriad noisesof the street smote his ears with a strange sharpness, and causedhim from time to time to start and turn even paler than he had been.Gradually, however, he began to lose consciousness of outward things,and to think, think, think. He had plenty to think about. Pretty soon,he was fathoms deep in a brown study.

  He was aroused by the reappearance of Hetzel and Mrs. Hart. They gotinto the carriage. The carriage moved.

  “What—what is the trouble now?” Arthur asked.

  “Damn them for a set of insolent scoundrels!”

  Hetzel blurted out, forgetful of Mrs. Hart’s sex. “They wouldn’tlet us in.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, they insist on a tangle of red-tape—say we must have passes,and so forth, from the district-attorney.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, we’re on our way to procure them now.” But at thedistrict-attorney’s office there was fresh delay. The clerk whose dutyit was to make out the passes, had not yet reached his post; and none ofhis colleagues seemed anxious to play the lieutenant’s part.

  Hetzel lost his temper.

  “Come, what are you lazy louts paid for, I’d like to know?” hethundered. “Where’s your master? Where’s Mr. Romer? I’ll seewhether you’re to sit around here in your shirt-sleeves, grinning, ornot. I want some one of you to wait on me, or I’ll make it hot for thewhole pack.”

  He got his passes.

  They drove back to the Tombs. This time Mrs. Hart encountered noobstacles to her entrance.

  Hetzel rejoined Arthur in the carriage. A quarter-hour elapsed beforeeither spoke.

  Arthur said, “She—she’s staying a long while.”

  “Oh,” responded Hetzel, “they’ve got such a lot to talk about,you know.”

  At the end of another quarter-hour, more or less, Arthur complained,“What under heaven can be keeping her so long?”

  “Be patient,” said Hetzel. “It’ll do no good to fret.”

  By and by Arthur started up. “By Jove, I can’t wait any longer. Ican’t endure this waiting. I must go in myself,” he cried.

  But just at this moment Mrs. Hart issued fort
h.

  Hetzel ran to meet her.

  She was paler than ever. Her eyelids were red.

  “We may as well drive home,” she said. “She won’t see him.”

  “For heaven’s sake, why not?” asked Hetzel.

  “I’ll tell you all about it, as we drive along.”

  “But how—how shall we break the news to him?”

  “You—you’d better speak to him now, before I get in.”

  Hetzel approached the carriage window.

  “Arthur,” he began, awkwardly, “try—try to keep quiet, andnot—the—the fact is—”

  “Is she ill? Is she dead?” cried Arthur, with mad alarm.

  “No, no, my dear boy; of course not. Only—only—justnow—she—”

  “She refuses to see me?”

  “Well—”

  “I was fully prepared for that. I knew she would.”

  His head sank upon his breast.

  They had covered half the distance between the Tombs and Beekman Place,when at length Arthur said, “Please, Mrs. Hart, please tell me aboutyour visit.”

  Mrs. Hart shot a glance at Hetzel, as much as to ask, “Shall I?” Henodded affirmatively.

  “There isn’t much to tell,” she began. “They led me down a lotof stone corridors, and through a yard, and up a flight of stairs, andacross a long gallery, past numberless little, black, iron doors; and atlast we stopped before one of the doors, and the woman who was withme called out,’.eixada, alias Ripley’—only think of theindignity!—and after she had called it out that way two or threetimes, a little panel in the door flew open, and there—there wasRuth’s face—so pale, so sad, and her eyes so large and awful—itmade my heart sink. I supposed of course they were going to let me in;but no, they wouldn’t. The prison woman said I must stand there, andsay what I had to say to the prisoner in her presence.”

  Mrs. Hart paused, and swallowed a sob.

  “Well, I stood there, so frightened at the sight of Ruth’s face,that I didn’t know what to do; till by and by she said, very softly,’Aren’t you going to kiss me, dear?’ Oh, her voice was so sweetand sad, I couldn’t help it, but I burst out crying; and she cried,too; and she put her face up close to the open place in the door; andthen we kissed each other; and then—then we just cried and cried, andcouldn’t speak a word.”

  The memory of her former tears brought fresh tears to Mrs. Hart’seyes. Drying them, she went on, “We were crying like that, and neverthinking of any thing else, when the prison woman said, ’If you haveany communication to make to the prisoner, you’d better make it rightoff, because you can’t stay here all day, you know.’ Then I beganabout Arthur. I said, ’Ruth, I wanted to tell you that Arthur is downoutside, and that he wishes to see you.’ Oh, if you could have seenthe look that came upon her face! It made me tremble. I thought she wasgoing to faint, or something. But no. She said, very calmly, ’It woulddo no good for me to see Arthur. It would only pain him and myself. Ido not wish to see him. I could not bear to see him. That is what shesaid.”

