The porter threw open the door, and stood aside to allow her to pass in.
The room was lighted, and she saw that while it was not large, it was comfortably furnished, and her trunk stood unstrapped in one corner. The next moment the door closed upon her, and she heard the key turned in the lock.
A bitter sob burst from her as she dashed the hot tears from her eyes, and a low, eager cry broke from her lips as she noticed that a door connected her room with the one from which the gentleman had issued a few moments before.
She sprang toward it, and turned the handle.
It was locked, of course. She told herself she might have known it would be, but she had acted upon an uncontrollable impulse.
But as she released her hold upon the knob she thought she heard some one moving about within the other room.
Perhaps the gentleman had his wife with him, and impelled by a wild hope, Mona knocked upon a panel to attract attention, and the next moment she was sure she caught the rustle of skirts as some one glided toward her.
Putting her lips to the key-hole, she said, in a low, appealing tone:
"Oh! can you speak English, French, or German? Pray answer me."
She thought she had never heard sweeter music than when the clear, gentle voice of a woman replied:
"I can speak English, but no other language."
"Oh! I am so glad!" almost sobbed Mona. "Please put your ear close to the key-hole, and let me tell you something. I dare not talk loud for fear of being overheard. I am a young girl, a little more than eighteen years old, and I am in a fearful extremity. Will you help me?"
"Certainly, if you are in need of help," returned the other voice.
"Oh, thank you! thank you!" cried Mona, and then in low, rapid tones she briefly told her story to the listener on the other side of the door.
When she had concluded, the woman said, wonderingly:
"It is the most dreadful thing I ever heard of. My brother, with whom I am traveling, will soon be back. We are to leave early in the morning, and he has gone down to the office to settle our bill and make necessary arrangements. I will tell him your story, and we will see what can be done for you."
Mona again thanked her, but brokenly, and then overcome by this unexpected succor she sank prone upon the floor weeping passionately; the tension on her nerves had given way and her overwrought feelings had to have their way.
Presently a hand touched the key in her door.
Startled beyond measure, she sprang to it, feeling sure that Louis
Hamblin stood without.
"Do not dare to open this door," she cried, authoritatively.
"Certainly not; I simply wished to ask if you have everything you wish for the night," the young man returned, in perfectly courteous tones.
"Yes."
"Very well, then; good-night. I hope you will rest well," he said, then drawing the key from the lock, he passed on, and the next moment Mona heard a door shut across the hall.
It was scarcely five minutes later when she heard some one enter the room next to hers, and her heart leaped again with hope.
Then she heard a gentleman and lady conversing in low tones, and knew that her story was being repeated to one who had the power, if he chose to use it, to save her from her persecutor.
A little later she heard the gentleman go to a window and open it.
Then there came a gentle tap upon the door, and the lady said to the eager ear at the key-hole:
"There is a little balcony outside our window and another outside yours with only a narrow space between. My brother says if you will go out upon yours he will help you across to us, then we can talk more freely together, and decide upon the best way to help you. Turn down your light first, however, so that no one outside will see you."
"Yes, yes," breathed Mona, eagerly, and then putting out her light, she sprang away to the window.
She raised it as cautiously as she could, crept out upon the narrow iron balcony, and found a tall, dark figure looming up before her upon the other.
"Give me your hands," said the gentleman, in a full, rich voice that won the girl's heart at once, "then step upon the railing, and trust yourself entirely to me; you will not fall."
Mona unhesitatingly reached out her hands to him; he grasped them firmly; she stepped upon the railing, and the next moment was swung safely over the space between the two balconies, and stood beside her unknown friend.
He went before her through the window, and assisted her into the darkened room; the curtain was then lowered, and the gas turned up, and Mona found herself in the presence of a tall, handsome man of about thirty-three years, and a gentle, attractive-looking woman a few years his senior.
CHAPTER XV.
MONA'S ESCAPE.
The gentleman and lady both regarded the young girl with curious and searching interest as she stood, flushed and panting from excitement, in the center of the room beneath the blazing chandelier.
"Sit here, Miss Montague," said the gentleman, pulling forward a low rocker for her, "but first," he added, with a pleasant smile, "allow me to introduce myself. My name is Cutler—Justin Cutler, and this lady is my sister, Miss Marie Cutler. Now, it is late—we will waive all ceremony, so tell us at once about your trouble, and then we will see if we cannot help you out of it."
Mona sat down and briefly related all that had occurred in connection with her trip since she left New York, together with some of the circumstances which she believed had made Mrs. Montague and Louis Hamblin so resolute to force her into a marriage with the latter.
Her companions listened to her with deep interest, and it was plain to be seen that all their warmest sympathies were enlisted in her cause.
Mr. Cutler expressed great indignation, and declared that Louis Hamblin merited the severest sentence that the law could impose, but, of course, he knew that nothing could be done to bring him to justice in that strange country; so, after considering the matter for a while, he concluded that the best way to release Mona from her difficulties would be by the use of strategy.
"We are to leave on a steamer for New York to-morrow morning, and you shall go with us," Mr. Cutler remarked, "and if we can get you away from the hotel and on board the boat without young Hamblin's knowledge, you will be all right, and there will be no disagreeable disturbance or scandal to annoy you. Even should he discover your flight, and succeed in boarding the vessel before she sails, he will be helpless, for a quiet appeal to the captain will effectually baffle him. But how about your baggage?" he asked in conclusion.
"My trunk is in my room," Mona returned.
"Of course you must have that," said Mr. Cutler; "the only difficulty will be in getting it away without exciting suspicion. We must have this door between these rooms opened by some means. I wonder if the key to ours would fit the lock."
He arose immediately and went to try it, but it would not work.
"No. I did not expect our first effort would succeed," he smilingly remarked, as he saw Mona's face fall. "There is one way that we can do if all other plans fail," he added, after thinking a moment; "you can go back to the other room and unpack your trunk, when I could easily remove it through the window, and it could be repacked in here; but that plan would require considerable time and labor, and shall be adopted only as a last resort. But wait a minute."
He sprang to his feet, and disappeared through the window, and the next moment they heard him moving softly about in the other room.
Presently he returned, but looking grave and thoughtful.
"I hoped I might find a key somewhere in there," he explained, "but the door bolts on that side. There should, then, be a key to depend upon for this side. I wonder—"
He suddenly seized a chair, placed it before the door, stepped upon it, and reached up over the fanciful molding above it, slipping his hand along behind it.
