THE SECOND ARREST.
Smith had acted with a stern, secret energy. Without consulting his
wife, or any one but an iron-hearted detective, he had quietly arrested
little James Laurence, and lodged him in the Tombs. Early the next
morning, while Mrs. Laurence was busy cooking her meagre breakfast, a
strange man stepped into the kitchen, boldly, as if it had been his own
home, and told her to get her things, and not attempt to raise a muss
about it, because it was of no use; her son was caught, and nicely
caged. She was known to be his accomplice—in fact, the person who had no
doubt set him on. At any rate he had a warrant against her, as a
receiver, and she had better obey it just then and there. The stolen
goods had been found in her out-house, and he was after the money sharp;
must search the house for that, but not till she was disposed of
according to law. Was she ready?
Mrs. Laurence heard all this in stern astonishment. She had been cutting
bread, and stood with the knife in one hand, grasping the loaf in the
other, motionless as stone.
“Me? Me, and my son James? Are you speaking of us?” she said at last.
“What have you done with him? What do you want of me?”
“Just as if you didn’t know. Well, if you will have it, I want you to
step out before a justice, and answer for yourself.”
“Answer for what?”
“For stealing! Robbery! I think they’d call this burglary, only the boy
was in the house, and so, of course, could only break out, if breaking
was to be done.”
“Stealing! Robbery!”
These words fell from the woman’s lips like lead dropping on marble. A
stupor of astonishment seemed turning her to stone.
“My boy! James, my boy! You said something strange about him; horribly
strange, it seems to me.”
“I said that we had him safe in the Tombs, where you will be mighty
quick, or I’m mistaken. But, come along; it’s the best way. The
gentleman wanted me to get through without making a fuss in the
neighborhood. So get your things, and——”
“What is this? Mother, who is this man?”
Mrs. Laurence instantly came out of the icy trance that had settled on
her faculties, and answered sharply,
“A person on business, Eva. I believe I am going out; tell your sister
so, and bring my bonnet.”
Eva detected nothing in the cold, steady voice of her mother to occasion
alarm, and went into the next room for the bonnet and shawl, which she
usually wore to market.
Mrs. Laurence took these things from her hand, and put them on. There
was no tremor of the fingers when she tied her bonnet-strings; no heave
or flutter of the bosom, when the faded shawl was folded over it. This
poor woman had been so used to bearing her own burdens in silence, that
even this fearful shock was endured with speechless heroism.
“Girls,” she said, looking in at the parlor-door, and speaking rather
more cheerfully than usual, “don’t wait for me, but eat your breakfast;
Eva must not be late.”
Ruth looked up, and answered, smiling, in her meek, sweet way, “that she
would rather wait. Eva, of course, must go.”
There was no answer to this, and a minute after Ruth saw her mother go
through the gate, followed by that strange man.
“I wonder if it’s anything about the mortgage?” she thought, anxiously.
“Only a few months more, and I should have the money. No, Eva, dear,”
she said, in answer to something her sister had suggested. “I have no
appetite just now, and will wait for mother.”
Wait for mother! Poor girl!