  “Go on, go on,” groaned Arthur, as Mrs. Hart paused.

  “She said she didn’t want to see you, and couldn’t bear to. Isaid, ’But, Ruth, you ought to see him. You and he ought to speaktogether, and try to understand each other.’ She said, ’There isno misunderstanding between us. I understand every thing.’—’Oh,no,’ said I, ’no, you don’t. There is something which he wantsto explain to you—about how he came to be associated with Mr.Peix-ada.’—’I don’t care about that,’ said she. ’There aresome things which he can not explain. I am miserable enough already.I need all my strength. I should break down, if I were to seehim.’—But I said, ’Consider, him, Ruth. You can’t imaginehow unhappy he is. He loves you so much. It is breaking hisheart.’—’Loves me?’ she said. ’Does he still pretend to loveme? Oh, no, he does not love me. He never loved me. If he had loved me,he would never have done what he did. Oh, no, no—I can not see him, Iwill not see him. You may tell him that I said it would do no goodfor us to see each other. Every thing is over and past between him andme.’ She had said all this very calmly. But then suddenly she began tocry again: and she was crying and sobbing as if her heart would break,and she couldn’t speak a word, and all I could do was to try andsoothe her a little, when the prison woman said I must come away. Itried to get her to let me stay—offered her money—but she said,’No. It is dinner time now. No visitors are allowed in the building atdinner time. You must go.’—So, I had to leave Ruth alone.”

  “It is as I supposed,” moaned Arthur. “She hates me. All is overand past between us, she said.”

  “Nonsense, man,” protested Hetzel. “It is merely a questionof time. Mrs. Hart simply didn’t have time enough. If she had beenallowed to stay a half hour longer, your wife would have loved you asmuch as ever. She does love you as much as ever, now. But her heartis crushed and sore, and all she feels is the pain. It’s less thantwenty-four hours since the whole thing happened; she hasn’t hadtime enough yet to think it over. We’re going to have her home againto-morrow; and if between the three of us we can’t undeceive herrespecting your relations to Peixada—bring her to hear and comprehendthe truth—I’ll be mightily surprised.”

  They drove for some blocks in silence.

  “Did you give her her things, Mrs. Hart?” Arthur asked, abruptly.

  “No,” said Mrs. Hart; “they wouldn’t let me. I forgot to tellyou that they made me empty my pockets before they led me to her. Theprison woman took the things, and said she would examine them, and thengive her such as were not against rules.”

  “And—and it was a regular prison cell in which she was confined?”

  “Oh, yes; it was horrible. The walls were whitewashed, and there wasonly one little bit of a grated window, and the floor was of stone, andthe bed was a narrow iron cot, and she had just a wretched, old, woodenstool to sit on, and the air was something frightful.”

  “Did you tell her of our efforts to get bail for her?” asked Hetzel.

  “Dear me, I forgot all about it.”

  “Perhaps you’d better write her a note, when we get home. I’llsend a messenger with it.”

  “All right, I will,” acquiesced Mrs. Hart.

  But in Beekman Place she said to Hetzel: “About that note you spokeof—I don’t feel that I can trust myself to write. I’m afraid Ishould say something that—that might—I mean I think I couldn’twrite to her. I should break down, if I tried. Won’t you do it,instead?”

  “One word from you would comfort her more than a dozen from me.”

  “But—it is such hard work for me to keep control of myself, as itis—and if I should undertake to write—I—I—”

  “Oh, very well,” said Hetzel. “Can you let me have pen andpaper?”

  What he wrote ran thus:—

  “My dear Mrs. Ripley: I only want to send you this line or two, totell you that your friends are hard at work in your behalf, and thatbefore this time to-morrow we mean to have you safe and sound at home.Meanwhile, for Arthur s sake, try to bear up and be of good cheer. Thepoor boy is breaking his heart about you. All I can do for him is topromise that in a few hours, now, he shall hold you in his arms again. Ishould like to make clear to you in this note how it was that he seemedto have had a share in the trickery by which you were betrayed; but I amafraid I might make a bungle of it; and after all, it is best that youshould hear the tale from his own lips, as you surely will to-morrowmorning. I beg and pray that you will strive hard not to let this thinghave any grave effect upon your health. That is what I most dread. Ofother consequences I have no fear—and you need have none. If you willonly exert your strength to bear it a little while longer, and comehome to us to-morrow sound and well in health, why, we shall all liveto forget that this break in our happiness ever occurred. I think I feelthe full pain of your position. I know that it is of a sort to unnervethe staunchest of us. But I know too that you have uncommon powers atyour command; and I beg of you, for your own sake, for Arthur’s, forMrs.
Hart’s, to call upon them now. Weather the storm for one morenight, and then I vouch for the coming blue skies.