"Aha!" he triumphantly exclaimed all at once, "I have it!" and he held up before their eager gaze a rusty and dusty iron key.
A moment later the door was unlocked, and swung open between the two rooms.
Five minutes after, all Mona's baggage was transferred to Miss Cutler's apartment, the door was relocked and bolted as before, and the fair girl felt as if her troubles were over.
Overcome by the sense of relief which this assurance afforded her, she impulsively threw her arms about Miss Cutler, laid her head on her shoulder, and burst into grateful tears.
"Oh, I am so glad—so thankful!" she sobbed.
"Hush, dear child," said the gentle lady, kindly, "you must not allow yourself to become unnerved, for you will not sleep, and I am sure you need rest. I am going to send Justin away at once, then we will both retire."
"Yes, I will go directly," Mr. Cutler remarked, "but I shall call you early. I will have your breakfast sent up here, when your trunks can be removed. Then, Miss Montague, you are to put on a wrap belonging to my sister, and tie a thick veil over your face. I will come to take you to the carriage, and no one will suspect but that you are Marie. Meantime she will slip down another stairway, and out of the private entrance; then away we will speed to the steamer, and all will be well. Now, good-night, ladies, and a good sleep to you," he concluded, cheerfully, as he quietly left the room.
Miss Cutler and Mona proceeded to retire at once, but while disrobing the elder lady told her companion how it happened that she and her brother were in Havana so opportunely. She had been out of health, and had come to Cuba early in the fall to spend the winter. Her brother had come a few weeks earlier to take her home, and they had been making excursions to different points of interest on the island.
"I am so glad," she said, in conclusion, "that we decided to take rooms at this hotel during our sojourn in Havana. At first I thought I would like to go to some more quiet place, but Justin thought we would be better served here, and," with a gentle smile, "I believe it was wisely ordered so that we could help you."
Mona feared that she should not be able to sleep at all, her nerves had been so wrought upon, but her companion was so cheerful and reassuring in all that she said that before she was hardly aware that she was sleepy she had dropped off into a sound slumber.
At six o'clock the next morning a sharp rap on their door awakened the two ladies.
They arose immediately, and had hardly finished dressing when an appetizing breakfast appeared. Miss Cutler received the tray at the door, so that the waiter need not enter the room, and then was so merry and entertaining as, with her own hands she served Mona, that the young girl forgot her nervousness, in a measure, and ate quite heartily.
By the time their meal was finished another rap warned them that the porters had come for their trunks.
"Step inside the closet, dear," said Miss Cutler, in a whisper, and Mona noiselessly obeyed her.
The door was then opened, and both trunks were removed, apparently without exciting any suspicion over the fact that there were two instead of one as when Miss Cutler arrived.
A few minutes later Mr. Cutler appeared, and Mona, clad in Miss Cutler's long ulster—which she had worn almost every day during her sojourn there—and with a thick veil over her face, took her tall protector's arm, and went tremblingly out.
Her heart almost failed her as she passed through the main entrance hall, which she had crossed in such despair only a few hours previously; but Mr. Cutler quietly bade her "be calm and have no fear," then led her down the steps, and assisted her to enter the carriage that was waiting at the door.
The next moment another figure stepped quickly in after her, Mr. Cutler followed, the door was closed, and they were driven rapidly away.
Arriving at the steamer-landing, they all went on board, and after attending to the baggage, Mr. Cutler conducted his ladies directly to their stateroom.
"I will get you a room by yourself, if you prefer;" he said to Mona, "but I thought perhaps you might feel less lonely if you should share my sister's."
"Thank you, but I should much prefer to remain with Miss Cutler if it will be agreeable to her," Mona returned, with a wistful glance at the lady.
"Indeed, I shall be very glad to have you with me," was the cordial reply, accompanied by a charming smile, for already the gentlewoman had become greatly interested in her fair companion.
"That is settled, then," said the gentleman, smiling, "and now you may feel perfectly safe; do not give yourself the least uneasiness, but try to enjoy the voyage—that is, if old Neptune will be quiet and allow you."
"You are very kind, Mr. Cutler, and I cannot tell you how grateful I am to both yourself and your sister," Mona said, feelingly. "But, truly," she added, flushing, "I shall not feel quite easy until we get off, for I am in constant fear that Mr. Hamblin will discover my flight, and come directly here to search for me."
"Well, even if he does, you need fear nothing," Mr. Cutler returned, reassuringly; "you shall have my protection, and should Mr. Hamblin make his appearance before we sail and try to create a disturbance, we will just hand the young man over to the authorities. The only thing I regret in connection with him," the gentleman concluded, with a twinkle in his eye, "is that I cannot have the pleasure of witnessing his astonishment and dismay when he makes the discovery that his bird has flown. Now, ladies, make yourselves comfortable, then come and join me on deck."
He left them together to get settled for their voyage, and went up stairs for a smoke and to keep his eye upon the shore, for he fully expected to see Louis Hamblin come tearing down to the boat at any moment. The reader has, of course, recognized in Justin Cutler the gentleman who, at the opening of our story, was made the victim of the accomplished sharper, Mrs. Bently, in the diamond crescent affair. It will be remembered also that he came on to New York at the time of the arrest of Mrs. Vanderheck, and that he informed Detective Rider of his intention of going to Cuba to meet his invalid sister and accompany her home, and thus we find him acting as Mona's escort and protector also.
While the three voyagers were settling themselves and waiting for the steamer to sail, we will see how Louis Hamblin bore the discovery of Mona's escape.
He did not rise until eight o'clock, and after having his bath and a cup of coffee in his own room, he went to Mona's door and knocked.
Receiving no answer, he thought she must be sleeping, and resolved that he would not arouse her just then.
He went down stairs, and had his breakfast, then strolled out to smoke his cigar, after which he went back, and again tapped upon Mona's door.
Still no answer.
He called her name, but receiving no response, he took the key from his pocket and coolly unlocking the door, threw it wide open.
The room was, of course, empty.
There were no signs that the bed had been occupied during the night, and both the girl and her trunk were gone.
With a fierce imprecation of rage, the astonished young man rushed down to the office to interview the proprietor as to the meaning of the girl's disappearance.
Although Mona had supposed there was no one in the house who could speak English, there was an interpreter, and through him Louis soon made his trouble known.
"Impossible!" the amazed proprietor asserted; "no trunk had been removed from Number Eleven, and no young lady had left the house that morning."
