TABLE of CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER I

New York City. The Escaped Felon.—The Five Points. The Abode of Crime. The Police.

IT was a warm day in June, 18—. It was one of those days when the Empire City of New York presents a picture of life and bustle which to be imagined must be seen.—Fancy cannot come up to the reality.

Broadway was crowded by fashionable pedestrians of both sexes apparently moving in solid phalanx, and yet each passenger pursuing his own way, with his own objects occupying his mind, and without jostling his neighbor.

To enumerate the different classes here brought together—so nearly approaching each other in body, yet so far separated in mind and in purpose—would be a work more appropriate for the gentleman who annually furnishes the Directory than for an author who has his own peculiar affairs to manage.

There moved a party of ladies, old and young, several of them resistless in their charms; and attired in the most exquisite style, bearing about with them a goodly portion of the wealth of some of our merchant princess; there a bevy of little girl with bright eyes and pearly teeth, lovely for their innocence and sparkling beauty; and close to these a servant-man in livery, hurrying by on some errand for his mistress; a couple of distinguished actors, arm in arm lounging along the sidewalk; editors, reporters, clerks, blind beggars, lap-dogs with curling hair, a woman with bare legs and feet with a basket of chips on her head.

All this might have been seen, and much more, had one taken his stand in front of St. Paul's Church on the day when our scene opened.

Opposite was Barnum's Museum, covered with pictures, and the doors ornamented with statues, while between was the paved street, roaring and cracking with omnibusses, cabs, coaches, carts, and carriages of every imaginable description.

In such a crowd, and with all this noise, how could any one human being hope to attract any attention? Indeed, there was one, at this moment, who did not covet either notoriety or observation. He would gladly have escaped notice from any human person. It was a man in the prime of life, who stealing up through Vesey Street, until he had reached the corner of St. Paul's Church yard, cast an anxious glance up and down the street as if expecting to see some person whom he was desirous to avoid. His eyes, at first, rested upon the stands of several persons who sold fruit, a blind man seated on the stone steps in front of the gate, and a couple of men who offered dogs for sale, the animals being held by cords to prevent them from choosing their own owners, as they seemed much inclined to do. The hen looked wistfully at the omnibusses as they rolled by, or stopped to take up some of the passengers who waited near him, until, seeing a good opportunity to cross the street, he darted over the pavement and gained a footing near the sharp angle of the Park, opposite the head of Ann Street. Still his uneasiness was not a whit abated; for when he glanced up at the City Hall and the neighboring public buildings; a slight tremor shook his frame, and instead of moving forward up Chatham Street, he again crossed over, and darted down that narrow avenue of the city so well known to printers and all others connected with the New York press by the name of Ann Street.

Yet it would seem that he was destined to find no repose, for some object attracted his observation as he glanced down towards Nassau Street, and he quickly turned, retracing his steps till he had once more reached the corner opposite Barnum's Museum; and increasing his speed nearly to a run, he went forward till he gained the square, formed by the junction of Park Row, and Chatham Streets. He now looked earnestly down Spruce Street, and appearing satisfied with his discoveries, he passed down that thoroughfare and continued his way nearly to the bottom of the street, when he turned into Franklin Street, passed through Franklin Square, descended Dover Street, and turned into Water Street.

As he crept along Water Street, towards the upper part of the city, his mind seemed rather more at ease. He looked up at the many sailor boarding houses which lined both sides of the street as if hoping to catch the eye of some acquaintance. Nor was he altogether disappointed in his wishes; for when he had nearly gained the corner of Oliver Street, a good-looking young woman with black eyes, and rosy cheeks, bounced out of a bar-room crowded with noisy mariners, and after looking steadily in his eyes a moment, exclaimed—

'Good God! is that you, Billy Waterman?'

'Hush, Mary—not so loud if you please; and don't mention my name in this neighborhood, if you please.'

'Don't be concerned, Billy, my dear lad,' cried she, smiling with delight. 'There's nobody near you that would hurt a hair of your head, except the M. P. on the corner, and he's an Irishman who don't know a word of English, so you're as safe as if you was in a church. We heard that you had broke prison and there's a reward of two hundred dollars out for you; and some of the stars have been here to look for you; but there's nobody here now, but good friends. So take heart and come in and rest you, and take something to eat and drink, for I'm sure that you look so tired, poor lad!'

'Well, don't lead me in through the bar-room, for nobody knows'—

'Well, I won't; here's the side-door,' continued she; opening it, and introducing him into a narrow passage where was a flight of crazy stairs, leading to the upper apartments of the building.

Waterman followed the kind-hearted girl to the second story, where she pushed open a door from which the paint was worn off; ushering her companion into a small room, partly furnished, with a rag carpet on the floor, and several pictures on the walls, representing such scenes as 'The Sailor's Return,' 'the Fair Rosamond,' and 'the Maid of Erin.'

In an easy chair in the corner of the room, sat a woman in the decline of life, whose hairs were entirely gray; and whose nodding head betokened that the palsy had already attacked her time-worn frame.

'Aunty,' said the girl, speaking very loud, and applying her lips to the ear of the beldam, 'here is somebody that you didn't expect to see.'

Before the old woman had time to answer, the girl went to a cup-board in another corner of the apartment, and took from it a plate of cold liver, some mashed turnips, a boiled egg, and part of a loaf of bread, which she placed on a table that stood between two windows looking upon the street. A plate, with a knife and fork, completed the arrangements for the simple repast. The girl then took a pitcher and descending by a back staircase to the bar, soon returned with the vessel full of foaming ale, which she sat down beside the plate.

All this time, the old lady had been looking at the new comer through her spectacles, and over the top of them, endeavoring to recognize his countenance.

'Don't you know him, Aunty?' inquired the girl, as she deposited the pitcher of ale on the table.

'Well—well—I don't know,' replied the beldam, still looking closely at the stranger. 'It isn't Mr. Billings, is it?'

'Mr. Billings! Oh, no. He's not at all like Mr. Billings. Mr. Billings wears a surtout and boots, but this lad has on a blue jacket, with pumps, and a cap that comes almost over his eyes. Come, Aunty, as you can't guess, I'll tell you.'

Then applying her lips very near to the old woman, she whispered—'Billy Waterman.'

'My gracious! well-a-day!' cried the beldam, taking the hand of Waterman. 'I'm really happy to see him—and how is Nancy and the baby? I've heard that Nancy has got a fine girl. What is her name? I forget.'

'You ought not to forget, as it is your own name—Pamela—but I guess that you have seen Nancy since I have.'

'What does he say?' inquired the old woman, looking at Mary.

The words were repeated to her in a louder voice.

'Oh, yes, I remember,' returned the old woman. 'You was put into prison. Ah! poor Nancy! she must have took it very hard when you was sent up to Sing-Sing. I remember when you was her lovyer, and got into some scrape about helping a comrade in the time of trouble, the poor girl almost cried her eyes out; but it was like me, I had a lovyer when I was young who was taken up for joining in a riot.'

'But, Aunty,' said Mary. 'You must be very careful how you speak the name of Billy, for there is a reward out for him.'

'Oh! dear, dear-a-me! I understand!'—cried the beldam, looking anxiously at Waterman, who was giving good evidence the danger had no effect upon his appetite; 'he has got out. Oh dear! suppose they should come here to look for him.'

'Well, you know that two of the police did come here and looked in the cupboard and up chimney.'

'So they did. I saw two ill-looking fellows groping about the room last Tuesday, but I thought they were hungry and wanted something to eat, and I hid my silver spoons under the cushion, for they had a desperate thieving look; and I really believe they would have took something if I had not watched them with all the eyes in my head.'

Here the old lady began to nod, and was very soon sound asleep, in her chair.

'Well, now, tell me, Mary,' said the escaped convict—'how did my poor wife bear it, when she heard of my misfortune?'

'Oh, very well—very well, all things considered, till she heard that you were sentenced for life; for you must know that we all believed that you would get clear, as the mate attempted your life before you took his.'

'Did Nancy really believe that I should be cleared?'

'She never doubted it. Your lawyer told her to keep up a good heart, as there was no danger. She wanted to see you dreadfully when she heard of your sentence; but you know she was far gone in her situation, and the doctor wouldn't allow of it no how; and so she couldn't get to you, though she would have gone barefoot a thousand miles to see you.'

'Poor woman! I shall see her soon.'

'What! are you going to—ville?—Remember it's a hundred miles off, and you will see so many people that will know you on the road; and then the reward of two hundred dollars.'

'No matter. I must see my good and faithful Nancy, and my little Pamelia, whom I have never set eyes on yet.'

'But you had better stay here, and send a letter for her to come to New York, else you may be taken again and be treated the worse for it. You can stay here as long as you like.'

'No, Mary; that will be no better. As soon as she sets out from home, she will be tracked by some of the blood-hounds of the law, and you may get into trouble for secreting an escaped convict.'

'I forget,' said Mary, starting up, and going to a chest of drawers—'here is a letter that I received from Nancy a few weeks ago, by the Post Office. It had lain there a good while before I got it. You would like to read it, I know,' and she handed the letter to Waterman, who hastily opened it, and read as follow:—

'MY DEAR SISTER MARY,—Your kind letter came to me last Sunday. I saw the poet-master at church, who has shown himself a good friend to me ever since I came to—ville, and has got me a great deal of work, so that I have been able to support myself and poor little Pamela very comfortably.

'You say true, that I have seen much sorrow, and if I could only know that my poor husband was well, and not too much cast down, I should feel better able to bear it. But to think I shall never see him again, and that little Pamela will grow up without ever knowing her father, is too much for me to bear. I dreamed, last night but one, that I saw William in chains, working in the prison, and a man stood over him with a great club, ordering him to work faster, and the sweat was pouring down his handsome face in a stream; and then the keeper struck him on the head with a great club, and I saw the blood pour down and spatter on the floor. Then I cried out in my sleep, and awoke, and little Pamela had one arm around my neck, and she said, "poor mamma is thinking of papa. Don't cry, mamma, I will go and take papa away from the bad men in the prison when I am as big as Aunt Mary." The dear creature always knows that I am thinking of William when I am sad; and always declares that she will take him out of prison when she gets big. That man that you say I ought to complain of, keeps coming here under pretence of giving me his clothes to wash, and he has gone so far as to threaten that he will charge me with stealing his shirts, and put me in prison if I will not comply with his wicked desires.—His father Colonel Heathington, is a very worthy and honorable man; but he is in Washington, now, and his son thinks he may do as he pleases; but I will write to him if there is no other way, and yet I am afraid to do it, for his son has a bad disposition, and if I should be parted from Pamela and sent to the prison, she would die of grief. I am all the friend she has now.

'Mr. White, the post-master, thinks that something might be done by getting up a petition for my poor, dear William. He says that it could not be called a mutiny, as the mate of the brig attacked William with a dangerous weapon, and he killed him in his own defence. Oh! if that could only be! But my spirits will not allow me to hope, and I must die without ever seeing him. But I will go down to my grave the wife of William Waterman. In prison or out of prison, he is my own dear husband, and to me he was ever kind and generous.

'The stockings fit Pamela very well, and she says—"tell Aunt Mary to come and see me, and that I will kiss her for the pretty stockings she sent me, all over the face."

'I remain, with love to aunt, and the rest

Your affectionate sister,

'NANCY WATERMAN.'

After reading this letter, Waterman sat a few moments in silence, and then inquired particularly about the young man who had been persecuting his wife with his unwelcome offers of love. Mary said that he had been mentioned in all Nancy's letters for several months past, and that the latter had hoped, for some time, that he would discontinue his visits when he perceived they were so very unpleasant; but, presuming on his father's great wealth, and her poverty, he had grown more presuming every day, until he threatened her with his vengeance if she did not prove faithless to her husband.

'You see, then, how necessary it is for me to return to her immediately,' said Waterman. 'There is not a moment to be lost, and if I set eyes on the mean scoundrel'—

'Oh, Billy!' cried Mary—'don't think of showing yourself to the fellow, for he would instantly give information against you, and then.'

A gentle knock was heard at the door of the apartment, and Mary cautiously proceeded to open it, while she motioned for Waterman to leave the table and retire to a closet.

'What, is it you, Bill? what brings you here, now?' inquired Mary of an old weather-beaten tar, who presented himself when the door was opened.

'Well,' replied Bill; 'it's no business of mine you may say. But if there's any craft on the sly about these quarters, I came to tell you that there's hawks on the other side of the street that has been looking up at your windows and making signals at one another for these ten minutes.'

'How do you know they are such?' hastily inquired Mary, in a whisper.

'How do I know?' said the old sea-dog bluntly—'how do I know you've got a nose on your face? Didn't I see one of their brass buttons in the shape of a star—the devils.'

'Then it's true. But don't say anything now, won't you?'

And Mary ran in to tell Waterman and advise him to retreat by the back door. The sailor descended the stairs, muttering—

'It's not old Jack Devoe that will betray a shipmate into the jaws of land-sharks.—Why didn't the young woman trust me to the secret? I'd have stood by her as long as my timbers held together.'

When Jack entered the bar-room, he observed a couple of men, with stars at their breasts, standing at the door and conversing with the persons outside. On seeing Jack, the two men looked hard at him, and at last, one of them ventured to say—

'May be you've come down from up stairs or from the room over here jest?' pointing up with his hand.

Jack looked savagely at the interrogator, but made him no answer, though he winked at several seamen who occupied a settee which stood against the chimney.

The two officers then spoke to each other a moment, in a low voice, and one of them again turning to Jack, said—

'Faith, now, is it from prison that you have comed?'

'Me, from prison!' cried Jack, highly insulted.—'you swab! I've a great mind to stave in your cabin windows,' and he showed them a fist nearly as large as a loaf of brown bread.

'Come now,' said the latter of the two M. P.'s, 'you'd better be aisy and go with us to your betters, and if his worship shall discharge yees, that's enough.'

'Just haul your wind!' cried Jack, 'or I'll choke you!'

Upon uttering this threat, Jack made a feint to seize the foremost of the two M. P.'s by the throat, when both drew back and took up a position on the sidewalk in front of the bar-room. Although familiar with arresting little harmless children for playing in the streets on Sunday, these two heroes had no idea of perilling their precious persons by a contest with a full-grown man.

'Och!' said one of them to his companion,—'did I ever think this, sure? to come all the way from ould Ireland to get an office, and to find the payple shtand there looking on, and never raise up to help their supayrios in inforcin the laws!'

This was said in reference to the crowd of men, women, and children that had begun to collect around the door.

But a movement was now observable among the bystanders; for several officials pushed their way through the press, and halting at the door, demanded of the M. P.'s if they had secured their man.