  “God bless you and be with you!

  “Julian Hetzel.”

  “I want to add a postscript,” said Arthur, when Hetzel laid down hispen.

  “Do you think you’d better?” asked Hetzel, dubiously.

  “Let me have it, will you?” cried Arthur, savagely; and held out hishand for the paper.

  Hetzel gave it to him. On the blank space that was left he wrote:“Ruth—my darling—for God’s sake, overcome your anger against me.Don’t judge me before you have heard my defense. Be merciful, Ruth,and wait till you have let me speak and justify myself, before takingfor granted that I have been guilty of treachery toward you. Oh, Ruth,how can you condemn me on mere appearances?—me, your husband. Oh,please, Ruth, please write me an answer, saying that you have got overthe anger you felt for me yesterday and this morning, and that you willsuspend judgment of me till I have had a chance to clear myself. I cannot write my explanation here, now. I am not calm enough, and it is toolong a story. Oh, Ruth, I shall go mad, unless you will promise to waitabout condemning me. Write me an answer at once, and send it by themessenger who brings you this. I can not say any thing else except thatI love you. Oh, you will kill me, if you go on believing what youtold Mrs. Hart—that I do not love you. You must believe that I loveyou—you know I love you. Say in your answer that you know I love you.I love you as I never loved you—more than I ever loved you before.Oh, little Ruth, please cheer up, and don’t be unhappy. If this thingshould result seriously for your health, I—I shall die. Dear littleRuth, just try to keep up until to-morrow morning. If you will only comehome all right to-morrow morning, then our sufferings will not count.Ruth!”

  Hetzel said, “I’ll run out to the corner, and find some one to carrythis to her.”

  He went off. Mrs. Hart and Arthur sat silent and motionless in theparlor. In due time Hetzel got back. He too took a seat and kept hispeace. So the afternoon wore away. No one spoke. Their minds were busyenough, God knows; but busy with thoughts which they dared not shape inspeech. The clock on the mantel-piece ticked with painful distinctness.Street-sounds penetrated the closed windows—children’s voices, attheir games—the cries of fruit venders—hand-organ music—the noiseof wheels on paving stones—and reminded the listeners that the life ofthe city was going on very much as usual. Now and then a steam-whistleshrieked on the river. Now and then one of our tongue-tied trio drew adeep, audible sigh. Ruth’s piano, in the corner, was open. On the racklay a sheet of music, and with it a tiny white silk handkerchief thatshe had doubtless thrown down carelessly, and left there, the daybefore. When Arthur perceived this, he got up, crossed the floor, tookpossession of it, and tucked it into his pocket.

  Towards six o’clock the door-bell rang. All three started violently.The same notion occurred to all three at once.

  “It—it is from her. It is her answer,” gasped Arthur, and began tobreathe quickly.

  Hetzel went to the door. After what seemed an eternity to those he hadleft behind, he returned.

  “No,” he said, replying to their glances; “not yet. It is onlyyour office-boy, Arthur. He has brought you your day’s mail.”

  Arthur apathetically commenced to look over the envelopes. At last hecame to one which he appeared on the point of opening. But then abruptlyhe seemed to change his mind, and tossed it to Hetzel.

  “Read that, will you, and tell me what he says,” was his request.

  Hetzel read the following:—

  “Office of

  “B. Peixada & Co.,

  “No.—Reade Street,

  “New York, Aug. 12, 1884.

  “Dear Sir:—In view of the extraordinary occurrence of yesterdaymorning, I presume it is needless for me to say that your furtherservices as my attorney can be dispensed with. Please have the goodnessto transfer my brother’s will and all other papers in your keeping,in reference to the case of my late sister-in-law, to Edwin Offenbach,Esq., attorney, No.—Broadway. I don’t know if you expect me topay you any more money; but if you do, please send memorandum to aboveaddress, and oblige,

  “Respectfully Yours,

  “B. Peixada.

  “A. Ripley, Esq., attorney, etc.”

  “He wants you to transfer his papers to another lawyer and render yourbill, that’s all,” said Hetzel.

  “Oh, is that all?” Arthur rejoined. “Well, then, let me have hisnote.”

  Arthur put Peixada’s note into his pocket. The trio relapsed intotheir former silence.

  Again by and by the door-bell rang. Again all three started. AgainHetzel went to the door.

  Arthur leaned forward, and strained his ears. He heard Hetzel take downthe chain; he heard the door creak open; he heard a boy’s voice, roughand lusty, say, “No answer. Here, sign—will you?” And then he sankback in his chair.