Louis angrily insisted that there had, and in company with the landlord and the interpreter, he returned to Mona's room to prove his statement.
At first the affair was a great mystery, and created considerable excitement, but it was finally remembered that Americans had occupied the adjoining rooms, and it was therefore concluded that the young girl had managed in some way to make her situation known to them, and they, having left that morning, had, doubtless, assisted her in her flight.
"Who were they, and where were they going?" Louis demanded, in great excitement.
"Cutler was the name, and they had left early to take the steamer for New
York," they told him.
"What was her hour for sailing?" cried the young man.
"Nine-thirty," he was informed.
Louis looked at his watch.
It lacked fifteen minutes of the time.
"A carriage! a carriage!" he cried, as he dashed out of the hotel and down the steps at a break-neck pace.
He sprang into the first vehicle he could find, made the driver understand that he wanted him to hasten with all possible speed to the New York steamer, and enforced his wishes by showing the man a piece of glittering gold.
He was terribly excited; his face was deathly white, and his eyes had the look of a baffled demon. But he was not destined to have the satisfaction of even seeing Mona, for he reached the pier just in season to see the noble steamer sailing with stately bearing slowly out into the harbor, and he knew that the fair girl was beyond his reach.
Meantime, as soon as she had seen Louis and Mona safely on board the steamer, bound for Havana, Mrs. Montague, instead of going into the stateroom that had been engaged for her only as a blind, slipped stealthily back upon deck, hastened off the boat, and into her carriage, which had been ordered to wait for her, and was driven directly to the railway station, where she took the express going northward.
She did not spare herself, but traveled day and night until she reached New York, when she immediately sent a note to Mr. Palmer, notifying him of her return and desire to see him.
He at once hastened to her, for she had intimated in her communication that she was in trouble, and upon inquiring the cause of it, she informed him, with many sighs and expressions of grief, that her nephew and prospective heir had eloped with her seamstress.
Mr. Palmer looked amazed.
"With that pretty, modest girl, whom you had at Hazeldean with you?" he exclaimed, incredulously.
"Yes, with that pretty, modest girl," sneered Mrs. Montague. "These sly, quiet things are just the ones to entrap a young man like Louis, and there is poor Kitty McKenzie who will break her heart over the affair."
The wily widow's acting was very good, and Mr. Palmer sympathized with her, and used his best efforts to comfort her. But all that Mrs. Montague had cared to do was to set the ball rolling so that Ray might get it, and gradually led the conversation into a more interesting channel, and they discussed at length the subject of their own approaching union.
Mr. Palmer urged an early date, and after a little strategic hesitation, Mrs. Montague finally consented to make him happy, and the wedding was set for just one month from that day. This matter settled, the sedate lover took his leave, and his fiancée with a triumphant look on her handsome face, went up stairs to look over her wardrobe to see what additions would be needed for the important event.
"Whether Louis succeeds in making the girl marry him or not, she will have been so compromised by this escapade that Ray Palmer will, of course, never think of making her his wife, and my purpose will be accomplished," she muttered, with an evil smile.
She did not give a thought to the wanderers after that, but went about the preparations for her approaching marriage with all the zeal and enthusiasm that might have been expected in a far younger bride-elect.
Mr. Palmer went home feeling a trifle anxious as to how Ray would receive the news that the day was set for making Mrs. Montague his wife.
To see that he dreaded revealing the fact expresses but little of what he felt, but he had never taken any important step of late years without consulting his son, and he did not feel at liberty to now ignore him upon a matter of such vital interest.
So, after tea that evening, when they sat down to read their papers, he thought the opportunity would be a favorable one to make his confession.
Ray seemed anxious and depressed, for he had not received his usual semi-weekly letter from Mona that day, and was wondering what could be the reason, when Mr. Palmer suddenly remarked:
"Mrs. Montague has returned."
"Ah!" said Ray, and instantly his face brightened, for his natural inference was that Mona had, of course, returned with Mrs. Montague, and that accounted for his having received no letter that day.
"Yes, she arrived this morning," said his father.
"She is well, I suppose?" Ray remarked, feeling that he must make some courteous inquiry regarding his stepmother-elect.
"Yes, physically; but that scapegrace of a nephew has been giving her considerable trouble," Mr. Palmer observed.
"Trouble?" repeated his son.
"Yes, he eloped with a girl from New Orleans. They went on board a steamer bound for Havana, registered as man and wife, and that is the last she has heard of him, while she was obliged to return to New York alone," explained Mr. Palmer, wondering how he was going to introduce the subject of his approaching marriage.
"Is that possible? Who was the girl?" exclaimed Ray, astonished and utterly unsuspicious of the blow awaiting his fond heart.
"Mrs. Montague's seamstress—Ruth Richards."
CHAPTER XVI.
MONA CALLS ON MRS. MONTAGUE.
Mr. Palmer's unexpected announcement fairly stunned Ray for a moment. His heart gave a startled bound, and then sank like a lump of lead in his bosom, while a deadly faintness oppressed him.
Indeed the blow was so sharp and sudden that it seemed to benumb him to such an extent that he made no outward sign—he appeared to be incapable of either speech or motion. His face was turned away from his father, and partially concealed by his newspaper, so that Mr. Palmer, fortunately, did not observe the ghastly pallor that overspread it, and not knowing that Ruth Richards was Mona Montague, he was wholly ignorant of the awful import of his communication.
"Ruth Richards?" Ray finally repeated, in a hollow tone, which, however, sounded to his father as if he did not remember who the girl was.
"Yes, that pretty girl that Mrs. Montague had with her at Hazeldean—the one to whom you showed some attention the night of the ball—surely you cannot have forgotten her. It seems," the gentleman went on, "that young Hamblin has been smitten with her ever since she entered his aunt's service, but she has opposed his preference from the first. He followed them South, and met them at New Orleans, and it seems that the elopement was arranged there. They were very clever about it, planning to leave on the Havana steamer on the very day set for their return to New York. Mrs. Montague learned of it at almost the last moment, and that they had registered as Mr. and Mrs. Hamblin, although she did not ascertain that there had been any marriage beforehand, and, overcome by this unexpected calamity, she took the first express coming North."
It was well for Ray that his father made his explanation somewhat lengthy, for it gave him time to recover a little from the almost paralyzing shock which the dreadful announcement had caused.
He was as white as a ghost, and his face was covered with cold perspiration.