'Never a bit!' cried one of them in reply. 'There he shtands before you,' pointing to Jack, who had pulled off his jacket for a regular knock down—'there he is, sir, and though we've cotched him, the spalpeen'—

'He won't come, you say,' returned the Captain of the Police—'we'll see about that,' and then laying his hand on Jack's shoulder, he ordered the others to assist in conveying him to prison.

The other seamen in the bar-room, now stepped forward with the evident intention of showing fight in Jack's defence; but the latter whispered a word in the ear of one of his shipmates, who passed the word to the rest, and they all fell back with a queer smile on their sunburnt visages.

'What are you arresting me for?' inquired Jack, of the Captain of the Police, as they turned up James Street with him, followed by a mob of boys and girls.

'You'll find out time enough,' was the reply. 'You'll learn that it is not so easy to evade the police of this city as you thought. You were seen up stairs in that house where we found you, by one who recognized your countenance. He told the policemen in the vicinity, who sent word to me while they sought to arrest you themselves. You will gain nothing by resisting the lawful authority. It will tell against you, my man. Don't you know there is a reward out for you, Waterman? Two hundred dollars are offered for your apprehension.'

'Waterman! My name's no. Waterman,' said Jack, in a tone purposely broken, and hesitating.

'Oh, no—you don't go by that name now, I dare say. We'll soon show you to those who will recognize you. Perhaps, you don't know Mr. Matsell?'

Jack gave a start at hearing that name, which was intended to mislead his captors, while he said—'No I never heard of him before. I don't know him.'

'Then why did you shrink so when his name was mentioned? I'm sorry for you, Waterman; but if you will break prison, you must expect also to endure the consequences.'

'I tell you, I don't know what you are carrying me off for,' cried Jack. 'I've committed no crime.'

'Did'nt you murder the mate of the brig Grand Turk?' said one of the police who attended him. 'And were you not sentenced to the State Prison for life; and did you not escape from Sing-Sing, only a week ago? Tell me that.'

'It's all a lie,' cried Jack. 'And if it were not for hurting your feelings, I would tell you that you are entirely mistaken into the bargain.'

By this time, they were passing up Chatham Street. Jack was in the midst of a crowd of policemen, who triumphantly hastened with their prisoner towards the Tombs. People threw up their windows to see what was the matter, and shopkeepers rushed to their doors as the word went from mouth to mouth that the notorious prison-breaker who killed the mate of the Grand Turk was being lugged off to limbo. But in Centre Street they were met by the Chief of the Police himself.

'We've got him, Mr. Matsell,' cried the Captain, exultingly, as the former came up.

'Who is that you are hauling along so savagely?' cried Matsell.

'It is William Waterman, to be sure,' exclaimed one of the police; standing back to give the Chief a fair opportunity to survey the prisoner.

'That is not Waterman any more than I am,' said Mr. Matsell.

'Sir!' cried the Captain, in amazement, while the policemen all looked wondrous wise.

'I tell you that you have taken up the wrong man,' continued the Chief of the Police, examining the prisoner more closely.

'I told you that my name was not Waterman,' said Jack.

The Captain looked first at Jack, and then at Matsell.

'But, sir, we found him in the house where Mr. B—saw the real man. Then Mr. B—must have been mistaken.'

'I think not,' returned Matsell. 'Let this man go, for I know nothing about him; but do go back to the house, and search for Waterman.'

Mr. Matsell then gave them an exact description of the real culprit, while Jack went off laughing in his sleeve at the trick he had played the policemen, by which a plenty of time had been given to Waterman to make his escape.

We must now return to that individual.

When Jack first came to the door of the apartment and gave the alarm. Waterman had secreted himself in a closet; but no sooner was Jack heard going down the stairs than Mary called him out of the closet; and having given him a hat and some other articles of dress calculated to disguise his person, said—

'Now, brother, go down to the yard, and climb over the fence. You will there find an alley leading to a fence with a gate. Open the gate, and it will lead you into a yard, belonging to a grocery. Pass through the grocery boldly, till you come to the street in front. From thence you can pursue your way where you please.'

Waterman embraced his sister-in-law, and gave her a farewell kiss, and then obeyed the directions which she had given him.—He was stared at rather closely as he passed through the grocery, but did not stop to answer any questions. He came out into Cherry Street, and pursued his way up James Street, where he met a body of policemen, the same who had carried of Jack Devoe. As they did not know him, he was not even observed by them.

He continued his course to Chatham, and then turned into Orange Street. In another moment, he was on the Five Points. Before him stood a little park fenced in with palings, and all around him was the roar of intemperance, oaths, blasphemy, and wailing misery combined.

Here ceaseless remorse, daring crimes, and boiling rage, seemed to make the very earth heave, and rock beneath his feet.—Men roamed to and fro, muttering like disturbed ghosts, haggard women with fierce eyes, and half naked limbs strode over the filthy pavement as if seeking for rest and finding none. Children dressed in the cast off rags of grown people, inflamed with disease, struggled together in the mud, or gazed in the faces of passengers with strange and revolting eagerness.

Poisonous liquor held out its deadly lure in every third house, and girls of all colors, with dishevelled locks, and unwashed faces, could be seen swarming in the liquor shops and pouring down glass after glass of the filthy mixtures then sold under the name of spirits.

The houses were generally small ricketty buildings full of dirt, while piles of filth lay in the streets reeking with the most detestable odors.

Waterman paused before a large yellow brick building that had formerly been used for a brewery; and which was now inhabited by scores of families sunk in squalid misery. A dozen heads were thrust from the windows and his person underwent a critical examination which, elsewhere, would have caused him the most lively alarm.

In another moment, a man came running out of one of the doors and grasping his hand, cried—

'Come in out of the sun. What do you stand there for?'

Waterman entered the unpromising door, and by the bar, he made his way to a small room at the rear of the premises, where four or five were engaged smoking and playing at cards. On his entrance the men looked up as if wondering who it was that had entered their sanctum sanctorum, and then one of them, starting suddenly from his seat, shook the stranger, as he recognized him for an old familiar friend.

'What! Waterman?' he exclaimed, with astonishment; 'why, who the devil would ever have expected to see that precious mug of yours again.'

'Hush!' returned the other, eyeing the other persons with a look of suspicion; 'you have betrayed my secret, and I may be lost, after all the trouble and dangers I've gone through to escape from the cursed place they sent me to.'

'Oh, you needn't be afraid of anybody here,' answered the other, 'for the're all chaps of the right sort; and here's two of 'em that you've seen often enough before, though you seem to have forgot 'em. Dick Fordham and Mike Rowley,' he added, calling to a couple of fellows that he had been playing cards with—'won't you come and welcome an old friend back to New York?'

The men advanced, and having recognized their former acquaintance, expressed the most unbounded joy at seeing him again.—In the fulness of their delight, glasses of grog were ordered in; and, as the rest of the company departed shortly afterwards, those who remained were most urgent in their demands to know by what piece of good fortune their friend had contrived to make his escape from the place he had been doomed. Waterman would rather have deferred his narrative to a future occasion, but, finding that they were determined to have it at once, he said:—

'I've neither time nor inclination to enter into all the adventures that I've met with in the last few days. As you may suppose, I didn't find my life a very comfortable one; so, from the time they landed me in Sing-Sing, I was constantly thinking how I might give 'em the slip.'

'And I suppose you thought long enough before they gave you a chance of cutting?'

'You are right there, Mike Rowley,' answered the convict; for morning, noon, and night I was watched, as if my task-masters knew what was passing in my thoughts. For the slightest offence, too, I was punished with the lash, and that made me more hardened than ever; so that at last I began to think death would be better than the slavery I suffered, and I determined to escape.'

'What did you do then?'

'What did I do, Dick!' exclaimed the fugitive; 'why, I escaped in the darkness of night, and took to the bush.'

'Was no search made for you?' asked Sam Snatch.

'I dare say there was, answered Waterman; 'but what was the use of looking after a man that had found a home in the bush?'

'Yes,' observed Richard Fordham, 'you didn't feel so happy in the bush but you were glad to leave.'

'That's because I couldn't forget the wife I left behind me,' answered Waterman.—'Poor Nancy! many an hour of bitterness and sorrow has the thought of her cost me, for she was fond and faithful, and I knew my conduct must almost have broken her heart.'

'Why, the poor thing did take on terribly,' exclaimed Dick Fordham; 'but she found a kind friend in the mistress she lived with before she married you, and she never knew what it was to be in want of a meal.'

'It's some consolation to hear that,' cried Waterman; 'and yet she must have suffered dreadfully in her mind, for she was a fond and faithful wife, though I never deserved half the affection she bore me. I believed her suffering soul would have taken its flight forever. She was soon to become a mother, too.'

'Well,' exclaimed Sam Snatch; 'you've had trouble enough to escape, at any rate; so I hope you won't be foolish enough to throw yourself in the way of people that would send you back to your old quarters.'

'I'll do the best I can to keep out of harm's way you may depend on it,' answered Waterman; but even the certainty of being taken should not prevent my going to see my suffering wife.'

'Are you going to walk over a hundred miles?'

'Ay,' he replied; 'how else am I to get to the end of my journey, with only a few shillings in my pocket?'

'And safe you will be, if you'll do as I d have you,' said the landlord. 'There's a barge, loaded with straw, and, when the tide turns, she's going up the river as far as Harlem, and if you like I'll ask the bargemen to take you with them, which they'll be glad to do for a pot of beer.'

'Are they to be depended on?'

'To be sure they are,' replied Doublechalk; 'they've both been in trouble themselves, and are not very likely to betray a poor devil that has had the good luck to make his escape from Sing-Sing.'

'And how long will it be before the tide serves?'

'Why, it will begin to flow in less than half an hour,' replied the landlord; 'so I suppose you'll be ready for 'em when they start?'

'I'm ready now,' exclaimed Waterman; 'and as for the men, here's half a dollar for them; it's nearly all the money I've got, but it will be well bestowed if they land me safely at the place you've spoken of.—It happens to be pretty nearly in the direction I want to go; and as there won't be much fear of my falling in the way of anybody that knows me, I begin to hope there is a fair chance of my reaching home without interruption.'

And when you get there, don't be showing yourself to any one in the neighborhood,' said Mike Rowley. 'There is no telling who might see you.'

'My stay there may not be for long,' answered Waterman. 'A week will be long enough, I dare say, and then I'll come back, and perhaps bring Nancy with me.'

'Perhaps!' exclaimed Dick Fordham;—'why, if the woman likes you half as well as you seem to fancy, she'll follow you to any place you choose to fix on.'

'But why should I insist upon removing her from a home where she is perhaps happy!' asked Waterman. 'She may have set her mind upon remaining there for life, and if so, I shall do as I said just now—seek for employment upon a farm, and try what I can do to make her forget past troubles.'

'Eh!' exclaimed Doublechalk; 'are you going to turn honest?'

'If people will let me alone, I'll try what may be done that way,' answered Waterman. 'I've had suffering and punishment enough to make me tired of the sort of life I led before they sent me away, and now I should like to see whether my mind would not be all the happier for taking the good advice that has so often been given by my wife.'

'Psha!' exclaimed Rowley; 'don't put yourself in leading strings like a child. If you didn't remain honest it was no fault of yours, but the blame falls upon those that hunted you out like a thief, when you had done nothing more than defend your life.'

'But I can't forget what I've suffered for it though,' answered Waterman; 'and the remembrance will last as long as I've life. And what are my own sufferings, great as they have been, compared with those of the faithful wife who has been left to mourn for the errors I have committed? I can well imagine her grief; and surely it is now time that I try to make amends for the many pangs I have caused her.'

'And you are going home,' sneered Dick Fordham, 'to promise you'll be a better boy in future?'

'I want none of your taunts,' exclaimed Waterman; 'and, if you are a man, you'll not insult a poor devil that's anxious to do what's right. If people will only let me alone, I mean to act very differently to what I did before; but if they won't give me a chance, why, then I must do as I have done before, and I know pretty well what the end of it will be.'

'Ah!' cried Mike Rowley; 'it's all very well for you to make good resolutions now: but it's as plain as a pike-staff, that we shall have you among us again before long.—Why, it ain't likely that you can be in New York long before somebody or other finds it out, and then you'll be glad enough I'll warrant, to come and find a hiding-place among us?'

'I must be driven to the last before I do that,' answered Waterman.'

'And you'll find, before many days are over, that you are driven pretty closely,'—exclaimed Doublechalk. 'Not that I want to say anything, either one way or the other, but it seems rather unlikely that you can stop any time in one place without the officers of justice nosing you out.'

'In that case,' said Waterman, 'I must rush into any path they drive me to. My own wish is to make a change for the better; but, if I am to be hunted out like a wild beast, they that drive me to crime will have to answer for it.'

'That's a very fine thing to console yourself with,' exclaimed Fordham; 'but, you'll wish you had taken our advice, instead of following your own foolish notions.'

CHAPTER II

The Wife of the Felon. The Libertine.—The Interview. The explanation of the Felon's Escape from Prison.

WE must now leave Waterman for a short time, and introduce the reader to a splendid mansion in—ville. It is the residence of Col. Heathington.

At the bottom of a large meadow spreading out behind this elegant edifice is a little cottage with a small garden in front, shut in by palings, and a wicket gate. This is the residence of Nancy Waterman, the wife of the escaped convict.

It was early in the morning, and Nancy sat by the open door, engaged in sewing for some of her wealthier neighbors, and thinking of her absent husband, while the little Pamela was playing about the floor with a favorite kitten. The reflections of the desolate wife were bitter in the extreme, and as she looked at her child she wondered what would be its fate if deprived of its only remaining parent.

These and similar thoughts occupied the mind of Nancy Waterman, and she was almost lost in unconsciousness when a carriage was seen to stop at the gate, and, in another moment, Charles Heathington sprang out, and advanced towards the door. Unprepared as she was for this visit, she had not time to flee, and scarcely had she risen from her chair than he stood before her.

'Nancy,' he exclaimed; 'my presence here seems to have surprised you; and yet how can you wonder at it, when you know the ardor and intensity of my passion!'

'Leave me, sir!' exclaimed Nancy, in a tone of command; 'leave me, I say, for you have already heard me declare that I can never listen to your terms without shuddering at the infamy that has prompted you to avow a passion for one whom misfortune has deprived of the protection of her husband.'

'These heroics may be all very fine,' answered the libertine; 'but I have heard them so often repeated, that I have grown weary of the reproach they are intended to convey. In one word, I have resolved to be trifled with no longer, and if you refuse to go with me upon fair entreaties, I must use force to convey you to a place far enough from this neighborhood.

'A feeling of dread crept through her heart as she listened to these words; but, remembering that all her fortitude was required at a moment like this, she recovered herself with an effort, and again commanded him to be gone, if he would avoid the exposure which would follow an alarm that she might raise.'