  Hetzel staid away for some minutes. Coming back, “It was themessenger,” he said; “but he had no answer. The prison people toldhim that there was none.”

  It was now about seven o’clock. Presently Bridget appeared upon thethreshold, and asked to speak with her mistress. Mrs. Hart stepped intothe hall, where for a time she and the servant conversed in low tones.Re-entering the parlor, she said, “Dinner.—She came to tell me thatdinner is ready. I had forgotten it. Will you come down?”

  Hetzel rose. Arthur remained seated.

  “Come, Arthur. Didn’t you hear what Mrs. Hart said? Dinner isready,” Hetzel began.

  “Oh, you don’t suppose I want any dinner, do you? You two go down,if you choose. I’ll wait for you here.”

  “Now, be sensible, will you? Come down-stairs with us. Whether youwant to, or not, you must eat something. You’ll get sick, fasting likethis. We’ve got enough on our hands, as it is, without having a sickman to look after. Come along.”

  Hetzel took Arthur by the arm, and led him out.

  But their attempt at dinner was pretty doleful. Despite their longabstinence from food, none of them was hungry. Hetzel alone contrived tofinish his soup. Mrs. Hart and Arthur could swallow no more than a fewmouthfuls of bread and wine apiece.

  Afterward they went back to the parlor. As before, Arthur sat stilland nursed his thoughts. Hetzel picked up an illustrated book fromthe table, and began to turn the pages. Mrs. Hart said, “If you willexcuse me, I think I’ll lie down for a little. I have a splittingheadache.” She lay down on the sofa. Hetzel got a shawl, and coveredher with it.

  The clock was striking ten, when for a third time the bell rang. For athird time Hetzel started to answer it. Arthur accompanied him.

  Hetzel opened the door. A telegraph-boy confronted him.

  “Ripley?” the boy demanded.

  “Yes—yes,” said Arthur, and seized hold of the dispatch that theboy offered.

  But his courage forsook him. He turned white, and leaned against thewall for support.

  “Some—something has happened to her,” he gasped. “Read it forme, Hetz, and let me know the worst.”

  “No, it isn’t from her. It’s from Mr. Flint,” said Hetzel, afterhe had read it.

  “Oh,” sighed Arthur.—“Well, what does he say?”

  “Here.”

  Hetzel put the telegram into Arthur’s hands. Its contents were:—

  “Victory! Meet me to-morrow morning, 10:30, at district-attorney’soffice. Every thing satisfactorily arranged. Absolutely nothing tofear.—Arthur Flint.”

  “There,” Hetzel added, “now I hope you’ll brace up a little.”

  “I suppose I ought to,” said Arthur. “Anyhow, I’ll try.”

  Mrs. Hart was much relieved. Indeed, her spirits underwent aconsiderable reaction. Her eyes brightened, and she cried, “Oh, tothink! The dear child will be home again by luncheon-time to-morrow!”

  “And now,” put in Hetzel, “I would counsel both you and Arthur togo to bed. A night’s rest will work wonders for you.”

  “Yes, I think so, too,” agreed Mrs.
Hart. “But you—you will notleave us? You will sleep in our spare room?”

  “Oh, thank you. Yes, perhaps I’d better stay here, so as to be onhand in case any thing should happen.”

  All three climbed the staircase. Mrs. Hart showed Hetzel to hisquarters, and inspected them to satisfy herself that every thing wasin proper order for his comfort. Then he escorted her back to her ownbed-chamber. Arthur was standing in the hall. Mrs. Hart bade them bothgood night, and disappeared. Thereupon Hetzel, turning to Arthur, said,“Now, old boy, go straight to bed, and refresh yourself with a soundsleep. Good-by till morning.”

  But Arthur stopped him. In a voice that betrayed some embarrassment, hebegan, “I say, Julian, I wonder whether you would very much mind mysleeping with you. You see, I—I haven’t been in there”—pointingto a door in front of them—“since—since—” He broke off.

  “Oh, of course. You don’t feel like being left alone. I understand.Come on,” said Hetzel.

  “Thanks,” said Arthur. “Yes, that’s it. I don’t feel likebeing left alone.”

  The sky was overcast next morning, and a cold wind blew from across theriver. Hetzel and Mrs. Hart were up betimes; but Arthur, who had tossedrestlessly about for the earlier half of the night, lay abed till late.He did not show his face downstairs till nine o’clock.

  “We want to start in about half an hour, Arthur,” said Hetzel.“That will give us time to stop at your office, before going to thedistrict-attorney’s.”

  “What do we want to stop at my office for?”

  “Why, to attend to the matters that Peixada wrote you about—returnthe will—and so forth.”