"This terrible thing cannot be true," he said to himself, with a sense of despair at his heart. "Mona false! the runaway wife of another! Never!"
Yet in spite of his instinctive faith in the girl he loved, he knew there
must be some foundation for what had been told to his father. Mrs.
Montague had come home alone. Louis and Mona had been left behind!
What could it mean?
His heart felt as if it had been suddenly cleft in twain. He could not believe the dreadful story—he would not have it so—he would not submit to having his life and all his bright hopes ruined at one fell blow. And that, too, just as he had learned such good news for his darling—when he had been planning to give her, upon her return, the one thing which she had most desired above all others—the indisputable proof of her mother's honorable marriage; when it would also be proved that she was the heir to the property which Homer Forester had left, and could claim, if she chose, the greater portion of the fortune left by her father.
Ray had been very exultant over the finding of that certificate in Mrs. Montague's boudoir, and had anticipated much pleasure in beholding Mona's joy when he should tell her the glorious news.
But now—great heavens! what was he to think?
Then the suspicion came to him, with another great shock, and like a revelation, that it was all a plot; that Mrs. Montague had perhaps discovered Mona's identity and possibly the loss of the certificate, which, she might think, had fallen into the young girl's hands. He had felt sure, from the quizzing to which Louis Hamblin had subjected him at Hazeldean, that that young man's suspicions had been aroused, and possibly this sudden flitting to the South had been but a plot, from beginning to end, to entrap Mona into a marriage with the young man in order to secure the wealth they feared to lose.
"When did Mrs. Montague leave New Orleans?" he inquired, when his father had concluded, while he struggled to speak in his natural tone.
"On Tuesday evening."
"And you say that the Havana steamer sailed that same day?"
"Yes."
"What was the name of the steamer?"
"I do not know. I did not ask," Mr. Palmer replied. He was thinking more about his own affairs than of the alleged elopement of the young people, or he must have wondered somewhat at his son's eager questions. "And, Ray," he added, as the young man suddenly laid down his paper and arose, "there is one other thing I wanted to mention—Mrs. Montague has consented to become Mrs. Palmer on the thirtieth of next month. I—I hope, my dear boy, that you will be prepared to receive her cordially."
"You know, father, that I would never willfully wound you in any way, and when Mrs. Montague comes as your wife, I shall certainly accord her all due respect."
Ray had worded his reply very cautiously, but he could not prevent himself from laying a slight emphasis upon the adverb, for he had resolved that if Mrs. Montague had been concerned in any way in a plot against Mona's honor or happiness, he would not spare her, nor any effort to prove it to his father, and thus prevent him, if possible, from ruining his own life by a union with such a false and unscrupulous woman.
"Thank you, Ray," Mr. Palmer replied, but not in a remarkably hopeful tone, and then remarking that he had a little matter of business to attend to, Ray went out.
Late as it was, he hastened to a cable office, hoping to be able to send a night dispatch to Havana, but he found the place closed, therefore he was obliged to retrace his steps, and wait until morning.
There was not much sleep or rest for him that night. His faith in Mona's truth and constancy had all returned, but he was terribly anxious about her, for the more he thought over what he had heard, the more he was convinced that she was the victim of some cunning plot that might make her very wretched, even if it failed to accomplish its object. He knew that she was very spirited, and would not be likely to submit to the wrong that had been perpetrated against her, and this of itself might serve to make her situation all the more perilous.
He was at the cable office by the time it was opened the next morning, and dispatched the following message to the American Consul in Havana:
"Couple, registered as Mr. and Mrs. Louis Hamblin, sailed from New Orleans for Havana, April 28th. Search for them in Havana hotels. Succor young lady, who is not Mrs. Hamblin. Answer."
Ray felt that this was the very best thing that he could do.
He would gladly have gone himself to Havana, and longed to do so, but he was sure that if she should escape from her abductor—for so he regarded Louis Hamblin—Mona would be likely to return immediately to New York and to him. Thus he concluded it would be best to send the above message and await an answer from the consul, then if he could learn nothing about the couple he would go himself to search for Mona.
The day seemed interminable, and he was nearly distracted when night came, and he received no answer to his dispatch. He had not been able to apply himself to business all day, but wandered in and out of the store, looking wan and anxious, and almost ill.
This led his father to imagine that he was unhappy over his contemplated marriage—a conclusion which did not serve to make the groom-elect feel very comfortable.
On the next morning, however, Ray received the following cablegram:
"Young lady all right; sailed for New York yesterday, May 1st."
The relief which these few words afforded Ray's anxious heart can better be imagined than described.
Mona was true to herself and him, and he knew well enough that she never would have returned to New York if she had been guilty of any wrong. She would soon be with him, and then he would know all.
He ascertained what steamer left Havana on the first, and when it would be likely to arrive in New York, and as the hour drew near, he haunted the pier, that he might welcome his darling, and give her his care and protection the moment she arrived.
Meantime Mona, her mind relieved of all anxiety, was having a very pleasant passage home with Justin Cutler and his sister.
The weather was delightful, the sea was calm, and none of them was sick, so they spent most of their time together upon deck, and Mona was so attracted toward her new friends that she confided to them much more of her history than she had at first done that evening in the Havana hotel. In so doing she had mentioned the Palmer robbery and what she had discovered in connection with it while she was in St. Louis.
This led Mr. Cutler to relate his own experience with the crescents, and also the similar deception practiced upon Mrs. Vanderheck, and he mentioned that it was the opinion of the detective whom he had employed to work up the case, and whom Mona had met in St. Louis, that the same parties were concerned in all three operations.
"They are a very dexterous set of thieves, whoever they are," he remarked, while they were discussing the affair, "but though I never expect to see those crescents again, for I imagine that the stones have been unset and sold, it would afford me a great deal of satisfaction to see that woman brought to justice."
"I have the bogus crescents in my possession," Miss Cutler smilingly remarked to Mona. "Justin has given them to me to keep for him. Would you like to see them, dear?"
"Yes, indeed," Mona replied, "and I, too, hope that woman may yet be found. The affair is so like a romance, I am deeply interested in it."
Mr. Cutler colored slightly as she spoke of the romance of the experience, for he was still quite sensitive over the cruel deception that had been practiced upon him, although he had never confessed to any one how deeply and tenderly interested he had become in the captivating widow who had so successfully duped him.
When the steamer arrived in New York, almost the first person Mona saw was Ray, who stood upon the pier searching with anxious eyes among the passengers for the face of his dear one.
