In which there is A singular revelation.

Madame Montford returns, unsuccessful, to her parlor.  It is conscience that unlocks the guilty heart, that forces mortals to seek relief where there is no chance of finding it.  It was this irresistible emotion that found her counciling Tom Swiggs, making of him a confidant in her search for the woman she felt could remove the doubt, in respect to Anna’s identity, that hung so painfully in her mind.  And yet, such was her position, hesitating as it were between her ambition to move in fashionable society, and her anxiety to atone for a past error, that she dare not disclose the secret of all her troubles even to him.  She sought him, not that he could soften her anxiety, but that being an humble person, she could pursue her object through him, unobserved to society-in a word, that he would be a protection against the apprehensions of scandal-mongers.  Such are the shifts to which the ambitious guilty have recourse.  What she has beheld in the poorhouse, too, only serves to quicken her thoughts of the misery she may have inflicted upon others, and to stimulate her resolution to persevere in her search for the woman.  Conscious that wealth and luxury does not always bring happiness, and that without a spotless character, woman is but a feeble creature in this world, she would now sacrifice everything else for that one ennobling charm.

It may be proper here to add, that although Tom Swiggs could not enter into the repentant woman’s designs, having arranged with his employer to sail for London in a few days, she learned of him something that reflected a little more light in her path.  And that was, that the woman Anna Bonard, repined of her act in leaving George Mullholland, to whom she was anxious to return-that she was now held against her will; that she detested Judge Sleepyhorn, although he had provided lavishly for her comfort.  Anna knew George loved her, and that love, even to an abandoned woman (if she could know it sincere), was dearer to her than all else.  She learned, too, that high up on Anna’s right arm, there was imprinted in blue and red ink, two hearts and a broken anchor.  And this tended further to increase her anxiety.  And while evolving all these things in her mind, and contemplating the next best course to pursue, her parlor is invaded by Mr. Snivel.  He is no longer Mr. Soloman, nor Mr. Snivel.  He is the Hon. Mr. Snivel.  It is curious to contemplate the character of the men to whose name we attach this mark of distinction.  “I know you will pardon my seeming neglect, Madame,” he says, grasping her hand warmly, as a smile of exultation lights up his countenance.  “The fact is, we public men are so absorbed in the affairs of the nation, that we have scarce a thought to give to affairs of a private nature.  We have elected our ticket.  I was determined it should be so, if Jericho fell.  And, more than all, I am made an honorable, by the popular sentiment of the people—­”