“And did he bring you here?”

“Oh no, sir.  I came here two weeks ago, after he had left me.  And when he came in one night and found me here, he was very angry, and said he would kill me if I told any one that I knew him.  And I know why; but you won’t tell, Mr. Wayne, for it would make him angry.  I have found out that he is married to the mistress of this house.  He’s a bad man, I know now, and often comes here drunk, and swears at the woman and the girls.  Hark! that’s her room, next to mine, and I think he’s in there now.”

The faint sound of voices, smothered by the walls, reached them from the adjoining chamber; but as they listened, the door of that room opened, and the loud and angry tones of a man, speaking at the threshold, could be distinctly heard.  Arthur quietly and carefully opened the door of Mary’s room, an inch or less, and listened at the aperture.  He was not mistaken; he recognized the voice of Philip Searle.

“I’ll do it, anyhow,” said Philip, angrily, and with the thick utterance of one who had been drinking.  “I’ll do it; and if you trouble me, I’ll fix you.”

“Philip, if you marry that girl I’ll peach; I will, so help me G—­d,” replied a woman’s voice.  “I’ve given you the money, and I’ve given you plenty before, as much as I had to give you, Philip, and you know it.  I don’t mind that, but you shan’t marry till I’m dead.  I’m your lawful wife, and if I’m low now, it’s your fault, for you drove me to it.”

“I’ll drive you to hell if you worry me.  I tell you she’s got lots of money, and a farm, and niggers, and you shall have half if you only keep your mouth shut.  Come, now, Molly, don’t be a fool; what’s the use, now?”

They went down the stairway together, and their voices were lost as they descended.  Arthur determined to follow and get some clue, if possible, as to the man’s, intentions.  He therefore gave his address to Mary, and made her promise faithfully to meet him on the following morning, promising to befriend her and send her to his mother in Vermont.  Hearing the front door close, and surmising that Philip had departed, he bade her good night, and descending hastily, was upon the sidewalk in time to observe Philip’s form in the starlight as he turned the corner.

It was now ten o’clock; too late to call upon Miranda without disturbing the household, which he desired to avoid.  Arthur’s present fear was that possibly an elopement had been planned for that night, and he therefore determined, if practicable, to keep Searle in view till he had traced him home.  The latter entered a refreshment saloon upon Broadway; Arthur followed, and ordering, in a low tone, some dish that would require time in the preparation, he stepped, without noise, into an alcove adjoining one whence came the sound of conversation.

“Well, what’s up?” inquired a gruff, coarse voice.

“Fill me some brandy,” replied Philip.  “I tell you, Bradshaw, it’s risky, but I’ll do it.  The old woman’s rock.  She’ll blow upon me if she gets the chance; but I’m in for it, and I’ll put it through.  We must manage to keep it mum from her, and as soon as I get the girl I’ll accept the lieutenancy, and be off to the wars till all blows over.  If Moll should smoke me out there, I’ll cross the line and take sanctuary with Jeff.  Davis.”