A cry of glad surprise broke from her, and, snatching her handkerchief from her pocket, she shook it vigorously to attract his attention, her lovely face all aglow with joy at his unexpected appearance.
He caught sight of the fluttering signal almost immediately, and his heart leaped within him as he looked into her beaming countenance. Truth and love and purity were stamped on every expressive feature.
He sprang across the gang-plank, and in less time than it takes to tell it he was beside her, while oblivious, in his great thankfulness for her safety, to the fact that others were observing them, he caught her close to him in a quick embrace.
"My darling!" he whispered. "Oh, you can never know how thankful I am to have you safe in my arms once more! What an escape you have had!"
"Why, Ray! how did you know?—who told you?" Mona exclaimed, astonished, as, with a blushing face, she gently freed herself from his embrace, although she still clung almost convulsively to his hand.
"I will tell you all about it later," he returned, in a low tone, and now recalled to the proprieties of life. "I can only say that I learned of the plot against you, and have been nearly distracted about you."
"Ah, Mrs. Montague told you that I had eloped with her nephew," the young girl said, and now losing some of her bright color, "but," lifting her clear, questioning eyes to her lover's face, "you did not believe it; you had faith in me?"
"All faith," he returned, his fingers closing more firmly over the small hand he held.
She thanked him with a radiant smile.
"But how did you know I would come home on this steamer?" she persisted, eager to know how he happened to be there to meet her.
"I cabled the American Consul to search for you, and render you assistance. He replied, telling me that you had already sailed for New York," Ray explained.
"That was thoughtful of you, dear," Mona said, giving him a grateful look, "but I found friends to help me. Come and let me introduce you to them."
She led him to Mr. Cutler and his sister, who had quietly withdrawn to a little distance—for, of course, they took in the situation at once—and performed the ceremony, when, to her surprise, Mr. Cutler cordially shook her lover by the hand, remarking, with his genial smile:
"Mr. Palmer and I have met before, but my sister has not had that pleasure, I believe."
Ray greeted them both with his habitual courtesy, and then in a frank, manly way, but with slightly heightened color, remarked:
"My appearance here perhaps needs some explanation, but it will be sufficient for me to explain that Miss Montague is my promised wife."
"I surmised as much, not long after making the young lady's acquaintance," Mr. Cutler remarked, with a roguish glance at Mona's pink cheeks and downcast eyes. "But," he added, with some curiosity, "it is a puzzle to me how you should know that she would arrive in New York on this steamer to-day."
Ray explained the matter to him, and then they all left the vessel together.
Mr. and Miss Cutler were to go to the Hoffman House, and invited Mona to be their guest during their stay in the city, but thanking them for their kindness, she said she thought it would be best for her to go directly to Mr. Graves, as she had business which she wished him to attend to immediately.
She also expressed again her gratitude to them for their exceeding kindness to her, and promised to call upon them very soon, then bidding them an affectionate good-by she left the wharf with her lover.
They went for a drive in Central Park before going to Mr. Graves, for Ray was anxious to learn all the story of the plot against her and to talk over their own plans for the future.
He found it very difficult to restrain his anger as she told him of her interview with Louis Hamblin in New Orleans, and how she had been decoyed upon the steamer for Havana, with the other circumstances of the voyage, and her arrival there.
"The villain will need to be careful how he comes in my way after this," he said, with sternly compressed lips and a face that was white with anger. "I will not spare him—I will not spare either of those two plotters; but you shall never meet them again, my darling," he concluded, with tender compassion in his tones, as he realized how much she must have suffered with them.
"I shall have to go to West Forty-ninth street once more, for I have a good many things there, and shall have to attend to their removal myself," Mona returned, but looking as if she did not anticipate much pleasure from the meeting with Mrs. Montague.
"Well, then, if you must go there, I will accompany you," Ray said, resolutely. "I will never trust you alone with that woman again. And now I have some good news to relate to you."
He told her then of his discovery of the marriage certificate, and what he had done with it, after which she gave him a graphic account of the discoveries which she had made in the secret drawer of the royal mirror.
"How very strange, my darling," he exclaimed, when she concluded; "how nicely your discovery fits in with mine, and now every difficulty will be smoothed out of your way, only," with an arch glance, "I am almost afraid that I shall be accused of being a fortune-hunter when it becomes known what a wealthy heiress I have won."
Mona smiled at his remark, but she was very glad that she was not to go to him empty-handed.
"And, dear," Ray continued, more gravely, "I am going to claim my wife immediately, for, in spite of the great wealth which will soon be yours, you are a homeless little body, and I feel that you ought to be under my protection."
"Ah, Ray, it will be very nice to have a home of our own," Mona breathed, as she slipped her hand confidingly into his, and then they began to plan for it as they drove down town.
Arriving at the house of Mr. Graves, they were fortunate in finding both that gentleman and his wife at home, and Mona received a most cordial welcome, while the kind-hearted lawyer became almost jubilant upon learning all the facts regarding her parentage and how comparatively easy it would now be to prove it.
It was arranged that Mona and Mr. Graves should meet Ray and Mr. Corbin at the office of the latter on the next morning, when they would all thoroughly discuss these matters and decide upon what course to pursue in relation to them.
This plan was carried out; the certificate and contents of the royal mirror were carefully examined, and then the two lawyers proceeded to lay out their course of action, which was to be swift and sure.
The third day after Mona's arrival in New York, Ray went with her to Mrs. Montague's house to take away the remainder of her wardrobe and some keepsakes which had been saved from her old home.
Mary opened the door in answer to their ring, and her face lighted with pleasure the instant she caught sight of Mona, although it was evident from her greeting that Mrs. Montague had not told her servants the story of the elopement.
"Is Mrs. Montague in?" Mona asked, after she had returned the girl's greeting.
"No, miss, she went out as soon as she had her breakfast, and said she wouldn't be home until after lunch," was the reply.
Mona looked thoughtful. She did not exactly like to enter the house and remove her things during her absence, and yet it would be a relief not to be obliged to meet her.
Ray saw her hesitation, and understood it, but he had no scruples regarding the matter.
"It is perhaps better so," he said, in a low tone; "you will escape an unpleasant interview, and since she is not here to annoy or ill-use you, I will take the carriage and go to attend to a little matter, while you are packing. I will return for you in the course of an hour if that will give you time."
"Yes, that will be ample time, and I will be ready when you call," Mona responded.