'I am not much afraid of that,' he replied; for the loneliness of this place is my best security against danger, and even if any fool should be rash enough to interfere, I have people waiting without who would soon overmaster the difficulty.'

'Then I appeal to your honor, as a gentleman.'

'Honor must be forgotten when love like mine beckons me on.' he replied, with calm indifference. 'I have given you a fair chance of going with me without having recourse to violence, and, knowing my determination, it now only remains for you to decide how this affair is to terminate.'

'I have already told you,' answered Nancy, 'that no inducement you can urge shall ever prevail on me to forget the duty I owe to him whose unfortunate absence has given you the advantage you are base enough to take.'

'These reproaches, at any rate, will not serve to turn me from my purpose,' exclaimed the libertine. 'I was prepared for them, and can hear all you have to say without feeling either surprise or anger.'

'If you have no pity upon me,' cried Nancy, despairingly, 'you may, at least, have mercy on the helpless child, whom, by this act you would render motherless.'

'The child shall be well taken care of,' replied Charles; 'so you need feel neither apprehension nor alarm on his account. I have given directions for her to be conveyed to a widowed tenant of a cottage hard by, and under her fostering protection, the girl will scarcely know the loss of her parents.'

'All has been prepared before hand for this villanous affair,' exclaimed Nancy;—'But heaven will not desert me in the hour of need, and I warn you to-desist from the unholy plot in which you have engaged.'

'Your warning has little effect upon one whose mind is already made up,' answered Charles Heathington. 'If I suffer this night to pass away without accomplishing my plan, it is, indeed, probable that I might be disappointed; but I have made up my mind to seize upon the present, and all your threat and entreaties combined will not deter me from the purpose I have in view.'

'Will nothing warn you,' exclaimed Nancy 'of the shame and foul dishonor that this act of treacherous violence will bring upon you?'

'You are mistaken in supposing that such will be the consequence,' replied the libertine. 'Some straight-laced people, indeed, may deem the act a scandalous one, but the majority of people will not trouble their heads about it, and there are others who will regard it as a spirited act that is hardly to be censured.'

'Depraved, then, must be the hearts of those who could think so lightly of such an act of villany.' exclaimed Nancy Waterman 'I have never given you the slightest encouragement, Mr. Heathington, but have avoided you on all occasions when I could do so; and yet, knowing the deep hatred this violence of yours must give rise to, you are still unmoved by my prayers for mercy.'

'I come not here to listen to your complaints or remonstrances,' answered the libertine; 'and, having now heard my proposition, it only remains for you to say whether I am to expect resistance or resignation.'

'You have heard my determination and nothing shall ever move me from it,' she replied. 'Force alone shall secure your triumph over me.'

'Psha!' exclaimed the libertine, 'I have already got you in my power!'

'I scorn your power,' she replied; 'and dare you to put your threats into execution.'

'All this bravado will not serve your purpose,' answered Charles Heathington; 'for I have arranged my plans, and there is not the slightest chance that you will be able to thwart me. I would spare myself the pain of resorting to violence, and it will depend upon yourself to save me from an act that I would avoid.'

'Rather save yourself the shame of making a cowardly attack upon a helpless woman!' exclaimed Nancy, collecting all her courage to resist the violence she had but too much reason to expect. 'I have told you, Mr. Heathington, that willingly I will never accompany you from this cottage, and if you persist in forcing me from it, the consequences must fall upon yourself.'

'No consequences shall deter me from the object that brought me here,' retorted Heathington; and, making a signal to his servants to open the carriage-door in readiness, he advanced to seize upon the retreating form of his intended victim.

Nancy, however, was resolute to defend herself to the last; but as, with a loud scream of terror, she was rushing towards the door, the powerful arm of the libertine detained her, and all hope of escape seemed at an end.

With an exclamation of triumph, Charles then raised her in his arms, and was rushing with her from the cottage, when a man sprang forward, and, with a heavy blow, struck him to the earth. Nancy also would have fallen, but the arm of her deliverer sustained her, and, with a thrilling exclamation of joy, she sank, half fainting, upon the bosom of her husband!

Charles Heathington, though struck down, soon recovered his feet, and from the few words that had been uttered by Nancy, he knew that her deliver was no other than the convict, William Waterman.

His first impulse then, was, to call in his servants, and arrest the man who had kept him from his purpose, and who, he had reason to believe, perpetrated a murder.

Waterman, however, seemed aware of what was passing through his mind, and releasing himself from the convulsive grasp of his wife, he took down from over the chimney-piece, a gun that he had often used in days gone by.

Charles Heathington shrunk back as if to escape from death, but Waterman lowered the weapon, and said to him in a firm, deep tone,—

'You needn't be afraid of my harming you, young man, if you leave this place without raising my fury by remaining in my presence. You have been base enough to insult a woman that you thought was defenceless; you will find in future that there is one to watch over her, who will sacrifice his life, if need be, in her defence.'

'This vain boasting of yours will soon be turned to sorrow and repentance,' answered Charles, bursting with fury at the unexpected defeat he had sustained. 'I know you are the husband of Nancy Waterman, and, unless reports prove false, you will, ere long, be in the county jail on a charge of murder, committed by you abroad.'

'Who dares accuse me of murder? demanded Waterman.'

'It matters not who will be your accuser, replied the other; 'the crime I have named has been charged against you. And even if you are guiltless of that crime, you have left your prison, and for that a heavy punishment will be your doom.'

'Your evil wishes will be foiled,' exclaimed Nancy, recovering as these latter words were pronounced. 'The sentence passed upon my husband has, no doubt, been remitted, and he will remain here to protect me from the lawless violence of one who has set all honor at defiance.'

'If his term in prison has been remitted, as you say,' returned the defeated libertine, 'let him produce the pardon, and I shall be spared the trouble of providing him with a lodging in prison.'

'You, at least, have no right to demand its production,' exclaimed Waterman, not knowing how to avoid a discovery that, if once made, must prove fatal to him.

'Your hesitation proves that my surmise is right,' answered Charles Heathington.—'You are a returned convict, having no pardon to allege as an excuse. The murder I am not quite so sure of; but I shall make dilligent inquiry into the report, and, if it should prove true, my efforts shall not be wanting to send you to the gallows.'

'And this vindictive feeling,' cried Nancy bitterly; 'is for no other reason than that my husband has thwarted you in the cowardly attack you made upon me.'

'It matters not what the cause may arise from,' answered Heathington; 'I have been struck to the earth by the hands of your ruffian husband, and the blow that he giveme shall be avenged before I cease from my endeavors to bring him to punishment!'

'Beware, how you urge me beyond my patience while I have this weapon in my hand!' exclaimed Waterman. 'I have no wish to harm you, though there don't seem to be the same feeling on your part towards me; but, if you threaten to turn informer against me, I may be urged to do that which would make me guilty of the crime you choose to charge me with.'

'You forget, then,' retorted the libertine; 'that I have people close at hand who would secure you on the instant that you committed the crime.'

'Had I encouraged you,' said Nancy, 'there might have been some excuse for your conduct; but I have treated you coldly, with scorn and contempt, and still you persisted in your shameful entreaties and threats.'

'Your husband has now no mercy to expect from me,' said Charles, and then calling Roberts, his valet, aside, he bade him hasten to town and send the officers of justice in quest of William Waterman, the returned convict.

Being left to themselves, Waterman gave Nancy a full account of his escape. As he proceeded, his wife became more and more uneasy lest he should be again torn from her, and besought him for the sake of herself and child to seek some place of concealment without delay. To this suggestion he would not listen, assuring her that the danger was not so great as her fears made her imagine.

'Alas!' said Nancy, all my afflictions would be redoubled if you were once more to fall a prey to your relentless enemies.'

'What a villain have I been, he exclaimed, despondingly, 'to bring misery and despair upon her whose love has never failed through all the trials she has gone through! But let us hope, Nancy, there are better days in store for us; and, if that wish is but granted, I will yet prove that your unshaken confidence in me has not been unworthily bestowed.'

'If you would live in security,' answered Nancy, 'It must be in some other land than this; for here you have many foes, and it would be in vain to contend against the evil they would do you.'

'Where else can we hope to live, if not in America?' demanded her husband. 'Besides, I have a love for the land of my birth that even the persecutions I have suffered cannot destroy.'

'This over-confidence will lead to certain ruin,' she exclaimed, in despair. 'Charles Heathington is enraged at the defeat he has this night met with; his deadly wrath has been excited by the blow you struck him, and never will he rest satisfied till he has had his revenge.'

'Let him try his worst,' returned Waterman; and he will find, when too late, that he has one to deal with who can overmatch him in spite of all the cunning he may bring to his aid.'

'This confidence will, I fear, end in your destruction,' cried Nancy, anxiously. 'Your enemy will have the assistance of many besides himself, and how can you hope to escape when every care will be taken to prevent the flight of him they have resolved to capture?'

'If the worst should happen,' replied he, 'it will then be time enough for me to think of seeking safety in flight. There is, however, reason to believe that young Heathington—as I think you call him—will not take any very active steps against me when he gives himself time for reflection, for he will then see that it will bring about an explanation of the course he has taken against you, and that alone will be sufficient to prevent the malicious designs he has promised to carry out against me.'

'Charles Heathington has no such feelings ings of shame as you imagine,' replied Nancy Waterman. 'I myself reminded him of the disgrace that would fall upon him if the conduct towards me should be made public; but he treated my warning with contempt, and assured me that, though some few might condemn his conduct, there would be plenty of others who would rather applaud than utter one word in the way of reproach.'

'Be that as it may,' exclaimed her husband, 'there is less to apprehend in this affair than you appear to imagine. Luckily, I am not without arms here, and if too closely driven, I may turn them against those who are determined to keep up their persecution.'

'Would you shed more blood?' cried Nancy, shuddering.

'Not while it can be avoided,' he replied; 'but those who would follow me to my home must beware of the tiger that they place at bay. The gun, Nancy, I suppose is loaded?'

'It is, she replied; 'I have always kept it so, lest, in this lonely cottage, I should be attacked bp thieves.'

"Tis well,' exclaimed her husband, again taking it into his hands and examining the priming. 'It is ready for use I see, and, woe to those that would come here to lay hands upon me.'

'Give me that gun, William Waterman,' cried the wife, roused almost to madness by the deep and determined tone in which these words were uttered. 'Give it me, I say, or from this moment I flee your presence forever!'

'Why are you so alarmed, Nancy, when I have only prepared myself against any attack that might be made upon me?' demanded her husband, with assumed calmness. 'I have warned that young libertine of what the consequence will be if he again enters my doors and the laws rigid as they are, allow a man to guard his own house and person from attack.'

'But not in such a case as this, answered Nancy. He accuses you of having returned before your term has expired, and that, I fear, will give him a right to come and apprehend you.'

'The right shall be sternly disputed though, exclaimed Waterman. 'Think you I would have plunged into the perils I have, but that I had resolved not to lose my liberty again without a struggle.'

But Nancy so well represented to him his danger that she prevailed on him to mount to a loft over the room in which they were which had an entrance by a ladder at the back of the house, and when the ladder was removed, no one would suspect the existence of the loft. He had scarcely entered the loft, when a loud knocking was heard at the front door, and a hoarse voice demanded admittance in the name of the law. Hitherto Nancy had maintained a tolerable degree of calmness, but her spirits now flagged, and when she attempted to rise from her seat, she sank back in a state of complete helplessness.

Three or four times the knocking was repeated, on each occasion with greater impatience, till at length the persons without pushed violently, and the slight fastening yielding to the pressure, the door flew back, and five men rushed tumultuously into the room. Roused by the act of violence, Nancy raised her head, expecting to see Charles Heathington, but, to her no small relief, he was not among those who had paid this unseasonable visit at her cottage.

'Now, young woman, where's your husband?' exclaimed the foremost of the men, flourishing his staff, to show that he bore the high dignity of constable. 'Where is he, I say? for we are here to apprehend him, so it's no use for you to be hiding him from our sight.'

'He is not here, as you may see,' answered Nancy, gathering all her fortitude for the trial she had to go through.

'So you'd like to make us believe,' said one of the men; 'but we happen to know that he is here, and, if you resist the officers of the law, you'll be guilty of—'

'Psha,' interrupted Rumble, the constable; 'We don't want any of your long orations when there's business to be done. The young woman knows we don't come here without authority, and, if she don't tell us where her husband is, she'll be taken up for aiding and abetting a criminal.'

'I have told you he is not here,' said Nancy.

'But we happen to know he is,' exclaimed Rumble, 'and what's more, we won't go away till we've found him.'

'What charge have you against him?'

'Charge enough,' answered the constable. 'In the first place, he's accused of murder, and then of breaking prison.'

'These are heavy charges, indeed,' said Nancy, 'but I have already told you he is not here.'

'Humph! and, perhaps, you'll tell us he never has been here?' exclaimed Rumble, pompously.

'If I was inclined to tell so great a falsehood,' said Nancy, 'there is one person who would gladly come forward to contradict the assertion. My husband was seen by Mr. Charles Heathington, to whose revengeful spirit I am indebted for this untimely visit.'

'He certainly sent us here,' replied Rumble; 'but he was bound to give the information when he knew that a felon was at liberty when he ought to be in jail. However, that's nothing to do with the present business, for we've come to search after one William Waterman, and we'll not stir from the place till we've searched every hole and corner that it's likely he may have concealed himself.'

The constable now turned to the men that had accompanied him, and, after a brief consultation among themselves, they commenced an active search, looking through every part of the two rooms the cottage contained, and turning over every article under which it was likely the fugitive might have concealed himself. All, however, proving of no avail, three of the men went out of doors to continue their search round about the premises. Rumble was one of those who remained in the cottage, and, addressing himself to Nancy, he demanded whether she still persisted in saying that her husband had left the place.

'You hardly need ask the question of me now,' she said, 'for you and your men have looked through every part of the house, and, had he been here, you must surely have found him.'

'But it strikes me he is somewhere outside.'

'A very short time will serve to satisfy you whether he is or not,' replied Nancy.—'Your companions are well fitted, I dare say, for their bloodhound business, and, if my husband has not made good use of his time, he will fall into the hands of his merciless pursuers.'

'You take this matter very coolly, Mrs. Waterman,' said the constable; 'but, if your husband is not found before we go away tonight, you'll be very likely to find yourself in an awkward dilemma to-morrow.'

For what?'

'Why, for concealing a criminal, to be sure.'

'But that criminal is my husband,' answered Nancy; 'and I know not of any law that there is to compel me to surrender him up to the revengeful feelings of the heartless libertine, who but a short time since left this house.'

'If you mean what you say, I'd have you take care how you slander the character of a respectable gentleman like Mr. Charles Heathington,' exclaimed the constable.—'Remember, his father is a justice of the peace, and he'll not allow those sort of things to be said without teaching you to have more respect for a gentleman.'