  “Oh, yes. I had forgotten.”

  “Then, I suppose, Mrs. Hart, that we shall be back here for luncheon,and bring Ruth with us. But if we shouldn’t turn up till somewhatlater, you mustn’t alarm yourself. There’s no telling how long thelegal formalities may take.”

  “You speak as though you were going to leave me behind,” said Mrs.Hart.

  “Why, I didn’t think you would want to go with us. The weather isso threatening, and the district-attorney’s office is so unpleasant aplace, I took for granted that you would prefer to stay home.”

  “Oh, no. I should go wild, waiting here alone. You must let meaccompany you. I want to be the first—no, the second—to greetRuth.”

  Hetzel made no further opposition.

  They went straight to Arthur’s office. There he did the Peixadadocuments up in a bundle, directed the same to Mr. Edwin Offenbach, andtold his office boy to deliver it to Mr. Offenbach in person. Thenthey proceeded on foot up Broadway and down Chambers Street to thedistrict-attorney’s.

  The identical lot of supercilious clerks with whom Hetzel had had it outthe day before, were lolling about now in the ante-room. “We wish tosee Mr. Romer,” Hetzel announced.

  Nobody seemed to be much impressed by this piece of intelligence.

  “Come, you fellow,” Hetzel went on, addressing one young gentlemanin particular, who appeared to have no more weighty duty to performthan the trimming of his finger-nails; “just take that card into Mr.Romer—will you?—and look sharp about it.”

  The young gentleman glanced up languidly, surveyed his interlocutor witha mingling of pity and amusement, at length drawled, “Say, Jim, seewhat this party’s after,” and returned to his toilet.

  Hetzel’s brow contracted.

  “What do you want to see Mr. Romer about?” demanded Jim, leisurelylifting himself from the desk atop which he had been seated.

  Hetzel’s brows contracted a trifle more closely. There was an uglylook in his eyes.

  “What do I want to see Mr. Romer about?” he repeated. “I’llexplain that to Mr. Romer. What I want you to do is to conduct us toMr. Romer’s office; and I want you to do that at short notice, or, Ipromise you, I’ll find out the reason why.”

  Hetzel had spoken quietly, but with an inflection that was unmistakable.

  “Well, step this way, then, will you?” said Jim, the least bitcrestfallen.

  They followed him into Mr. Romer’s private room.

  Romer was seated at his desk. Mr. Flint was seated hard-by at a table,examining some papers. Both rose at the entrance of the visitors.

  “Ah, Arthur, my dear boy,” Mr. Flint exclaimed, “here you are.”He clapped his godson heartily upon the shoulder, and proceeded to payhis compliments to Mrs. Hart and Hetzel.

  “How do, Ripley?” said Romer. “Glad to see you.”

  Thereupon befell a moment of silence. Nobody seemed to know what to saynext.

  Finally Mr. Flint began. “I think,” he said, “I ought to tell youthat Mr. Romer is to be thanked for all the good luck that we have metwith. Except for his intercession, Mr. Orson would not have consideredthe bail question for a moment. As it is, Mr. Romer has persuadedhim—But perhaps you’d better go on,” he added, abruptly turning toRomer.

  “Well,” said Romer, “the long and short of it is that Mr. Orsonagrees to accept bail in twenty-five thousand dollars. You know, Ripley,it’s our rule not to take bail at all in cases of this sort; and so hehad to fix a large amount to ward off scandal.”

  “And here are the papers, all ready to be signed,” said Mr. Flint.

  “But where——” Hetzel began.

  “Yes, just so. I was coming to that,” Romer interposed. “We’vesent for her, and she’ll get here before long. But what I was goingto say is this: Mr. Orson makes it a condition that before bail isaccepted, she be required to—to plead.”

  “Well?” queried Hetzel.

  “Well, you see, she must put in her plea of not guilty in—in opencourt.”

  “What!” cried Arthur. “Subject her to that humiliation? Drag herup to the bar of a crowded court-room, and—and—Oh, it will kill her!You might as well kill her outright.”

  “Is this absolutely necessary?” asked Hetzel.

  “Mr. Orson made it a sine qua non,” replied Romer; “and ifyou’ll listen to me for a moment, I’ll tell you why.”

  He paused, gnawed his mustache for an instant, at length resumed, “Youknow, Ripley, we never should have gone at this case, at all, except foryou. That’s so, isn’t it? All right. Now, what I want to make plainis that we’re, not to blame. You started us, didn’t you? Well andgood. We unearthed that old indictment, which otherwise might havelain moldering in its pigeon-hole till the day of doom, we unearthedit simply because you urged us to. We never should have moved in thematter, except for you. I want you to confess that this is a truestatement of the facts.”