Ray immediately drove away, while she, after chatting a few moments with Mary, went up stairs to gather up her clothing and what few treasures she had that had once helped to make her old home so dear.
She worked rapidly, and soon had everything ready. But suddenly she remembered that she had left a very nice pair of button-hole scissors in Mrs. Montague's boudoir on the day they left for the South.
She ran lightly down to get them, and just as she reached the second hall some one rang the bell a vigorous peal.
"That must be Ray," she said to herself, and stopped to listen for his voice.
But as Mary opened the door, she heard a gentleman's tones inquiring for
Mrs. Montague.
"No," the girl said, "my mistress is not in."
"Then I will wait, for my errand is urgent," was the reply, and the person stepped within the hall.
Mona did not see who it was, but she heard Mary usher him into the parlor, after which she went to obey a summons from the cook, leaving the caller alone.
Mona went on into Mrs. Montague's room to get her scissors, but she could not find them readily. She was sure that she had left them on the center-table, but thought that the woman had probably moved them since her return.
Just then she thought she heard some one moving about in Mrs. Montague's chamber adjoining, but the door was closed, and thinking it might be Mary, she continued her search, but still without success.
She was just on the point of going into the other room to ask Mary if she had seen them, when a slight sound attracted her attention, and looking up, she caught the gleam of a pair of vindictive eyes peering in at her from the hall, and the next moment the door was violently shut and the key turned in the lock.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK.
For a moment Mona was too much astonished to even try to account for such a strange proceeding.
Then it occurred to her that Mrs. Montague must have returned before she was expected, let herself into the house with her latch-key, and coming quietly up stairs, had been taken by surprise to find her in her room, when she had supposed her to be safely out of her way in Havana, and so had made a prisoner of her by locking her in the boudoir.
At first Mona was somewhat appalled by her situation; then a calm smile of scorn for her enemy wreathed her lips, for she was sure that Ray would soon return. She had only to watch for him at the window, inform him of what had occurred the moment he drove to the door, and he would have her immediately released.
With this thought in her mind, she approached the window to see if he had not already arrived.
The curtain was down, and she attempted to raise it, when, the spring having been wound too tightly, it flew up with such a force as to throw the fixture from its socket, and the whole thing came crashing down upon her.
She sprang aside to avoid receiving it in her face, and in doing so nearly upset a small table that was standing before the window.
It was the table having in it the secret treasures which we have already seen. She managed to catch it, however, and saved the heavy marble top from falling to the floor by receiving it in her lap, and sinking down with it.
But while doing this, the broken lid to the secret compartment flew off, and some of its contents were scattered over her.
Mona was so startled by what she had done, that she was almost faint from fright, but she soon assured herself that no real damage had occurred—the most she had been guilty of was the discovery of some secret treasure which Mrs. Montague possessed.
She began to gather them up with the intention of replacing them in their hiding-place—the beautiful point-lace fan, which we have seen before, a box containing some lovely jewels of pearls and diamonds, and a package of letters.
"Ha!" Mona exclaimed, with a quick, in-drawn breath, as she picked these up, and read the superscription on the uppermost envelope, "'Miss Mona Forester!' Can it be that these things belonged to my mother? And this picture! Oh, yes, it must be the very one that Louis Hamblin told me about—a picture of my father painted on ivory and set in a costly frame embellished with rubies!"
She bent over the portrait, gazing long and earnestly upon it, studying every feature of the handsome face, as if to impress them indelibly upon her mind.
"So this represents my father as he looked when he married my mother," she said, with a sigh. "He was very handsome, but, oh, what a sad, sad story it all was!"
She laid it down with an expression of keen pain on her young face and began to look over the costly jewels, handling them with a tender and reverent touch, while she saw that every one was marked with the name of "Mona" on the setting.
"These also are mine, and I shall certainly claim them. How strange that I should have found them thus!" she said, as she laid them carefully back in the box. Then she arose and righting the table, replaced the various things in the compartment.
In so doing she stepped upon a small box, which, until then, she had not seen.
The cover was held in place by a narrow rubber band.
She removed it, lifted the lid, and instantly a startled cry burst from her lips.
"Oh, what can it mean? what can it mean?" she exclaimed, losing all her color, and trembling with excitement.
At that moment the hall-bell rang again, and Mona turned once more to the window, now fully expecting to find that Ray had come.
No, another carriage stood before the door, but she could not see who had rung the bell.
She wondered why Ray did not come; it was more than an hour since he went away, and she began to fear that her captor was planning some fresh wrong to her, and he might be detained until it would be too late to help her.
She was growing both anxious and nervous, and thought she would just slip into Mrs. Montague's bedroom and see if she could not get out in that way.
Suiting the action to the resolve, she hastened into the chamber, and tried the door.
No, that was locked on the outside, and she knew that the woman must have some evil purpose in thus making a prisoner of her.
She turned again to retrace her steps, that she might keep watch for Ray at the window, when her eyes encountered an object lying upon the bed which drove the color from her face, and held her rooted to the spot where she stood!
* * * * *
About nine o'clock of that same morning, a woman might have been seen walking swiftly down Murray street, in the direction of the Hudson River, to the wharf occupied by the Fall River steamers.
She was tall and quite stout, but had a finely proportioned figure, and she walked with a brisk, elastic tread, which betrayed great energy and resolution.
She was dressed in deep mourning, her clothing being made of the finest material, and fitting her perfectly.
A heavy crape vail covered her head and partially enveloped her figure, effectually concealing her features, and yet a close observer would have said that she had a lovely profile, and would have noticed, also, that her hair was a decided red.
She appeared to be in a hurry, looking neither to the right nor left, nor abating her pace in the least until she reached the dock where the Fall River boat, Puritan, had but a little while previous poured forth her freight of humanity and merchandise.
As she came opposite the gang-plank a low whistle caused her to look up.
A man stationed on the saloon deck, and evidently watching for some one, made a signal, and with a nod of recognition, the woman passed on board and up the stairs to the grand saloon, where a man met her and slipped a key into her hand, then turned and walked away without uttering a word.
"Two hundred and one," she muttered, and walked deliberately down the saloon glancing at the figures on the doors of the various staterooms until she came to No. 201, when she unlocked it and went in.
Ten minutes later the man who had stood on deck as she came aboard, followed her, entered the stateroom, and locked the door after him.
The two were closeted there for nearly an hour, when the woman in black came out.
"I shall look for you at three precisely; do not fail me," said a low voice from behind the door.