'Mr. Charles Heathington has not proved any claim to the character you might give him,' answered Nancy. 'Had he been either a gentleman or a man of honor, he would not have sought to undermine the virtue of a wife during the absence of her husband.'

'Psha!' exclaimed the official; 'the world never troubles its head about such matters as that. Affairs of gallantry are never heeded, because, you see, people have other matters of consequence to think of.'

'It is yet to be proved whether Charles Heathington will not have reason to repent the schemes he plotted against me. I have heard honorable mention of his father,—Col. Heathington, and to him will I complain.'

After a long search the officers went grumbling away, and Waterman descended from his hiding place.

'I fear there is yet much danger for you,' exclaimed Nancy; 'for, you must be aware that printed bills are to be circulated offering a reward for your apprehension.'

'I know all that,' replied her husband; 'but there's not much fear of my being taken, for I shall be with those that I can trust, and there's not one that would give up a friend for the sake of a paltry reward.'

'But are they to be depended on if the reward offered should be a very large one?'

'Ay; my life on it they would not play me false,' exclaimed Waterman. 'Why, they themselves are sometimes obliged to depend upon the honor of their comrades, and there would be no security for any of us if a man was to be tempted to betray a friend for the sake of a reward.'

'But shall I know your hiding-place?'

'Not for some time, I should think,' he replied; 'for it is most likely any letters sent to you would be opened, and then the secret would be out at once.'

'True; I had forgotten that,' exclaimed Nancy; 'every artifice will, I dare say, be tried to discover where you are, and I must, therefore, be satisfied to remain in uncertainty and doubt till the arrival of better times. But there is one thing, William, that I have not yet asked—you will need money, and, I suppose, have but little to support yourself with in New York?'

'You are right enough there,' answered he; 'for, after giving half-a-dollar to the bargemen, I had but two shillings left.'

'Here is a small sum,' said Nancy, opening a drawer, and taking out a purse; it is the savings of the last four or five months, and was laid by in case I should be ill and unable to work. It is yours, and may do something towards your support till you can escape to some place where you may live in safety, and where I can hereafter join you.'

'Here is seventeen dollars,' exclaimed Waterman, as he finished counting the money, which he had thrown before him on the table. 'It is more than I shall want, Nancy; so do you keep half of it, and, with the rest, I shall be able to rub on till a better time comes.'

It was in vain that she urged him to take it all. William was resolute in his determination, and, ultimately, it was divided in the manner he wished. But Nancy was still uneasy lest he should fall into the hands of his pursuers, and, in spite of his wish to the contrary, she urged him to take his departure without loss of time.

'I am afraid,' she said, 'that when those men take back the news to young Heathington, he will return with them to convince himself that they have not given him a false report. He is most inveterate against you, William, and, should you again come face to face, I fear lest his violence may urge you to take his life.'

'No, no; he will be safe enough for me at present,' said her husband. 'I would take no man's life, unless driven to it by desperation; but he must beware how he again insults you with his infamous proposals, for should it come to my ears, I would come down to have my vengeance, even if I was sure that it would lead me to the gallows.'

'For my sake, William,—for the sake of your child,—let no rashness bring you near this place again.'

'That will depend on the young squire's conduct.'

'I do not believe he will ever attempt to annoy me again,' replied Nancy, 'A report of what has already passed cannot fail to be spread abroad, and he will hesitate ere he again exposes himself to the derision and scorn of all the neighborhood. Nay, should he ever come here again, I will see Colonel Heathington, and claim his protection against the infamous designs of his son.'

'I know nothing about what sort of a man Colonel Heathington may be,' said Waterman; 'but, if he has any spice of the son about him, I should say your dependence on him would be slight, indeed.'

'Colonel Heathington bears the character of being a kind and generous-hearted soldier,' answered Nancy. 'Besides, he belongs to an honorable profession, and surely it is not to be supposed that he would encourage his son to pursue a course that, in his own mind, he must know to be unworthy the station he fills.'

'Well, exclaimed Waterman, 'if Colonel Heathington is the sort of man you say he is, I can leave you with more confidence than I thought for. And yet what need is there for the colonel's interference, when I myself ought to be your protector?'

'But you cannot,' answered Nancy; 'for your return here would most certainly end in your own destruction.'

'Better that than leave you to be insulted by a dastardly young libertine like him,' exclaimed Waterman; 'I've no mind to throw away my life foolishly, but hang me if I can test quiet after the news that he has been at his dirty tricks again.'

'Let us speak no more upon a subject that angers you so,' cried Nancy, imploringly; 'indeed, William, every moment that you remain here lessons your chance of escape; go—leave me at once, and my prayers shall be offered up to heaven for your deliverance from danger.'

'Prayers for me, Nancy!' he exclaimed, with a wild laugh; 'do you think heaven would listen to your supplications when they are made in behalf of a man that has taken away the life of a fellow-creature. But I see this affects you, Nancy; so, kiss me, girl, and I will away again upon the wide world.'

The sorrowing one supported herself as best she could, and when he rushed frantically from the door, the unhappy woman sank despondingly and almost without consciousness, into a chair.

Charles Heathington was furious when the officers returned without having secured their victim.

'Silence, prating fool!' said he to Rumble the constable, 'or tell me which way the scoundrel went.'

'Why, I think she said something about his finding a hiding-place in New York,' replied the constable. 'She certainly did throw out a hint of that kind; but who can place any confidence in what she says, when she may have done it only to set us all on the wrong scent?'

'I am not quite so sure of that,' exclaimed Charles Heathington. 'New York is the most likely place he would go to for concealment, and thither I will follow him.'

'What! to-night?'

No, in the morning. I'll have daylight to assist me, and, if I meet with the scoundrel, I'll never lose sight of him till I leave him bound hand and foot in the county jail!'

He then dismissed the man, and afterwards desiring the groom to be sent him, ordered that a horse should be ready saddled for him by daylight next morning. He then retired to bed.

It was a long time before William Waterman could rouse himself from the melancholy feeling occasioned by this parting from Nancy. He had, however, almost instinctively taken the road leading to New York, and had proceeded five or six miles on his way, when the quick step of horses behind filled him with dread, lest a pursuit had already commenced. But the moon was out in all its brilliancy, so that he would have a good chance of seeing who the persons were, and darting behind a hedge on the roadside, he threw himself on the ground near a small gap, where he might see the passers by without much fear of being discovered himself.

His object was to reach New York before daylight if possible; but he had walked many weary miles ere he reached home, and having partaken of but little refreshment in the course of his journey, he now felt that to proceed further without rest would be impossible.

On arriving, therefore, at some corn-stacks that stood near the roadside, he crossed over the stile, and, throwing himself upon some loose straw that was scattered upon the ground, soon sank into as sound a slumber as if neither care nor anxiety were weighing upon his mind.

When he awoke, the sun had been up at least two hours before him, and leaving the place where he had found his night's repose, he again took the road, and proceeded on wards, intending to stop at the first place he came to, where the refreshment he needed might be procured.

Another mile served to bring him to a house of that description, and having entered the parlor, he called for bread and cheese, and beer, which were brought to him by a diminutive pot-boy, who he thought, stared at him in rather an unaccountable manner. Waterman affected to take but little notice of that, but presently afterwards the door was opened a little way, and the head of a very dirty-faced and dirty-capped girl was seen curiously peering in, as if to assure herself of some fact that had been related to her, by the diminutive pot-boy.

This somewhat provoked Waterman, and he was just rising to ring the bell to inquire why he was subjected to such impertinence, when the landlord, a round, burly-looking fellow, came rolling into the room. He also looked hard at his customer and having satisfied his curiosity, was about to retire as the others had done, when Waterman calling him back, inquired if there was any thing very remarkable in his appearance, that himself and his household should look at him with so much wonder.

'Why, as for that,' replied the host, 'I don't know that there's anything very remarkable; but the truth is, a couple of farmers called here last night on their way home, and told us about a chap—a returned convict they called him—that was supposed to be on his way to New York.'

'Well, have you seen anything of the man?'

'No,' replied the landlord; 'but to tell you the truth, I and my servants were thinking whether you mightn't be the very chap they're making such a fuss about.'

'Your suspicion is not very complimentary to a customer, at any rate,' exclaimed Waterman terman, tartly. 'But, I suppose, if anybody else had come into your house, he would have been liable to the same suspicion?'

'Very likely he might,' replied the other. 'In a house of this kind, we can't tell who comes in, nor who goes out, and when we hear that queer folks are rambling in the neighborhood, we're apt to look at 'em with suspicion, unless we happen to know who they are.'

'But without having good ground for your suspicion, you might, I think, spare your customers the insult of taking them for escaped criminals.'

'I didn't mean to insult you, sir,' answered the host, who now began to think he had made a mistake; 'but when we hear that rogues are abroad, it's the duty of every man to lend a hand towards sending them off to prison.'

'Perhaps,' said Waterman, who saw that his best chance of escape was to carry the affair off with a high hand; 'you think it your duty to give me such a lodging as you have mentioned.'

'Not I,' answered the other; 'I've a right to take your word for it that you're not the man; so, if you like, we'll have a glass at my expense, just to show that we shall not part bad friends.'

I shall take nothing more than I've got before me,' said Waterman; 'but, if you really believe I'm not the man you took me for, you will do well not to speak of the affair to any one. If you do, the news will fly, and I shall be subjected to the same sort of conduct at every house I call on my way to New York.'

'Oh, you are going to New York, then?'

'Yes—is there anything very surprising in that?'

'Nothing particular,' replied the landlord; 'but the farmers happened to say the man they spoke of was supposed to be on his way to New York.'

'And so all persons journeying that way must be suspected as the man that has filled your mind with this most unaccountable notion.'

'I tell you, sir, I don't think you are the runaway, now,' replied the host. 'At first to be sure, I had a notion of it, because my pot-boy and maid-servant came and told me they were sure you was the person the two men were speaking about last night.'

'Let me advise you to caution your pot-boy and maid-servant not to make quite so free with your customers,' exclaimed Waterman. 'I saw both of them staring at me as if they thought I had dropped from the clouds; but I had no notion that they would make mischief of it that might have placed me in a very awkward dilemma.'

'Depend upon it I'll tell them what you say, sir,' answered the host; 'but you can't keep quiet the tongues of folks like them, and I dare say all I tell them won't alter their opinion a single jot.'

'At any rate you must insist upon their not saying anything about my having been here.'

'Why would you be afraid of that if you are not the person I at first took you for?' asked the landlord, peering with a peculiar look of inquisitiveness at his customer

'Because I do not choose to be put to the annoyance and inconvenience of being taken for an escaped convict,' answered Waterman. 'There is nothing very unreasonable, I should imagine, in wishing to avoid being placed, though for ever so short a time, in an unpleasant situation.'

'Why, that is true enough,' said the other; but I should think a very few minutes would serve to convince people that you are not the person they take you for. However, as you do not seem to be the chap, I wonder what has become of him, for we had no one here, either last night or this morning, but people that we knew.'

'He's got to New York long before this, I'll be bound,' replied Waterman.

Waterman then paid the landlord, and set out again on his journey; but he had not been gone long before Charles Heathington came clattering up to the door on horseback and inquired if any suspicious looking person had passed that way.

'Well, there was a man here just now,' said the landlord.

'What sort of a looking fellow was he?' inquired Heathington.

'Humph! a trifle bigger than yourself; but a strong framed fellow, that I should say would be a devil of a chap in a fight, if he hadn't odds against him.'

'Did you happen to learn where he was going to?'

'O, yes,' replied the landlord; 'I asked him that question, and he told me he was on his way to New York.'

'It must be the very man I am in pursuit of,' exclaimed Charles, striking his fist upon the counter.

'Begging your pardon, sir, exclaimed the innkeeper; 'but, upon my life, I don't think it was the chap.'

And why don't you think it was, may I ask?'

'Because I put the question to him point blank,' returned the host, 'and he was very much offended at it, and declared he was not an escaped convict.'

'Why, you do not suppose he would have admitted the fact, even if he was the person I am after?' said Charles Heathington.—'However, it is unfortunate, too, that you did not contrive to detain him here a little longer; for I intend to give fifty guineas to the person who may be the means of surrendering the criminal up to justice.'

So saying Charles put spurs to his horse and rode forward.

We not turn our attention to William Waterman, who, on leaving the house, pursued his way, reflecting how he should an in the event of any one following him. At all events, a stout resistance he was determined to make, and having no other weapon in his possession, he plucked a heavy stake out of the hedge, and using it as a walking-stick he proceeded on his way pretty confident that he had now nothing to fear, unless he should happen to be overpowered by superior numbers. A few miles more would bring him to New York, which he intended to enter after nightfall, so that he might avoid, as far as possible, all chance of being recognized by those he had most reason to dread.

But, in the midst of this fancied security, he was startled by hearing the quick trampling of a horse behind him, and instinctively he foresaw that some peril was about to befall him. Turning his head, he saw a horseman approaching him at full gallop, and that glance, brief as it was, convinced him that the person in pursuit was no other than Charles Heathington.

And now a desperate resolution seized him to defend himself till the last; but as the road was no place for a conflict of that sort, he leaped over a stile hard by, and placing his back against a tree, poised the heavy stick in his hand so as to be ready, should the other venture to make an attack upon him.

In another minute Charles Heathington, who had observed him, came riding furiously up to the stile, and, having fastened the bridle, he then advanced towards the fugitive, his countenance expressing the most furious rage.

'Villain!' he exclaimed, 'I have at length overtaken yon, and we will not part till I have surrendered you into the hands of justice.'

'We shall see about that,' answered Waterman terman, flourishing his stick; 'I have my life to defend, and I will do so whilst I have strength in my arm.'

'But I am armed,' said Charles, taking out his pistols; 'and, if need be, they shall be used to rid the world of a murderer!'

'Have a care how you provoke me too far,' exclaimed Waterman. 'Your weapons give you a fancied advantage over me, but the instant you raise them against my life. I will prove to you that, with this good stick, I am more than your equal.'

A loud laugh of derision was the only answer Charles Heathington made to this warning.

'You laugh at me,' exclaimed Waterman, resolutely; 'but you have yet to see what a desperate man can and will do, when he has his own life to defend. I warn you again not to interfere with me, so that whatever harm may befall you, after this caution, will be through your own fault.'

Charles Heathington made no reply to this, but advanced to within six paces of his antagonist. He then cocked both the pistols, and was about to present one of them at the head of the fugitive, when Waterman, raising his stick ready for action, and preparing himself to make a sudden rush forward, exclaimed,—

'I see you are determined to force me to do what I would gladly have avoided, but again I warn you to quit this place without bringing on a conflict.'

'You may well warn me when I have the advantage all on my own side,' exclaimed Charles, scornfully. 'But it is in vain that you offer any further resistance; for, if you surrender not after I have held up my pistol one minute, you will be a dead man. Now, you understand me, so I have given you all you can expect.'