  “Oh, yes; it’s true,” groaned Arthur.

  “All right, Ripley. That’s just what I wanted to bring out. Now Ican pass on to point two. Point two is this. I suppose you’re verysorry for what’s happened. I know we are—at least, I am—awfullysorry. And what’s more, I feel—I feel—hang it, I feel uncommonlyfriendly toward you, Ripley, old boy. Don’t you understand? I want todo all I can to get you out of this confounded mess. And so, what I wentto work to do with Mr. Orson was not only to induce him to take bail,but also, don’t you see, to get him to drop the case. What I urgedupon him was this. I said, ’Look here, Mr. Orson, we didn’t startthis business, did we? Then why the deuce should we press it? Thechances of conviction aren’t great, and anyhow we’ve got our handsfull enough, without raking up worm-eaten indictments. I say, as longas she has turned out to be who she is, I say, let’s leave matters instatu quo.’ That’s what I said to Mr. Orson.”

  “By Jove, Romer, you—you’re a brick,” was the most Arthur couldrespond. There was a frog in his voice.

  “Well, sir,” Romer continued, “I put it before Mr. Orson in thatshape, and I argued with him a long time about it. But what struck himwas this. ’What’ll the public say?’ he asked. ’Now it’s gotinto the papers, there’ll be the dickens to pay, if we don’t pushit.’ And you can’t deny, Ripley, that that’s a pretty seriousdifficulty. Well, he and I, we talked it over, and considered the prosand cons, and the upshot of it was that he said, ’A
ll right, Romer. Ihave no desire to carry the matter further than is necessary to set usright before the public. So, what I’ll consent to do is to have bailfixed in a large sum—say twenty-five thousand dollars—and then shemust plead in open court. That’ll satisfy the reporters. Then we’llput the indictment back into the safe, and let it lie. As long aswe’re solid with the public, I don’t care.’ That’s what Mr.Orson said. So now, you see, she’s got to plead in open court, toprevent the newspapers from raising Cain with us, and the bail’sgot to be pretty considerable for the same reason. But after that’ssettled, you can take her home, and rest easy. As long as we’rein office the charge won’t be revived; and by the time we’resuperseded, it will be an old story and forgotten by all hands.”

  “You see,” Mr. Flint said, “how much we have to thank Mr. Romerfor.”

  “And I hope Mr. Romer will believe that we appreciate his kindness,”added Hetzel.

  “I—I—God bless you, Romer,” blurted out Arthur.

  “Well,” said Romer, “to come down to particulars, we’ve got acrowded calendar to-day, and so the court room is likely to be full ofpeople. I wanted to make this pleading business as easy as possible forher, and on that account I’ve sent an officer after her already. Justas soon as the judge arrives, she can put in her plea. Then we’ll allcome back here, and have the papers signed; and then you can go homeand be happy. Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you into the courtroom by the side entrance.”

  “Oh, we—I don’t want to go into the court room. I couldn’t standit. Let us wait here till it’s over,” whimpered Arthur, throughchattering teeth.

  Romer looked surprised. “Just as you please,” said he; “butprisoners generally like to see a friendly face near them, whenthey’re called up to plead.”

  “Ripley doesn’t know what he’s saying,” put in Hetzel. “Ofcourse we will follow you into court.” In a lower tone, turning toArthur, “You don’t mean that you want her to go through that ordealalone, do you?” he demanded.

  “Oh, I forgot about that,” Arthur confessed.

  “But—but,” asked Mrs. Hart, “can’t we see her and speak to herbefore she has to appear in court?”

  “I don’t think that could be managed,” replied Romer, “withoutsome delay. You know, I want to have her plead the moment she getshere, so as to avoid the crush. It’ll only take a few minutes. You’dbetter come now.”

  They followed Romer out of his office, down a long, gloomy corridor,along which knots of people stood, chatting and smoking rank cigars, andinto the General Sessions court room—the court room that Arthur hadvisited a few months before, out of idle curiosity to witness the sceneof Mrs. Peixada’s trial.

  There were already about forty persons present: a half dozen lawyersat the counsel-table, busy with books and papers; a larger numberof respectable looking citizens, who read newspapers and appearedbored—probably gentlemen of the jury; and a residue of damp, dirty,dismal individuals, including a few tattered women, who were doubtless,like those with whom we are chiefly concerned, come to watch the fateof some unfortunate friend. Every body kept very still, so that thebig clock on the wall made itself distinctly heard even to the farthestcorner of the room. Its hands marked five minutes to eleven. Thesuspense was painful. It seemed to Arthur that he had grown a year olderin the interval that elapsed before the clock solemnly tolled the hour.