"I will not fail you; but keep yourself close," was the equally guarded response, and then the heavily draped figure glided quickly down stairs and off the boat.
She crossed West street, passed on to Chambers, and turned to walk toward Broadway, passing, as she did so, a group of three or four men who were standing at the corner.
One of them gave a slight start as her garments brushed by him, took a step forward for a second look at her, then he quietly broke away from the others, and followed her, about a dozen yards behind, up Chambers street.
The woman did not appear to notice that she was being followed, for she did not accelerate her speed in the least, nor seem to pay any heed to what was going on about her. She kept straight on, as if her mind was intent only upon her own business.
But all at once, as she reached the corner of Broadway, she slipped into a carriage that stood waiting there, and was driven rapidly up town.
An angry exclamation burst from the man following her, who was none other than Rider, the detective, and he hastened forward to catch another glimpse of the carriage, if possible, before it should get out of sight.
He saw it in the distance, and hailing another, he gave chase as fast as the crowded condition of the street would permit.
Some twenty minutes later he came upon the same carriage standing on another corner, the driver as quiet and unconcerned as if he had not been dodging vehicles at the risk of a smash-up, or urging his horses to a lawless pace in that busy thoroughfare.
But the coach was empty.
Mr. Rider alighted and accosted the man.
"Where is the passenger that you had a few minutes ago?" he inquired.
The man pointed with his whip to a store near by, then relapsed into his indolent and indifferent attitude.
Mr. Rider shook his head emphatically, to indicate his disbelief of this pantomimic information, and muttered a few words not intended for polite ears as he turned on his heel and moved away.
"Fooled again," he added, "and I thought I had her sure this time. Of course she didn't go into that store any more than that other party went from St. Louis to Chicago. But it's worth something to know that she is in New York. I'll try to keep my eyes open this time."
In spite of his skepticism, however, he entered the store and sauntered slowly through it, but without encountering any woman in black, having red hair.
"She came off the Puritan," he mused, as he issued into the street again, and turned his face up town. "I imagine that she either came on from Fall River last night, or she is going back this afternoon. I'll hang round there about the time the Puritan leaves. Meantime I'll take a stroll in some of the upper tendom regions, for I'll bet she is a high-liver."
He boarded a car and was soon rolling up toward the more aristocratic portion of the city, and thus we must leave him for a while.
When Ray returned to Mrs. Montague's residence for Mona, he found another carriage waiting at the door, and it was just at this moment that Mona made her strange discovery in the woman's bedroom.
"Mr. Corbin's carriage," Ray murmured to himself as he alighted and went up the steps. "I wonder if Mr. Graves is with him, and if Mrs. Montague has returned. I hope she has not made matters unpleasant for Mona."
He rang the bell and was admitted by Mary, who wondered how many more times she would be obliged to run to the door that morning.
"Is Miss—Miss Richards through with her packing?" the young man inquired, but having almost betrayed Mona's identity, which, in accordance with the advice of the lawyers, they were not quite ready to do yet.
"She's still up stairs, sir," the girl replied. "I'll step up and tell her that you have come. Perhaps you'll wait in the reception-room, sir, as Mrs. Montague has just come in and has callers in the drawing-room."
"Certainly," Ray answered, and was about to follow her thither, when he heard his name spoken, and turning, saw Mr. Graves beckoning to him from the doorway of the drawing-room.
"Come in here," he said; "we shall need you in this business," and Ray knew that Mrs. Montague was about to be interviewed upon various matters of importance.
"Very well," he replied, then turning to Mary, he added: "You may tell Miss Richards that she need not hurry. I will call you again when I am ready to go."
He then followed the lawyer into the drawing-room and the door was shut.
"There is something queer going on in there," she muttered. "Mrs. Montague seemed all worked up over something, and those two men looked as glum as parsons at a funeral. There is cook's bell again, and Miss Ruth must wait," she concluded, impatiently, as a ring came up from the lower regions, and then she went slowly and reluctantly down stairs again.
CHAPTER XVIII.
SOME INTERESTING DISCOVERIES.
Upon entering Mrs. Montague's beautiful drawing-room, Ray found, as he had expected, that Mr. Corbin was there also, and he at once surmised the nature of the lawyer's business.
Mrs. Montague gave a start of surprise as she saw him, and lost some of her color; then recovering herself, she arose with a charming smile, and went forward to greet him.
Ray thought she looked much older than when he had seen her before, for there were dark circles under her eyes, with crows' feet at their corners, and wrinkles on her forehead and about her mouth, which he had never noticed until then, and which, somehow, seemed to change the expression of her whole face.
"This is an unexpected pleasure," she remarked, with great cordiality, "but you perceive," with a glance at the lawyers, "that I am overrun with business. May I ask you to step into the library for a few moments until I am at liberty?"
"No, if you please, madame, it is at my request that Mr. Palmer is here," quietly but decidedly interposed Mr. Graves.
Mrs. Montague flushed hotly at this interference, then seeing that she could not change the condition of affairs, and that Ray evidently understood matters, as he only bowed in the most frigid manner in response to her effusive greeting, she resigned herself to the inevitable and returned to her chair with an air of haughty defiance.
It was Mrs. Montague whom Mona had heard moving about in the chamber adjoining the boudoir.
The woman had come in just after Mary admitted that first caller below, and speeding swiftly and noiselessly up stairs, was making some changes in her toilet when the bell rang again. Mr. Corbin and Mr. Graves were at the door. She heard it, and gliding softly into the hall, leaned over the balustrade to ascertain who had called.
The moment she heard Mr. Corbin inquire for her, she grew white with passion, and her eyes flashed angrily, for she imagined that he had come to question her again regarding Mona Forester. She did not see his companion, however.
"I will give him a dose to remember this time," she muttered. Then she heard Mary inform the gentlemen that she was not at home.
"Yes, I am, Mary," she said, in a low tone, for she felt in a defiant mood, and not suspecting the fatal nature of the lawyer's visit, and feeling very secure in her own position, she rather courted an opportunity to defy him. "Invite the gentleman in, and I will be down presently."
She turned to go back to her chamber to complete her toilet, when she heard some one moving about in her boudoir.
She glided to the door, softly opened it, and looked in. Instantly her face lighted with a smile of evil triumph, though she gave a great start of surprise as she saw Mona there, and evidently searching for something.