He raised his arm as he spoke, and the pistol was pointed towards his adversary.—But the other was equally upon the alert, and fixing his eyes upon the object before him, he made a sudden bound forward, and with one blow of his stick, sent the pistol whirling through the air.

Petrified by the suddenness of this attack, Charles Heathington stood as if entirely unnerved; and, before he could recover himself, Waterman had closed with him, and then ensued a fierce struggle for the possession of the remaining pistol. And now the superior strength of the fugitive became manifest, for his adversary soon lay sprawling on the turf. Then kneeling on the chest of the young man, Waterman bound him with a cord and then lashed him to a tree.—Bounding into the road, Waterman cut across some fields and escaped. But Heathington bawled lustily for assistance till a traveller came to his rescue.

'Were you bound to the tree by a robber, then?' demanded the man, inquisitively.

'Ay,' answered the other, with impatience.

'It don't seem that he took all your money though, observed the other, looking at the silver he had just received.

'Robbery was not his object on the present occasion,' returned Charles Heathington.—

'I was in pursuit of him, and overlook him at this place, when a struggle ensued between us that ended to my own disadvantage.'

'And he has escaped, I suppose?'

'He has,' replied the young man; 'but it will not be long, if my exertions are not made in vain. His place of destination is New York, which though a large place to look in for a criminal, shall not hide this ruffian from my vengeance.'

'Do you know that he has taken this road, sir?'

'I am not quite certain about it,' replied Charles; 'but, at any rate, I shall be in New York before him, and will have officers looking out for him in every direction, so that he will have very little chance of escaping when ne enters the city.'

So saying he rode off at a rapid pace, and the man stared after him till he was lost in the turning of the road.

CHAPTER III

The Libertine's Vengeance. The Felon.—Scenes in New York City. The Police in Pursuit of Waterman.

IT was about an hour after the darkness of night had set in, that Waterman, after threading the narrowest and least frequented streets of New York, entered the public-house that we have previously spoken of.—Passing by the bar, he gave a nod of recognition at the landlord, and then entered the little back parlor, which, on the present occasion, did not contain so much as a single customer. In a minute, however, he was followed by Doublechalk, who, having shut the door, asked him how it was that he had come back from the country so soon after he had left to visit his home.

'Why, the truth of it is, I found that part of the country too hot to hold me,' answered Waterman; 'so I cut away again, and, after all, had very nearly got into a scrape.'

'Did they know you, then?' asked the landlord.

'Yes,' he replied; 'they knew that the husband of Nancy Waterman had been sent to Sing-Sing, and I hadn't been in the house half an hour, when my return was known to a man that I have reason to believe will stick to me like a leech.'

'Who is he?' asked Doublechalk.

'A young squire in the neighborhood,' answered Waterman, 'who has been scoundrel enough to seek the ruin of my wife, because be believed her to be defenceless.'

'How was it you didn't take the life of such an infernal scoundrel?' demanded the landlord.

'You shall know more particulars by-and-by,' answered Waterman. 'At present it will be sufficient for me to tell you that I have good reason to believe he has followed me to New York, and of course I must find some place where I may hide till it will be safe to show myself out of doors again.'

'That will never be, I'm thinking, Waterman,' observed the landlord; 'for I needn't tell you, I dare say, that a convict can never be safe from the prying eyes of people that are paid to look after folks that have done wrong.'

'Has Dick Fordham been here to-day?'

'No, nor either of the other chaps.'

'That's unfortunate,' exclaimed Waterman, 'for they all of them promised to give me shelter till we could find out how the land lies.'

'To tell you the truth, I think you're better without their help, as far as that goes,' exclaimed Doublechalk. 'Their offer may be all very well meant, but, between you and I, there'd be very little chance of being safe at any of their places, for chaps like them are apt to have police-officers calling in upon 'em every now and then, and if you happened to be seen, the game would be pretty soon up.'

'True,' answered Waterman; 'but, perhaps you may have a room in this house that I could have for a short time?'

'That would be quite as bad,' answered Doublechalk, 'for this house is known to be the resort of gentlemen of doubtful character, and very often, when least expected, the officers of justice take it into their heads to search the premises from top to bottom.—As for refusing to let 'em do as they please about it, that you know is out of the question, for I should have my license taken away, and then what would my customers do for a place to meet in?'

'Do you know of any person that will let me have the accommodation I ask for?'

'Humph! have you any money?'

'A little,' answered Waterman; 'enough, perhaps, to last me, with care, for a fortnight or three weeks.'

'In that case,' said Doublechalk; 'I think you may get a lodging close by here as long as your money lasts. The place belongs to an old hag of a woman, to be sure; but she has a son that has been sent to prison, so, perhaps, she may feel some little pity for you.'

'Do you think she may be depended on?' inquired Waterman.

'I shouldn't have recommended her if I thought there was any doubt,' said Double-chalk.

'And she lives close by?'

'Yes, old Betty Donavan's cellar is within a stone's throw'

'Is it a cellar that she occupies?'

'Ay, you have to go down six or seven steps to it,' replied Doublechalk . 'She has a couple of underground rooms, such as they are; and the hard crust she earns is got by selling a few vegetables, that are exposed for sale at the top of the cellar.'

'Can I see the woman?' asked Waterman.

'To be sure you can,' said the other;—for I left her at the bar just now, drinking her half-pint of porter. Shall I call her into this room?'

Waterman nodded assent, and the land-lord went out to perform his commission. In a few seconds afterwards he returned, introducing a most extraordinary-looking personage; but, whether male or female, it was hard to decide, for the garments belonged partly to one sex, and partly to the other.—A torn-crowned hat, partly deprived of its brim, covered the head, and a coat of huge proportions gave warmth and shelter to the rest of her person From beneath the hat protruded the borders of a regular Irish-looking cap, and under the coat might be seen the garments—though woefully tattered— usually worn by such females. She was smoking a dudeen, or short pipe, and rolled forth volumes of smoke as she stood curtseying, and wondering what the deuce they could be wanting with her. At length the landlord took upon himself the task of enlightening her upon the subject.

'Mrs. Donavan,' he said, handing her a small drop of gin which he had brought into the parlor with him; 'can you keep a secret safe, when you happen to know one?'

'Can I keep a secret!' she exclaimed, after swallowing the dram. 'D'ye think I cannot hould my tongue, then, when jontleman axes me to be aisy and quiet?'

'I told this person he might depend upon you,' said Doublechalk; 'so he's willing to take a lodging at your place, and to pay you well for it, provided you don't go chattering , and talking about it among all your neighbors.'

'Is the jontleman in throble, then?'

'Yes, rather so, answered the host; 'but he is here to speak for himself, so you can make whatever bargain you like with him.'

'Does he know that my apartments are underground?' asked the old woman,

'I understand all that,' replied Waterman; 'and, in my present situation, I am not inclined to stand very particular as to where or how I may be lodged. You have two rooms, I believe, such as they are, and one of them you'll be able to spare for a short time?'

'Yes, honey, as long as ever you like answered Betty Donovan; 'but may I make so bould as to ax, sir, what ye want to be burying yourself underground for, instead of showing yourself abroad in the blessed daylight, like an honest man?'

'What's that to you, you old inquisitive hag?' demanded the landlord. 'This chap's a friend of mine, and supposing he chooses to keep himself snug for a little while, is it for the like of you to be prying into his affairs!'

'Axing your pardon, sir,' exclaimed Betty, curtseying almost to the ground; 'but I thought if you tould me all about it, I should be the more likely not to say anything that might get him into botheration.'

'Well, then, the truth is, he wants to keep himself snug for a little time from the police,' replied Doublechalk.

'Ah! been taking summat as didn't be long to him?'

'There's no charge of that kind against me at present,' exclaimed Waterman.

'Humph! than you haven't much to be afeard on.'

'Yes, but he has, though,' exclaimed the landlord; 'and as you ain't likely to split upon him for an affair of that kind, I don't mind telling you that he has come home from Sing-Sing before his time was up, and if he happens to be caught they'd send him back again for life, if they didn't do something even worse than that.'

'Divil a bit will I harm the poor fellow,' returned Betty Donovan; 'for I've a son or my own,—the darlint!—that I should like to see back again; and bad luck to them as would say a word agin him, if he should iver take it into his head to come back, and see his ould mother before he dies.'

'That's just what I thought you'd say about it,' exclaimed Doublechalk. 'I told my friend he might depend upon your doing your best to keep him safe; and, if matters should all go off right and quiet, he'll not forget to make you a handsome present for it by-and-bye.'

'I want nothing more than to be paid for my time and throuble,' answered Betty.—

If I can keep him safe from the divils that's looking after him, I shall be glad, be cause it will only be doing as I should wish anybody else to do by my own dear boy.'

'Well, all you've got to do, is to let him sit in the back cellar all day,' said Doublechalk; 'and at night, after you've shut up shop, he can sit down with you and talk over past grievances. He's got rare adventures to relate to you, old woman, I can tell you; and, perhaps, he can give you some little notion of the sort of life your son is passing.'

'That, I rather think, would be best left alone,' exclaimed Waterman; 'for the sufferings of a convict are worse than people here have any notion about. If they had not been so great I should have stayed, and then what troubles and dangers I should have avoided.'

'Well, then,' said Doublechalk, 'as the matter has been arranged between you and the old woman, perhaps you would like to go and take possession of your new lodging place?'

This suggestion was at once acceded to by Waterman, and, after the old woman had taken a thimbleful of the 'cratur,' as she called it, she stepped out of doors, followed by her new lodger, and, after traversing a distance of about fifty yards, they both descended a small flight of steps, which led into Betty Donovan's front parlor, as she was most facetiously pleased to denominate it.

'This is the place for your lodgin, an plaze ye, sir,' she said, on lighting a very consumptive-looking candle. 'You see it ain't quite so nicely furnished as a lord or a duke might want to have it; but its good enough for an ould Irishwoman, and I've eat my praties here with as good an appetite as some people swallow their venison and their turtle, and other fine things o' that sort.'

'What's good enough for you will do equally well for me,' answered Waterman.— 'Your doors, I suppose, are strong and sound, in case we should have unfriendly visitors, when they are least expected?'

'There's only one door,' she replied, 'and that's safe enough, barrin' they don't push too hard. It's got a touch o' the dry rot, so I prop it up with the broom-handle and that's as good as a lock, any how.'

A silence ensued, but it was soon broken by the sound of descending footsteps, and then a loud knocking at the door.

'Och, bad luck to you. What do you want of a lone widder woman just going to bed?' bawled Betty.

'Open the door, and we'll let you know what we want,' answered a gruff voice.

'But I can't open it, I tell you for I have jocked it to keep out thieves,' screamed Betty Donovan.

'Then we will break it open!' cried they, suiting the action to the word and pouring themselves into the cellar.

'You have hunted me out,' Waterman exclaimed; 'and I have the odds of three to one against me. But I know what my fate will be if you once get me in your power, and rather than yield, you shall carry me out of this place a breathless corpse. And mind, it may be the fate of one or two of you to meet the same fate, if you won't be advised to let me leave this place without further hindrance.'

'I say, lads,' cried the officer, addressing himself to the men under his command, 'we must not be blustered out of doing our duty by a chap like this. Recollect, there is something for us all, if we lock him up safely; and, if we don't take him now that he is within our reach, we shall all of us be discharged as unfit to act as policemen any longer.'

'Och hone! what shall I do?' moaned poor Betty Donovan, as the probable consequences of her good nature suddenly flashed upon her mind. 'I've been desaved, jontlemen, like yourselves, and thought it was a woman, though—'

'You thought nothing of the kind, mother Donovan,' exclaimed the Captain; 'for you told us it was a sister of yours, and after all, it turns out to be a man that has escaped from Sing-Sing. So it's likely you'll hear something more about this, for the law's very strict against people that harbor and conceal criminals in their houses.'

'Who is there here that knows me to be the person you have said?' answered Waterman.

'Why, the description given is enough for us,' replied the Captain. 'A gentleman from the country rode up on horseback, and left all the particulars at the police office, so the news was sent round directly to all the stations, and orders were given to make a strict search for you in every place.'

'But I'll not be taken quite so easily as you expect,' exclaimed Waterman, collecting all his energies, and making a desperate rush to break his way through the impediments that stood in the way of his defence. The men, however, were determined not to be foiled, and drawing their cutlasses, they were just in the act of pursuing the fugitive, when, on a sudden, the only light in the place was extinguished, and they were left to finish their work in total darkness. But the Captain was still provided with a lantern, and, having turned this on so as to produce a strong glare, he was again about to commence the pursuit, when a violent blow from a stick laid him prostrate on the ground, and once more all was confusion, uncertainty, and disorder.

During this period, brief as it was, old Betty Donovan had been busily employed in securing the retreat of Waterman, and those who had come to his assistance; and, having effected that purpose to her entire satisfaction, she crawled under the bed, and she lay there snugly ensconced, whilst the policemen, after having assisted their Captain to rise, groped about the place in a vain effort to lay hold of the man who had so narrowly escaped from their clutches.—At length, however, she was dragged forth from her place of confinement, and questioned as to the share she had had in the escape; but she solemnly asserted that she had had no hand in putting out the light, and declared that she had seen three men rush down the steps just before they had been left in darkness, one of whom blew out the candle, while the others withdrew Waterman to the further corner of the cellar.

This story was but a lame one for the policemen to carry back; but, as it was plain the prisoner had escaped, they had no alternative but to make the best of it they could. After a brief consultation among themselves, it was agreed to leave the old woman behind, as she might happen to blab things that would not be to their own advantage.

Assisted by Betty Donovan, as we have before observed, Waterman and his companions escaped from the cellar whilst the police were in confusion and uncertainty which had been produced by the sudden darkness.

The old woman went with them no further than the bottom of the steps, on reaching the summit of which they found a crowd of persons collected, not one of whom, however, had the courage to venture down nor to meddle with those who had risen from the darksome retreat, though some were clamorous in their inquiries to learn the cause of the uproar which had excited so large a share of their curiosity. But the men, of whom they would have asked these questions, moved away without making any reply; and, as the noise below soon after wards ceased, the crowd gradually dispersed, till not one of them remained to satisfy the curiosity which but a short time before had been so strongly excited.

In the meantime, Mike Rowley and his companions—for they were the persons who had afforded such seasonable assistance—hurried Waterman along all sorts of bye-places, till they reached a solitary and deserted-looking spot. Here they paused to take counsel as to their future proceedings, and for the first time Waterman heard the voices of his deliverers since they had left the scene of strife and contention.

'I'll tell you what it is, Master Waterman,' exclaimed Mike, 'you had almost got yourself into a pretty scrape in that cellar, if we hadn't released you as we did.'