  Romer had chairs placed for them within the bar, a little to the rightof the clerk’s desk, so that they would not be more than six feetdistant from the prisoner, when she stood up to speak. Then he leftthem, saying, “I’ll see whether the judge has got down. I want toask him to go on the bench promptly, as a favor to me.”

  Soon afterward a loud rapping sounded upon the door that led fromthe corridor, and the officers who were scattered about the room,simultaneously called, “Hats off.”

  The judge, with grave and rather self-conscious mien, stalked past ourfriends, and took his position on the bench. Romer followed at afew paces. He smiled at Arthur, and crossed over to thedistrict-attorney’s table.

  There was a breathing space of silence. Then the crier rose, and sangout his time-honored admonition, “Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye, allpersons having business with this court,” etc., to the end.

  Another moment of silence.

  The clerk untied a bundle of papers, ran them over, got upon his feet,and exchanged a few whispered words with the judge. Eventually he turnedaround and faced the audience.

  Ah, how still Arthur’s heart stood, as the clerk cried, in rasping,metallic accents, “Judith Peixada, alias Ruth Ripley, to the bar!”

  There were by this time quite seventy-five spectators present. Everyone of them leaned forward on his chair, and craned his neck eagerly,to catch a good glimpse of the prisoner. In the distance, somewhere,resounded a harsh click (as of a key turned in a stiff lock), succeededby a violent clang (as of an iron door opened and slammed to, in haste).Then, up the aisle leading from the rear of the court room, advanced thefigure of a lady, dressed in black. She had to run the gauntlet ofthose seventy-five on-lookers, more than one of whom was bold enough toobtrude himself upon her path, and stare her squarely in the face. Shehad no veil.

  But she marched bravely on, looking fixedly ahead, and at last reachedthe railing where she had to halt. She was terribly pale. Her featureswere hard and peaked. Her under-lip was pressed tight beneath her teeth.Her face might have been of marble. It contrasted sharply with the blackhair above it, and the black gown underneath. Her eyes were empty ofexpression, like those of one who is blind. She appeared not to see herfriends: at any rate, she gave them no sign of recognition. Yet theywere only a few feet away, and almost exactly in front of her. She stoodmotionless, with both hands resting on the rail.

  What must have been Arthur Ripley’s feelings at this moment, as hebeheld his wife, standing within arm’s reach of him, a prisoner in acourt of law, prey to a hundred devouring eyes, and recognized his utterhelplessness to interfere and shield her!

  “Judith Peixada, alias Ruth Ripley,” began the clerk, in the samemechanical, metallic voice, “you have been indicted for murder in thefirst degree upon the person of Edward Bolen, late of the first ward ofthe City of New York, deceased, and against the peace of the People ofthe State of New York, and their dignity. How say you, are you guilty ornot guilty of the felony as stated?”

  The prisoner’s hands clutched tightly at the railing. She drew a deepbreath. Her pale lips parted. So low that only those within a radius ofa yard or two could hear, she said, “I am guilty.”

  The clerk assumed that he had misunderstood. “Come, speak uplouder,” he said, roughly. “How do you plead?”

  A spasm contracted the prisoner’s features, She bit her lip. Her handsshook violently. She repeated, “I plead guilty.”

  The clerk’s face betrayed a small measure of surprise. Speedilycontrolling it, however, he began to recite the formula, for such case,made and provided: “You answer that you are guilty of the felony ascharged in the indictment, and so your plea shall stand record—”

  “One moment, Mr. Clerk,” the judge at this point interrupted.

  Mr. Flint and Hetzel were looking into each other’s faces with blankconsternation. Arthur’s head had dropped forward upon his breast. Mrs.Hart sprang to her feet, ran toward the prisoner, grasped her arm, andcried out, “Oh, it is not true. You don’t know what you have said,Ruth. It is not true—she is not guilty, sir,” directing the lastwords at the clerk. The on-lookers shifted in their seats and conversedtogether. The court-officers hammered with their gavels and commanded,“Order—silence.” Mr. Romer stood up, and tried to catch thejudge’s eye.

  “One moment, Mr. Clerk,” the judge had said; then addressing himselfto the culprit, “The plea that you offer, Judith Peixada, ought not,in the opinion of the court, to be accepted. The penalty for murderin the first degree is fixed by law, and that penalty is hanging. Nodiscretionary alternative is left to the magistrate. Therefore to permityou to en
ter a plea of guilty of murder in the first degree, would be topermit self-destruction. It has never been the custom of our courtsto accept that plea; though, naturally, they have seldom enough hadoccasion to decline it. If I remember rightly, the Connecticut tribunalshave in one or two instances allowed that plea to be recorded; but,unless I am misinformed, the statutes of Connecticut empower thesentencing officer to choose between death and imprisonment for life.