She had already learned that the girl had managed to escape from the power of Louis and returned to New York. Therefore she now imagined that she had but just arrived and had come directly there to secure her other trunk, when doubtless she would immediately seek Ray Palmer's protection, and denounce both herself and her nephew for their plot against her.
Such a proceeding she knew would ruin all her prospects of becoming Mr. Palmer's wife, and, actuated by a sudden impulse, she hastily drew the door to again and locked it. Then she sped back to her chamber door and turned the key in that also, to prevent escape that way, and entirely forgetting in her excitement that she had intended to make still further changes in her toilet before going below.
This done, she sped swiftly down stairs, and encountered Mary in the hall.
"Lor', marm! I didn't know you had come in till you spoke," the girl remarked, with a curious stare at her.
"I have a latch-key, you know," Mrs. Montague returned, as she swept on toward the drawing-room, and the girl wondered why she "looked so strange and seemed so flustered."
Mrs. Montague entered the room with haughty mien, intending to dispose of Mr. Corbin with short ceremony, but she was somewhat taken aback when she found that he was accompanied by another legal-looking gentleman.
She had but just exchanged formal greetings with them when Ray made his appearance; but she did not suspect that he was aware of Mona's presence in the house. Mr. Graves' remark had led her to suppose that he was there by his appointment.
Mr. Corbin bowed to the young man, and remarked:
"I was about to explain to Mrs. Montague that some proofs regarding the identity of Miss Montague have recently come into my possession."
"Do you mean to assert that you have proofs that will establish the theory which you advanced to me during your last call here?" Mrs. Montague demanded, with a derisive smile.
"That is exactly what I mean, madame," Mr. Corbin replied.
Mrs. Montague tossed her head scornfully.
She was sure that the only proof in existence of Mona Forester's legal marriage was at that moment safely lying in the secret compartment of that little table up stairs. She had not seen it since her return, for she had been too busy to look over those things again and destroy such as would be dangerous, if they should fall into other hands; but she had seen them so recently she felt very secure, and did not dream that she had been guilty of any carelessness regarding them.
She knew, also, that up to the evening of Louis' last declaration to her, Mona had no proof to produce, and, supposing that she had but just returned from Havana, she did not imagine that either of the lawyers or Ray had seen her to learn anything new from her, even if she had discovered anything.
"Well, I should like to see them," she responded, contemptuously, but with a confident air that would have been very irritating to one less assured than Mr. Corbin.
He quietly drew a folded paper from his breast-pocket, opened and smoothed it out, and going to the woman's side, held it before her for examination.
She was wholly unprepared for the appalling revelation that met her eyes, and the instant that she realized that the paper was the identical certificate, which she believed to be in her own possession, she lost every atom of her color. A cry of anger and dismay broke from her, and snatching the parchment from the lawyer's hand, she sprang to her feet, crying, hoarsely:
"Where did you get it? how did it come into your possession?"
"Pray, madame, do not be so excited," Mr. Corbin calmly returned, "and be careful of that document, if you please, for it is worth a great deal to my young client. Mr. Raymond Palmer supplied me with this very necessary link in the evidence required to prove Miss Montague's identity."
"And how came Raymond Palmer to have a paper that belonged to me?" demanded Mrs. Montague, turning to him with an angry gleam in her eyes. "I have supposed him to be a gentleman—he must be a thief, else he never could have had it."
"You are mistaken in both assertions, Mrs. Montague," Ray responded, with cold dignity. "In the first place, the paper does not belong to you; it rightly belongs to your husband's daughter. In the second place, it came into my possession in a perfectly legitimate manner. On the day of your high-tea I came here a little late, if you remember. Your private parlor above was used as the gentleman's dressing-room, and I found that document lying underneath the draperies of the bay-window. I accidentally stepped upon it. It crackled beneath my feet, and it was but natural that I should wish to ascertain what was there. When I discovered the nature of the paper I felt perfectly justified in taking charge of it, in the interests of my promised wife, and so gave it into Mr. Corbin's hands."
Mrs. Montague sat like one half stunned during this explanation, for she readily comprehended how this terrible calamity had happened to overtake her. She realized that the certificate must have slipped from her lap to the floor while she was examining the other contents of that secret compartment; and, when she had been so startled by Mona's rap and upset the table, it had been pushed underneath the draperies, while, during her hurry in replacing the various articles, she had not noticed that it was missing.
"Yes, I understand," she said, in a low, constrained, despairing tone. "You have balked me at last, but," throwing back her head like some animal suddenly brought to bay, "what are you going to do about it?"
"Only what is right and just, Mrs. Montague," courteously responded Mr.
Corbin.
"Right and just!" she repeated, with bitter emphasis. "That means, I suppose, that you are going to compel me to give up my fortune."
"The law decrees that children shall have their father's property, excepting, of course, a certain portion," said the lawyer.
"A paltry one-third," retorted Mrs. Montague, angrily.
"Yes, unless the heirs choose to allow something more to the widow.
Perhaps my client—"
Mrs. Montague sprang to her feet, her face flaming with sudden passion.
"Do you suppose I would ever humiliate myself enough to accept any favor from Mona Forester's child?" she cried, as she paced the floor excitedly back and forth, "Never! I will never be triumphed over. I will defy you all! Oh, to be beaten thus!—it is more than I can bear."
Mrs. Montague's fury was something startling in its bitterness and intensity, and the three gentlemen, witnessing it, could not help feeling something of pity for the proud woman in her humiliation, even though they were disgusted with her vindictiveness and selfishness.
"Defiance will avail you nothing, Mrs. Montague; an amicable spirit would conduce far more to your advantage," Mr. Corbin remarked. "And now I advise you," he added, "to quietly relinquish all right and title to this fortune excepting, of course, your third, and trust to your husband's daughter and her counsel to make you such allowance as they may consider right. If you refuse to do this we shall be obliged to resort to the courts to settle the question of inheritance."
"Take the matter into the courts, then," was the passionate retort. "I will defy you all to the bitter end. And you," turning with blazing eyes and crimson cheeks to Ray, "I suppose you imagined that you were to win a princely inheritance with your promised wife; that when you found this piece of parchment you would thus enable Mona Forester's child to triumph over the woman who hated her with a deadly hatred. Not so, I assure you, for my vengeance is even more complete than I ever dared to hope, and your 'promised wife,' my fine young man, will never flaunt her colors in triumph over me here in New York, for her reputation has been irretrievably ruined, and the city shall ring with the vile story ere another twenty-four hours shall pass."