'Why, as far as numbers went, I certainly had but a queer chance of it, answered Waterman. 'I had, however, made up my mind to struggle till the very last moment, and it's likely enough that they'd have carried me out a stiff 'un, and then there'd been-an end of all my troubles at once.'

'Luckily we saved 'em the trouble of doing that,' said Sam Snatch; 'and, if you can only manage to get on board a ship, you may land at some place or another, and laugh at those that are so anxious to hunt you back to your old quarters.

'Where are we now?' asked Waterman, looking around him.

'It's a place where you may walk about a long time without meeting any body; and where you may find a ship ready to sail, and a life at sea for two or three years will be better than stopping on land, with a chance of getting scragged,'

'There's no occasion to remind me of that now,' exclaimed the fugitive; 'for it's quite enough for a man to have one trouble upon his mind, without being told he can hardly move or step but what he's always in danger.'

By this time a man was heard approaching them at a quick pace, and in a second or two afterwards they were accosted by one, who, in a gruff voice, demanded who went there.

'There's four of us,' answered Fordham, boldly; for he knew that the least symptoms of hesitation would have subjected them to the suspicion of the man who had questioned them.

'What do you do here at this time of the night?' was the next inquiry put to them.

Business of our own has brought us here,' exclaimed Sam Snatch, rather testily.

'Business! humph! you are up to some robbery, I suppose?'

'Now that's what I call a d—d cruel suspicion of yours,' exclaimed Rowley, with apparent simplicity. 'We're four chaps just going to join our ship, and you must take us for so many thieves, because we don't happen to be quite so well dressed as some of the folks you meet.'

'What makes you so late?' demanded the patrol 'This is not the time when men generally go to join their ships, and I dare say you've no more fancy for being sailors than I have. What's the name of the vessel you're going to enter in?'

'The Cormorant,' answered Rowley, who happened to know that a vessel of that name was lying at the warf.

'Humph! where's she bound?'

'India, direct.'

'What's the name of her skipper?'

'Don't know that,' answered Rowley; for though I heard it when we signed articles,

I've quite forgot it now.'

'You're a pretty fellow to forget the name of your captain,' exclaimed the patrol, turning his lantern so as to direct the light successively towards each of their faces.—

'You've been telling me just what story you like about yourselves, and if I let you pass on without further questions, it ain't because I'm satisfied with your account of yourselves, but because I've no one to help me take you up.'

When the man had left, Waterman said, 'what made you tell the man that lie about the Cormorant?'

'I don't know what put it into, my head,' answered Rowley, 'but I happened to know there was such a ship and if we hadn't given a straightforward answer, he might have sprung that confounded rattle of his, and then we should have been all four taken up as suspicious characters.'

'And that wouldn't have been quite the thing,' observed Sam Snatch; 'for it might have led to inquiries into our characters, and then there's not telling where the mischief would have ended.'

'Especially as far as you are concerned, Waterman ,' exclaimed Fordham. 'You must keep out of such scrapes as those, or there'll be a terrible explosion before long.'

'At any rate,' said Waterman, 'this will put an end to my scheme of going to sea at present, for this meeting will be talked of among the police, and if any inquiries should happen to be made on board the Cormorant, it will at once prove that we have given a false account of ourselves, and then all sorts of suspicions and evil rumors will be raised against us,'

'That's true enough,' returned Mike Rowley; 'the only way will be to think of some other plan for hiding yourself for the present.'

'It's easier to talk about than to do,' exclaimed Waterman. 'Twice already I've been hunted, and driven out from places where I thought myself safe; and now, I don't know of a hole or corner to creep into without the certainty of that infernal villain finding me.'

'If he comes near where I am, he'll be likely to have something that will spoil his mischief-making forever afterwards,' exclaimed Mike Rowley. 'However, if you want a hiding-place for a short time, Waterman, I think I know of a crib, close by, where you may be safe, if you'll only keep yourself indoors till we find out some place that will suit you better.'

'Where is it?' asked Waterman.

'A little further a-head,' replied the other. 'It ain't very inviting to look at; but I've thought several times, that if a man wanted to hide himself, that would be just the place where he would be most secure.'

They walked on in silence about five minutes longer, and then arrived at an old dilapidated building, standing quite by itself, and seeming, from its desolate appearance, as if it had been deserted from some superstitious feeling or another. They entered a sort of courtyard, through a gate that had fallen from one of its hinges, and passing round to the rear of the building, Mike Rowley opened a window that belonged to a small room which seemed once to have been used as a pantry, and having made his own way through, he desired his companions to follow him without fear of meeting with any one.

'Where the devil have you brought us now?' exclaimed Fordham, as he tried to penetrate the darkness with which they were surrounded.

'I don't know much more than you do about the place,' answered Rowley; 'but I've heard that the estate has been some years in Chancery, and the house has been suffered to fall into decay till it's almost ready to tumble down of its own accord.'

'Don't anybody live in it?' demanded Sam Snatch.

'A pretty place it is to live in, to be sure,' returned Rowley. 'Why, there aint a room but what has nearly all the windows broken; and, I believe, even the rats and mice have made themselves scarce, because they found there was nothing to be got to eat, unless they could turn cannibals, and feed upon each other'

'Then how do you suppose I am to live in such a miserable place?' asked Waterman.

'Because beggars mustn't be choosers,' answered the other; 'and, I think, you may manage to stay here till we can look out for something a little more comfortable. At any rate, you can do as you like about stopping here, for if you like to run the risk of it, you may stay at my lodgings for a few days.'

'This place shall do for me to-night, at all events,' replied Waterman; 'and, perhaps, when I see my lodgings by daylight I may form a better opinion of them than I have at present.'

'Why, there's one thing to be said,' observed Sam Snatch; 'in ain't very cold; and even if some of the windows happen to let in the wind, it ain't so bad as sleeping all night under a hedge. For my own part. I shouldn't mind staying here, if it wasn't for the thought that it may be haunted by evil spirits.'

'But how am I to get food here, since i won't be safe for me to show myself out of doors?'

'That's the worst part of the business,' said Rowley, 'because there'd be a consternation in the neighborhood if anybody should be seen entering a house that everybody shuns. So I shouldn't be able to bring you anything to eat till to-morrow night , and that's rather too long a time for a hungry man to wait.'

'Oh, I'll manage to come in the morning without any one seeing me,' exclaimed Sam Snatch. 'I'll be here a little after daylight, so that you can have company part of the time.'

They now mounted up the stairs cautiously, and led Waterman to a room through the broken windows of which the air rushed in gusts.

Having found some straw, they pointed it out to Waterman as a suitable bed, and then Mike Rowley and his companions took their leave. From his window, Waterman watched the retreating forms of his associates, and then threw himself on the heap of damp and mouldering straw in the hope of forgetting his troubles and anxieties in sleep.

In the mean time, Charles Heathington who had come to New York and giving information at the office of the Chief of Police that Waterman had returned to the city, was highly mortified that his victim had escaped the officers at Betty Donovan's cellar, and armed with a pair of pistols, was in search of Waterman when he met the patrol who had accosted the former and his companions.—The patrol demanded who he was and where he was going. Charles told his business, when the patrol asked if there was only on man, 'For,' said he, I met four suspicious looking stragglers a little while ago.'

From the description now given him Charles felt certain that one of the strollers was the man he was in quest of.

'Did you happen to ask what ship they were going on board of?' inquired Charles Heathington.

'Yes, and they told me it was the Cormorant bound to India,' replied the patrol.

'Is there such a ship going to India?'

'I've heard there is, sir, and that was one reason why I let the men go on their way.'

'At any rate I'll satisfy myself as to the truth of their story,' exclaimed Charles Heathington. 'What is the nearest place to the docks that I can get a bed at?'

'Water street'

'And, I suppose, in the morning there'll be no difficulty in getting on board the Cormorant?'

'Not the least,' replied the patrol; 'but you must not let any of the sailors know what you are going about, or they may find means to give you a ducking in the water.'

'I suppose I can see the captain?'

'I don't think it very likely the skipper will be on board,' answered the man; 'because he has very little to do with the vessel, and he seldom takes charge of her till she gets under way. If you want to see him particularly, sir, I think you'll have the best chance of meeting with him there.'

'It will scarcely be worth my while to do that,' said Charles; 'because there will be some one on board that will be able to answer the few questions I have to put. Besides, I shall have an opportunity of looking about me; and if I should see the man I am in search of, the object that takes me there will have been accomplished.'

'Is the chap a thief, sir?'

'He is a runaway convict.'

'The devil! and I let him pass on when it was my duty to have made him my prisoner.'

'I'll see about him as soon as I'm off duty to-night,' exclaimed the patrol; 'and if he don't come under my clutches before many hours are over it will be no fault of mine.'

Charles Heathington passed on, all the better satisfied that he had secured the cooperation of another in the task he had voluntarily taken upon himself. The rest of the way was cheerless and desolate in the extreme, for the road was dark, and not a person crossed his path till he entered Water street. Here it was some time before he could find an inn to suit him, but at length he went to bed, and dreamed of the revenge he was so anxious to secure.

CHAPTER IV

The Haunted House. A Strange Visitor. The Compact. A Thrilling Scene.—The Libertine foiled, &c.

WE left Waterman just when he had laid himself upon his comfortless bed to obtain, if he could, a brief respite from the harassing thoughts that afflicted him. But his mind was too full of uneasy reflections for sleep to visit his aching eye lids, and for more than an hour did he toss himself restlessly, from side to side, invoking the god of sleep, but invoking in vain. At length he fell into a feverish slumber, in which dreams visited him that were worse even than his waking thoughts. Home and wife were present to his imagination, and the dread came over him that Nancy was again in the power of the libertine. Two or three times he awoke, and could scarcely convince himself that all which had just passed was not real; but again he fell asleep to be harassed with the same visions, and just when he fancied himself rushing forward to grasp the seducer by the throat, he awoke and was startled by hearing a sound of some person pacing to and fro in the apartment beneath him. He listened, and each moment served to convince him more and more that his ears had not deceived him. Some one was certainly there, and the question now was, whether the officers had not traced him, and were searching the place for the object of their pursuit.

As he became more collected, however, he felt convinced that there was not more than one person, and that being the case, he supposed that some homeless person like himself had sought in that cheerless mansion, a shelter from the rain that he could hear drifting through the broken window of his chamber.

Gaining confidence from this latter suggestion, he would have risen to satisfy himself upon the subject, but as he was about to do so, a light gleamed in at the open door, and then steps, slow, and apparently feeble were heard ascending the stairs, and the light which had first been feeble, became every moment more and more strong.

It was a period of deep suspense to Waterman; and, as he watched with staring eye-balls, he beheld the form of a venerable man slowly advancing along the passage which led to his room. He was dressed in a loose flowing gown or gabardine , and his beard, which was of silver whiteness, and descended in an ample mass upon his bosom. Altogether his appearance was ghostlike, and the glaring of his eyes added not a little to his supernatural appearance. In his hand, he held a candle, but he seemed not to be aware of a stranger's presence till he stood within two or three paces of him, and then a marked and ominous change spread itself over his countenance.

'Who art thou,' he exclaimed, in the feeble accents of age, 'who hast dared to seek an asylum within these walls? But I see, murder and all other crimes are written on thy brow, and thou wouldst here find a shelter from those who pursue thee.'

There was so much truth in these words Waterman became alarmed lest he had fallen in with some foe who would betray him.—But the wildness with which the words had been uttered, and the restless wandering of his eyes, almost convinced him that the person before him was some maniac who had broken from his place of confinement.

'Why dost thou not answer me?' he exclaimed. 'Have my words reached thy conscience?'

'I must first know your name before I answer you,' said Waterman.

'My name you will not know,' was the reply, 'but tell me why thou hast intruded into my house.'

'I killed a man in my own defence, and was put into prison,' said Waterman, 'from which I managed to make my escape. It is enough to say that I returned to my native city not many days since; yet, in that short time I have been hunted and pursued, till I sought a brief shelter in this place. I believed it to be unoccupied, or I would not have entered unbidden the house of one that seems to have seen as much sorrow—though I hope less crime—as I have myself.'

'Well, exclaimed the old man, 'the place is large enough for us both, though it is fast falling into ruin and decay. You may remain here, because your story has touched my heart, that for years past has felt no sympathy for the miseries and misfortunes of my fellow-creatures.'

'I have been plain and even with you,' said Waterman; 'and, if it may be done without offence, I would ask if it is crime or misfortune that has made you hide yourself in this place from the world?'

'I have been sinned against,' he replied; but never wilfully did ought that could in any way injure another. This house, and other large estates became mine on the death of a relative, whose heir I was always considered to be. For five years I was suffered to remain in undisturbed possession, but at length a rival claim was made, and I found myself put to heavy expenses, in order to show a right that no one but my opponent and his lawyers had ever doubted. There was no will in my favor, and the title-deeds had all been either lost or mislaid. This the other party ascertained, and when no other chance remained of speedily settling the differences between us, he threw the affair into chancery, well knowing that I should be obliged to give up possession till a decision was come to. All that I had ever possessed of my own was swallowed up in law expenses, and then, after having lived a life of luxury and ease, I suddenly found myself reduced to the verge of beggary. In the sunshine of my prosperity I was surrounded by fawning, sycophant friends, whose professions had made me believe that they would have sacrificed fortune, or even life itself for me, if it had been needed. But when the darkening shadows of adversity fell upon me, those friends fled from my presence, and never more were to be seen. It was in vain that I applied to them for assistance—they turned a deaf ear to all that was urged in my behalf, and from that moment I took that bitter hatred against the world that never since has left me.'

'And did you never see any of those false friends afterwards?' demanded Waterman.

'I would not have done, even if they had given me the opportunity,' replied the old man. 'As I was, however, I determined to collect together what little wreck of my former wealth remained, and when that was done, I took a small place in the north, where I might live retired from the haunts of my ungrateful fellow-creatures. For upwards of twenty years I passed the life of a recluse, and then, all of a sudden, a strong desire came over me to visit once more the scene in which I had passed the only happy portion of my life. I chose the night time for my journey, because I would come in contact as little as possible with the worldly -minded wretches that I had learned to hate, and I preferred performing the whole distance on foot, because I could the better choose my own resting-places, which were generally in barns or other outhouses that happened to be near the road side. Thus I saw men only so far as might be necessary to supply my new wants, and after about a week's travel, I found myself at length standing before the house, which had at one time been the scene of all my earthly happiness.'

'You are speaking, I suppose,' said Waterman, 'of the place we are now in!'