  “I can not consistently and conscientiously violate our precedents,and for that reason I must decline to entertain the plea that you haveoffered. If, however, you are in your heart persuaded of your guilt, andwish to spare the People the expense and labor of a trial before a jury,I will accept a plea of murder in the second degree, the punishment forwhich, I must beg you to recollect, is confinement at hard labor in theState Prison for the term of your natural life. The clerk will now putthe question to you, Judith Peixada, and you are at full liberty toreply to it as you deem fit.”

  “If the court please,” said Romer, “I should like to make a briefstatement, before these proceedings are continued.”

  “Certainly,” said the judge. “You can wait, Mr. Clerk, until wehave heard from the district-attorney.”

  Every man and woman in the court-room, save only two, strained forwardto catch each syllable that Romer might pronounce. The two exceptionswere the prisoner and her husband. He sat huddled up in his chair,apparently deaf and blind to what was going on around. She leanedheavily upon the railing in front of her, and the expression in her eyeswas one of weary indifference.

  “Will you kindly see that a chair is furnished the prisoner?” Romerasked of the clerk.

  An attendant brought a chair. The prisoner sat down.

  “If your honor please,” said Romer, “I desire to state that, incase the prisoner be allowed to plead to murder in the second degree,it will be against the protest of the People. The evidence in support ofthe indictment is of such a nature as to admit of doubt concerning theprisoner’s guilt; and, if it were submitted to a jury, I think thechances would be even whether they would acquit her or convict her. ThePeople feel that there is evidence enough to justify a trial, but theyare reluctant to—become accessories to what, in their judgment, maybe the hasty act of an ill-advised woman. It is the duty of thedistrict-attorney to endeavor to secure a conviction—it would be hisduty to consent to a plea—when fully convinced in his own mind of theaccused person’s legal guilt. But when he is doubtful, or at least notentirely satisfied, of that guilt, as I confess to being in the case atbar, it is his duty to submit the question for arbitration to a jury.That, your honor, is the stand which I am compelled to take in thesepremises. I entertain grave doubts of the prisoner’s guilt—doubtswhich could only be set at rest by a verdict rendered in the regularway. I protest therefore against the entry of a plea such as your honorhas suggested; and, if the court please, I desire that this protest onthe part of the People be made a matter of record.”

  Mr. Flint and Hetzel breathed more freely. Mrs. Hart fanned herself withmanifest agitation.

  The judge replied: “The clerk will procure a transcript of thedistrict-attorney’s remarks from the stenographer, and enter the samein the minutes. In response to those remarks, I feel called upon to saythat it is to be presumed that the prisoner at the bar, better than anyone else, is competent to decide upon the question of her own guilt orinnocence. She certainly can not be in doubt as to whether she committedthe felony charged against her. The court has already enlightenedher respecting the sentence that will be imposed in the event of herpleading guilty of murder in the second degree. Whatever evidence mightbe adduced in her behalf at a trial, is certainly not to be weighedagainst her own voluntary and unconstrained confession. It would becontrary to public policy and to good morals for the court to seal theprisoner’s lips, as the district-attorney appears anxious to have itdo. The clerk will now put the necessary inquiries to her; and if sheelect to offer the plea in debate, the court will feel obliged to acceptit.” Romer bowed and sat down.

  The clerk forthwith proceeded to business. “Judith Peixada, standup,” he ordered. Upon her obeying, he rattled off, “Judith Peixada,do you desire to withdraw your plea of guilty of murder in the firstdegree, and to substitute for the same a plea of guilty of murder in thesecond degree, as charged in the second count of the indictment? If so,say, ’I do.’.rdquo;

  Mrs. Hart cried, “No, no! She does not. Don’t you see that the childis sick? How should she know whether she is guilty or not? Oh, it willbe monstrous if you allow her to say that she is guilty.”

  “Order! Silence!” called the officers. One of them seized Mrs.Hart’s arm and pushed her into a chair.

  The prisoner’s lips moved. “I do,” she whispered.

  “You answer,” went on the clerk, “that you are guilty of thefelony of murder in the second degree, as charged in the second count ofthe indictment; and so your plea shall stand recorded. What have younow to say why sentence should not be pronounced upon you according tolaw?”

  Romer stepped forward.

  “If your honor please,” he said, “the People are not yet preparedto move for sentence. In the absence of counsel for the prisoner, I musttake it upon myself to request that sentence be suspended for at leastone week.”

  “The court suspends sentence till this day week at eleven o’clockin the forenoon,” said the judge; “and meanwhile the prisoner isremanded to the city prison.”

  The prisoner was at once led away.