'I am,' he replied; 'but, oh! how it has changed since I last beheld it. The suit, which had been commenced in chancery twenty years before, was still pending, and the old mansion was suffered to fall into decay. It seemed to be almost falling, yet, as I gazed upon its tottering walls, a thought came across me that nowhere else could I find a home so welcome to my feelings as that which had witnessed the happier portion of my career. In the neighborhood I seemed to have been entirely forgotten, for neither young nor old recognized me, and I wandered about, regarded by all people as some madman, harmless and unoffending, but who had escaped the watchfulness of his friends. Such thoughts I was not inclined to disturb, and having heard rumors that the old manor-house was supposed to be haunted, I determined to take up my residence there, and, in order to keep off the idle or over curious, I resolved to practise upon their credulity, and for that purpose, wandered about at midnight with a light in my hand, that I took care should be seen flitting from window to window. In this scheme my success was complete; and, during the fifteen years that I have dwelt here, I have never till this night been disturbed by a visiter, except the dwarf who brings me food every day.'

'Once you have,' said Waterman; 'at least, a person told me that he one night had slept in this very room, and from the fact of the straw being here, as he had said was the case before we came into the room, I am inclined to believe it was no vain boast.'

'I remember the circumstance, now you allude to it,' answered the old man. 'I heard a stranger enter late at night, but was too ill to rise and terrify him out of the place by my almost supernatural appearance. He, therefore, remained undisturbed till the morning, when he took his departure, and from that day to the present I have never seen him.'

'He was here to-night,' said Waterman; 'indeed it was he who brought me here, and who advised me that I should seek a shelter in the house, as being a more likely place than any other to afford me the concealment that I stand so much in need of.'

'And it will be your own fault, if you do not remain here till the search after you is at an end,' exclaimed the old man. 'We are brothers in misfortunes, though under different circumstances;—and, since the world choose to prosecute you, I will at least afford you the little accommodation you require.'

'Indeed, sir,' said Waterman, 'I cannot give utterance to my thanks.'

'No thanks,' cried the old man.' 'What I do is more from revenge to my fellow-creatures than from any real regard to yourself. Good night.'

When he awoke in the morning, the sun had been up some time. Waterman listened to hear any sound proceeding from his strange visitor of the preceding night. All, however, in the place was hushed and still; and though he continued to listen for some time, not a sound was heard that might lead him to imagine the place was occupied by any other person than himself.

In about half-an-hour afterwards, however footsteps were heard, but as he could trace them to a room in the lower part of the house, he imagined they proceeded from a dwarf, who brought food to the old man and who chose that early hour in the morning, in order to avoid the observations of the neighbors.

After some time the person, whoever he might be, left the place, and running to the window, Waterman could see a deformed youth, of diminutive stature, pursuing his way towards the gate, which formed the only place of access to the house. Having nothing else to occupy himself with, the fugitive remained looking out till at length he saw his expected comrade cautiously approaching.—Sam looked up, and seeing him at the window, quickened his pace, and in a minute or two more entered the room.

'Well,' he exclaimed, 'you've not been carried away by the ghost, I see; but you look confoundedly pale, though, so I suppose you've seen something to frighten you?'

'I've certainly not passed a very comfortable night,' answered Waterman; 'but it's anxiety more than alarm that has made me look pale.'

'What! you've been afraid, I suppose, lest people should happen to find out that you took up your lodgings in this queer old crib.'

'There's reason enough for alarm,' answered Waterman; 'for I know there's one that won't leave a stone unturned till he has found out where I'm hiding myself. If I could only be sure that he is gone back into the country, I should begin to think there might be some little chance for me. But I know him too well to believe that, and, I suppose, after all, I shall be doomed to fall by the man who has sworn eternal hatred to me.'

'Then you shouldn't have spared his life while he was in your power,' exclaimed Sam. 'I know If I had been in your place he should never have had a chance of doing me any further mischief.'

'I would avoid bloodshed,' answered Waterman, gloomily. 'There's crime enough of that kind already to be atoned for, and even at a risk to myself I will never take the life of Charles Heathington, unless we should come to a mortal struggle, and there should be no other way to rescue myself from his infernal malice.'

'You know best about that, of course,' said Sam Snatch; 'so I shall offer no further my opinion upon the subject.—But you acknowledge having seen an apparition, or something of that kind, and I'm all eagerness to hear what sort of an adventure you met with.'

'Be it ghost or mortal,' said Waterman, 'the being that visited me last night, came in the shape of a venerable old man, with a snow-white flowing beard that reached nearly to his chest.'

'Wasn't you terribly frightened?'

'Why, it's no use telling a lie about it, answered Waterman, 'for I was alarmed when the strange-looking visitor first made his appearance; but, after a time, I plucked up courage, and felt no more alarm in his presence than I do in yours.'

'Humph! he was pretty civil then?'

'Tolerably so,' replied Waterman;' 'but it seems my taking up my lodging here had given him offence, and I thought at first he seemed inclined to insist upon my immediately leaving the place. However, for a ghost, I found him tolerably reasonable, and, after hearing my explanation, he told me I might remain here as long as I may think proper.'

'Depend upon it, Waterman, it's no ghost at all, exclaimed the other, chuckling at the thought of having made a discovery.'

'Then what do you think it was?'

'I cannot tell much about that,' answered Sam; 'but it's likely enough to have been some chap in disguise, that wanted to frighten you; or, perhaps, it may be somebody that's hiding himself here, as you want to do, and so he thought to get rid of you by making i appear as if the house is haunted.'

'If such was his notion, he soon found out his mistake,' answered Waterman

'May be so; but are you sure he's not some chap that may go and give information about your being here?'

'I believe there's not much reason to be afraid of that,' returned Waterman. 'Indeed, be he ghost or mortal, I have faith enough in him to feel pretty certain that I have nothing to fear while I remain in this house.'

'How long do you think of staying?'

'That must depend entirely upon circumstances,' replied Waterman. 'Of course, I shall take care to keep a good watch in case of surprise, and if there should be any reason to believe any danger is at hand, I shall be off without giving much notice of my intention.'

'You don't happen to recollect then that you have got some cunning devils to deal with?'

'I know all about that, and have prepared myself against their evil designs as well as I can,' replied Waterman. 'It will be some time, I dare say, before my enemy finds out where I'm hiding myself.'

'You should have sent a bullet through his head when you had him so nicely in your power,' replied Sam Snatch.

'He may think better of this when he reflects upon the danger he's running himself into,' answered Waterman; 'twice, already, he has found that I am his superior in strength, and the lesson may not have been thrown away upon him.'

'Trust to that, and you'll find yourself woefully deceived,' returned the other. 'The chap has taken the trouble to follow you all the way to New York, and if he only gets scent of his prey, it's my opinion, he won't give up the pursuit. But I suppose you don't thank me for speaking my mind plainly, so let's drop the subject, and, by way of relief, suppose you eat and drink some of the good things I've brought for you.'

While he was saying this, Sam Snatch emptied the contents of his basket upon the floor, and, the viands he had brought were not of the most delicate description, they were at least most welcome to one who had been many hours without food, and Waterman, seating himself upon the floor, afforded pretty decisive evidence of the satisfaction he derived from his meal. A bottle of potent ale was afterwards discussed by himself and his visitor, the latter of whom took his departure, after remaining three or four hours to while away some of the time that would otherwise have hung so heavily on hand.

Being left to his own ruminations, Waterman began to see clearly enough that his present place of abode would not do for any lengthened residence. The visits of his companions must necessarily give rise to suspicions in the neighborhood, if they should be seen prowling about, and even if that should be avoided there was danger to be apprehended from the old man who had mysteriously appeared before him on the night previous. It, therefore, seemed to him absolutely necessary that a change of quarters should speedily take place, and it only remained for him to decide whether to go immediately, or remain where he was till he had again seen and consulted his companions. The latter alternative, however, seemed to be the most prudent, and it was finally decided that he should continue in his lurking place till the return of Sam Snatch on the following morning.

Charles Heathington, whom we left in active pursuit of his victim, commenced his inquiries next day about as soon as he was out of his bed, and taking his way towards the docks, he was shown the vessel on board which he hoped to find the man he was in search of.

Engaging a waterman, he soon reached the vessel, and having requested an interview with the officer in command, he was taken to the cuddy, where he found the chief mate busily occupied in looking over the written instructions that were to guide him till the command was taken by the captain. Mr. John Bostock was a plain straight forward sailor, and having desired his visitor to be seated, he finished the perusal of his papers, and then, throwing them upon the table, inquired the business that had occasioned this unexpected visit.

'My errand here, sir, is soon explained,' answered Charles Heathington, taking from his pocket-book a memorandum which he handed to the officer. 'You will perceive that I am in pursuit of a criminal, and the paper I have given you will serve to inform you whether a person answering it has, within the last few hours, entered himself as a sailor on board your vessel.'

'I don't know of any such person on board,' returned the mate. 'Some men, I believe, joined the ship yesterday, and it's likely enough the man you want may be among them.'

'Will you allow me to see them?'

'Why, you can do that if you choose,' exclaimed the other; 'but I don't see much good you'll do by it, because we want all the hands we've got, and I shall not suffer any of my men to be taken away, unless upon sufficient cause being first shown.'

'Is it not sufficient,' demanded Charles Heathington, 'that I tell you the man I am in search of is a convict, and that all who harbor or conceal him will be guilty of an offence that could be punished by a very long imprisonment?'

'How am I to know that what you have been telling me about the man is true?' demanded the mate. 'You have brought no warrant with you, I suppose?'

'A warrant is not necessary in a case like this,' replied Charles. 'He has already been convicted, and if he is on board this vessel, I shall insist upon your aiding me to place him in the custody of the police.'

'Insist!' exclaimed the other; 'and pray, sir, who may it be that uses so much freedom with a person that he never saw in his life before?'

'My name is Heathington.'

'Then I must remind you, Mr. Heathington,' exclaimed the other, 'that civil words will best become you when speaking to a person who conceives himself to be a least your equal. We are strangers, and as this interview was not sought by me, I must request that you bring it to a termination as soon as possible.'

'You refuse, then, to answer my questions respecting the person I am in search of?'

'The man, I have every reason to believe, is not on board this ship,' replied the mate; 'nor in short can I see any reason why you should imagine he is here.'

'The information I received from one of the patrols has led me to that belief,' answered Charles Heathington. 'He saw and conversed with the fugitive, and from what passed it seems quite certain that he was on his way to your vessel.'

'I have only to repeat that he is not on board this vessel, and having given that answer, you will oblige me by leaving with as little delay as possible.'

'Beware how you tamper with me,' exclaimed Charles Heathington, 'for I am resolved to capture the fugitive at all risks to myself, and though I may be forced from hence by violence, it will only be to return with officers, whose authority you dare not oppose yourself against.'

Against this threat the temper of the mate was not proof, and starting from his seat, he seized his opponent by the collar, and dragged him towards the door. But the other was possessed of no inconsiderable share of strength and courage, and recovering himself from the surprise into which he had been thrown, he grappled stoutly with his antagonist, so that for some few moments it might be doubted on which side victory would declare itself. At length, however, Charles struck his foot against the table, and losing his balance, he fell heavily to the floor. In another instant the sailor was kneeling upon him, and seizing his fallen enemy by the throat, he would have sacrificed him to his fury, had not three or four sailors entered the cabin at that moment, and by main force parted the combatants.

'What's the matter, sir?' exclaimed one of the men to Mr. Bostock, who stood glaring upon his foe as if only waiting for an opportunity to make a sudden rush upon him; 'do you want this land-lubber thrown overboard, or shall we carry him ashore to learn better manners from his own people?'

'He may give what directions he pleases about me,' said Charles Heathington, with affected indifference; 'but I warn him of the consequences of any violence that may be committed upon me.'

'Will you tell me,' said the mate, 'by what right you have dared to come on board this vessel?'

'My purpose you are already acquainted with,' replied Charles Heathington; 'and the object being a lawful one, you shall learn the submission that is due to person armed with legal authority.'

'Your threats may as well be spared,' exclaimed the mate; 'for, though no great lawyer, I know quite enough to feel satisfied with what I have done.' Then turning to the men, he added, 'This gentleman as he calls himself, has come here in search of a person that I am well assured is not on board the ship. You know, as well as I do, what fresh hands have entered; and, upon hearing the name of the person, you can inform him whether he is among our shipmates.'

'His name is William Waterman, said the libertine, on observing that the men were looking towards him for information upon the subject.

'There's no such a person here,' said the sailor, who had taken upon himself the part of spokesman.

'He may have tendered himself under some other name?' exclaimed Charles Heathington.

'We've none here but decent chaps,' returned the sailor; 'and the word of our chief mate ought to be quite enough without calling upon us to be witnesses of the truth of what he has said.'

'I believe he has wilfully falsified himself to screen a malefactor from justice,' exclaimed Charles, in a tone of sullenness and defiance.

'Then here ends all further parley between us,' returned the mate. 'I have been inclined to let you quit this vessel without having recourse to violence, but you would degrade me in the eyes of these men, and it is now time that I should rid myself of all further impertinence. You will, therefore, accompany these persons, and they will convey you to shore, in a boat; and, if afterwards you should have any complaint to make against me, I shall be ready to answer it when and where you please.'

As he said this he turned away, and Charles finding that all further resistance would be of no avail, left the cuddy, and was conveyed to the boat which was still waiting for him at the place where he had left it.—In a few minutes afterwards he was again on shore, and having paid the waterman, proceeded, in no very good humor, to the tavern where he had slept on the previous night. On arriving there, he ordered wine to be brought; and, whilst moodily pondering over the unprofitable labor he had been employed in, was interrupted by the entrance of a bustling little personage, who advanced smirkingly towards him, and inquired if he was the person who was asking about a man that had broke prison. These words instantly recalled Charles Heatington to his recollection; and, looking inquisitively towards the intruder, he asked if he had any information to give upon the subject.

'As for the matter of that,' replied the other, 'I rather think I can tell you where he is to be found.

'Where is it?'

'In an old house that has not been inhabited habited for years,' answered the man. 'The place is said to be haunted, but, as I happened this morning to see a fellow sneaking towards the place with a basket on his arm, I followed at a little distance off, and saw him enter the house.'

'And what has that to do with the object I have in view?' demanded Charles Heathington.

'Why, it proves that some one must be concealed in the place,' replied the other: 'and, as ghosts don't want provisions to be taken to 'em, I feel pretty certain that the man you want is in the house.'

'How far is it from here?' demanded Charles, who now began to think his chance was not quite so hopeless as it had appeared a short time before.

'Not quite half a mile, I should think.'

'Will you act as my guide to it?'

'Yes, provided you pay me well for my time, and the risk I shall have to run.'

'You shall have a guinea for your services,' answered Charles; 'but it must be on condition that you perform your task with zeal and caution.'

'Why, as for that,' exclaimed the man, scratching his ear, 'I should not have taken the trouble to come after you, unless I had had a pretty good notion that my time would not be thrown away, so you may suppose I'm a chap that may be depended on, even though we happen to be strangers.'

'At all events, I feel inclined to trust you,' returned Charles; 'and we may, therefore, speak to each other with some little familiarity. You told me, I think, that you had seen a man going towards the house, which is reported to be haunted with evil spirits?'

'I saw him as plainly as I see you at this present moment,' exclaimed the other; 'and, what is more, I rather think he knew some one was watching him, for he stopped several times to look about him, and it seemed to me as if he sometimes fancied all was not right, for he hesitated as if half inclined to turn back, and if I hadn't concealed myself, the affair would have come to an end without my finding out as much as I have.'

'Upon my life I see very little that you have found out,' observed Charles Heathington. 'A man may surely walk with a basket on his arm without having such a purpose in view as you have imagined.'

'True, sir,' replied the little man; 'but then the person I saw happened to be going towards a house that is shunned by every one in the neighborhood.'

'That may be because he was not aware of the ridiculous reports that have been raised of its being haunted.'

'Ridiculous as you may call the reports, there's plenty of people hereabouts that believe them,' replied the man. 'I myself have lived more than twenty years in the neighborhood, and, as long as I can remember, no man has ever ventured inside the house, though plenty have found courage enough to prowl round the place in the day time.'

'There are few places without these reputed haunted houses,' returned Charles Heathington; 'but it has always happened that, upon inquiry, people have discovered the folly of yielding to popular delusions.—Be that as it may, however, I am resolved to sift the matter to the very bottom, and if it should lead to the discovery of the man I am in pursuit of, you shall have no reason to complain of the liberality of a stranger. But I have forgotten to ask if the person you speak, of has been seen conveying provisions there before this morning?'

'I have never seen nor heard of him before,' answered the other; 'and it was by a mere chance that I met with him today.'

'And how did it happen that you knew of a person being in quest of a fugitive?'

'Why, that happened naturally enough,' returned the other; 'for, you must know, I am a barber by profession, and this morning a man happened to speak in my shop of some one being in this city looking for a runaway convict, and so I thought I would tell you what I had seen.'

'Well, then, you shall go with me,' said Heathington, 'I shall wait till I am favored by the darkness of night.'

'Night!' exclaimed the man, with alarm; 'why, you surely would not visit the haunted house when it is said that the spirit walks about?'

'I have no belief in such phantoms,' replied Charles Heathington, 'I shall go if you attend me or not.'

'Oh, I'll go, sir!' cried the barber, 'I live just over the way and you have only to send for me.'

'You will be wanted then at eleven o'clock at night.'

'Oh!' cried the barber, trembling—'but I will come, sir. I'll come,' and he took his leave in great trepidation.

During the greater part of the day he stood looking from the window, in the hope that some of his friends might be lurking near the spot. But hour after hour passed away without any of them making their appearance, and at length, when the darkness of evening began to set in, he turned reluctantly away, and pacing up and down the room, gave way to the melancholy thoughts that passed in rapid succession through his mind.

At last the full moon shone forth in all her splendor, and again the hapless fugitive placed himself at the window to gaze almost unconsciously on the scene of wildness and desolation that lay before him.

In this manner more than half an hour elapsed, when his notice was attracted by something moving about the garden, and immediately afterwards a man darted forward, and presented himself beneath the window. It was Mike Rowley, who, having assured himself that the bird had flown, hurried round the house to a door which he had seen during a hasty examination of the premises. In two or three minutes afterwards he entered the room, and having shaken hands with Waterman, expressed his satisfaction at finding him all safe from the danger he had anticipated.

'So far all's right enough, my boy,' he exclaimed; 'but this is no place for you to remain in much longer, for your enemy, Charles Heathington, is not far off, and he thinks to surprise you to-night when you are asleep.'

'Does he know of my being here then?'

'He does,' answered the other; 'and what's more, he's not half a mile away from you at this moment.'

'D—n him!' muttered the fugitive; 'he hunts me with all the certainty and deadliness of purpose of a blood-hound. And yet, when I come to think of it, Rowley, I think you must be mistaken about his being so near.'

'How can I be mistaken when I've seen him?' demanded the other. 'I followed at no great distance, off, and saw him go on board a vessel that's just about sailing for the East Indies.'

'What could he have gone there for, I wonder?'

'Why, to look after you, to be sure,' replied Mike Rowley. He received information from the patrol that three or four men had passed him who were going to enter themselves as seamen, and believing you to one of them, he went this morning, expecting to have the pleasure of giving you into custody.'

"Twas well for him that he didn't find me there,' exclaimed Waterman; 'for I would have had his life in revenge for the misery he has dragged me into.'

'And serve him right, too,' answered Rowley; 'the scoundrel deserves to have a knife in his heart, though the worst of it is, a chap can't kill him without running his own neck into danger.'

'The fellow must beware how he again trusts himself within my reach,' exclaimed Waterman. 'For my own part, I shall never willingly throw myself in his way; but, if he will hunt me out, the consequences of his folly must fall upon himself.'

'Do you mean to wait here then till he comes?'

'That depends upon circumstances,' replied Waterman. 'If he is coming alone, there can be no reason why I should fly from him like a coward; and, even if he should bring assistance , there are places enough in this old house where I may find concealment till they are tired of looking for me. But I've not yet been told how you happened to hear of his intended visit here?'

'I saw him go on board the Cormorant, and afterwards heard him agree with a fellow to make you a visit at eleven o'clock at night'—

He was here interrupted by the entrance of the old man who had been standing at the door and listening to the conversation which had been going forward. On being perceived, however, the old man slowly advanced, and addressing himself to Waterman, said,—

'Your friend here seems alarmed at my appearance among you, and yet, I suppose, you have told him of my having paid you a similar visit last night?'

'I have,' replied the convict; 'but the secret, I can pledge my word, will be safe in his keeping.'

'Ay, ay, it will be safe enough,' exclaimed Mike, bluntly; 'but, between ourselves, old gentleman, I don't think it was exactly the thing to be listening to our conversation.'

'If I have done so,' answered the old man 'it will be for your own advantage.'

'Indeed! and how will you make that appear?'

'By giving such advice as will extricate you from the danger that may arise from the visit of the enemy that it seems you expect here.'

'Humph! you know all about what we've been saying then?' exclaimed Rowley.

'I do.'

'Then you know,' observed Waterman, 'that we have determined to take care of ourselves, and to bind with cords all those that come against us, provided they don't happen to be too many for us.'

'All that I know,' answered the old man.

'Well,' exclaimed Mike Rowley! 'I don't think we shall have much trouble in the matter; for there won't be more than two chaps to deal with, and one of 'em I know to be as rank a coward as ever lived. It won't take much to frighten him out of his life; or, at any rate, to keep him quiet till he thinks we're clear off.'

'Then, I surpose,' said the old man to Waterman, 'that you intend to find some other place of concealment?'

'There's no other way left for me,' answered the fugitive; 'but where my next lurking-place may be, I know not. My life, however, is a burden to me, and it is only for my wife's sake that I have not before now surrendered myself up to the officers of justice.'

'What would you do by such fool's work as that?' demanded Mike Rowley. 'You had a pretty good specimen I should think of what they do at Sing-Sing, without throwing yourself into the same precious pickle again.'

'And yet, after all, exclaimed Waterman, 'it must in the long run come to that.'

'I have no desire to hear anything further upon the subject you are talking about,' said the old man. 'As a fellow-creature, overwhelmed with misfortune, I have been inclined to afford the asylum you need, but the less I know of the reason that has made you a fugitive the better. Here you might have continued to reside had circumstances permitted it; but were I to know too much of your former life, I might consider it my duty to further the ends of justice by surrendering you into the hands of those who are now in pursuit of their victim.'

'You would not have done so,' answered Waterman, 'had you known all the circumstances that have led to the crimes I have so bitterly suffered for.'

'Then the only way to revenge yourself is to do all the mischief you can,' answered Mike. 'If the laws have made a villain of you, it is they that are in fault, and people have no right to wonder that you can't get out of your old habits.'

'You seem to forget,' said the old man, 'that laws were made for the general benefit of mankind, and those who break them must be punished, as an example to other evil doers. In this instance, however, I am inclined to believe there has been too much harshness, or I would not have given shelter to a man that was concealing himself from the officers of justice.'

'If that's the case,' muttered Rowley, 'you are hardly to be depended on when the chap comes that we are expecting.'

'My word has been given, and on no consideration will I ever break it,' exclaimed the stranger. 'Besides, I have every reason to believe that the man who is expected here has his own private revenge to serve, rather than a desire to further the ends of justice, and for that reason I am willing to assist in defeating the purpose he has in view.'

'That's just it!' exclaimed Mike; 'and if you'll only lend a helping hand towards disappointing the fellow, you needn't be afraid of my saying anything that will open people's eyes about who it is that has taken up his quarters in this old fashioned crib, and frightened people into a belief that it was haunted.'

'It matters very little what you do,' replied the old man, 'for my days are nearly numbered; and if the explanation you speak of should take place, the mischief you speak of will not be so great as you imagine. At any rate, I have chosen as my home the root that has sheltered my ancestors; and, rather than be driven forth to become the scorn and derision of my foes, I'll end my life, and thus bring upon myself the oblivion I have so long sought in vain.'

'Ah!' cried Mike; 'that may be all very well to make a boast about, but for my own part I've no notion of people making away with themselves for the mere purpose of getting out of their trouble. You should live all the days of your life, old gentleman, for, depend on it, your killing yourself won't do other people half the mischief that it will do yourself.'

'Granted,' answered the mysterious visitor; 'but I have chosen this ruinous mansion for my last abiding place on earth, and nothing shall ever force me to quit it while I have life. When I am no more, I shall, perhaps, be permitted to find a grave here.'

The old recluse, then, proposed that when Charles came, he should be tied and placed in one of the vaults under the old mansion till Waterman had had sufficient time to get clear off.

'Why, as for that matter,' exclaimed Rowley, 'it may be all very well for you to smooth things down; but we can't help seeing the affair in another light, and my advice is that we defend ourselves to the very last.'

'Then he whom I have sheltered is ungrateful for the services I have performed.'

'No, no,' cried Waterman; 'you shall not have that to say of me, at any rate. I have found a friend where one was hardly to he expected, and I will not return his favors with ingratitude.'

'Ugh!' growled Mike; 'then you have made up your mind to be sent off to the stone jug?'

'Never!' exclaimed the convict.

'How can you help it?'

'By fighting to the last, when there's no other way of saving myself.'

'Then why not do so at once, instead of waiting till you're grabbed by the enemy?'

'Because I've made up my mind not to act against the wishes of a man that has proved himself my friend,' answered Waterman 'He has given me shelter when it was most wanted; and it would be a poor return, if I should be the cause of driving him away from the place where he wants to end his days in peace.'

'You have said well,' exclaimed the old man; 'and, in return for your submission, I will do all in my power to preserve you from the threatened danger.'

'And what can a man of your age do to help us?' demanded Mike Rowley.

'Nothing, by strength of body,' answered the recluse; 'but much by the power of persuasion.'

'Humph! so you think the person we are speaking of may be gammoned by fine words?'

'I certainly think he may be open to conviction,' returned the old man; 'and, if I should be mistaken, it will then be for you to take whatever course may be necessary for your own safety.'

'And that will be to make him our prisoner,' said Rowley: 'he's coming here for no other purpose than to do the same sort of thing for my friend here; and, if we don't look out pretty sharp, there'll be the deuce to pay.'

'Know you not, then, that rashness will rather injure than serve you?' asked the old man.

'I don't know much about that,' exclaimed Mike; 'but I'm quite certain that we must have a tussle before this Mr. Heathington will own himself beat.'

'Perhaps so,' replied the other; 'but it will be time enough to come to that when we have seen that all other means are of no use; and, upon second thoughts, I have a notion that it will be better for your friend to see his pursuer alone, whilst you and I conceal ourselves in the adjoining room, and where we shall be ready to come in to his assistance, if it should be needed.'

To this suggestion, after some little demur, the other two agreed, and scarcely had they done so, than sounds were heard proceeding from the lower part of the house, that announced that the hour of peril had arrived. Presently afterwards, a gleam of light was seen glancing up the staircase, when the old man, taking the arm of Mike Rowley, hastily withdrew him to the next room, where they might overhear all that passed, and be in readiness for any emergency that might arise.

On the part of Waterman there was no attempt at concealment, for his mind was made up to offer a desperate resistance, in the event of their being any necessity for it; and, as the footsteps of his enemy approached, he planted his back firmly against the wall, and awaited the result of an interview that was to terminate either in his triumph or captivity.

Thus resolved, he saw Charles Heathington enter the room, bearing in his hand a lighted lamp with which he had provided himself before he came on this hazardous expedition.

At the same moment they recognized each other, and the pursuer, with a cry of exultation, rushed towards his victim, who however, stood so firmly upon the defensive, that the other suddenly paused in his career as if awed by the resolute opposition that was opposed against him.

'Have a care how you approach the man you have driven at bay,' exclaimed Waterman. 'You have rashly followed me hither, but the advance of another step will end in your own destruction.'

'Surrender!' exclaimed the other, gnashing his teeth with rage—' surrender, I say, for I have assistance close at hand, and will never leave this place alive, unless it is to bear you from it as my prisoner.'

'And I,' answered the fugitive, 'am just as resolute to defend myself against the villain that has followed me here. I have never injured you in thought or deed, yet you would hunt me to the gallows for no other crime than that I thwarted the baseness you intended against my wife.'

'You did more,' exclaimed Charles Heathington; 'you struck me a blow, and from that moment you made me your determined and implacable enemy,'

'The blow you speak of was struck in the defence of her who is dearer to me than my own life.'

'It matters little what the cause was, since I am equally determined to be revenged for it,' answered the libertine. 'The woman made an impression upon my heart that I could not conquer, and the banishment of her felon husband seemed to me a sufficient excuse for the love I proposed to her. Your return, however, has defeated my schemes for a time, and it is therefore little to be wondered at if I pursue you to the fate that the outraged laws of your country will accord.'

'And what punishment,' demanded Waterman, 'does the wretch deserve who would bring infamy and dishonor upon a virtuous and loving wife? You can pretend to feel abhorrence at the faults I have committed, yet have no remorseful feelings for the baseness you have yourself been guilty of.'

'What remorse can I feel for having fallen in love with a pretty woman?' demanded the libertine.

'None,' answered Waterman; 'for I believe you care nothing for the misery you bring on others, so that your own lustful hopes are gratified. My unexpected return has, however defeated your baseness, and for no other offence than that you would send me to prison again.'

'Ay, and I will do so,' exclaimed the other; 'or, for the first time in my life, I shall have to own myself beaten in my projects. Besides, if there was no other reason for the course I have taken, sufficient excuse for it is to be found in the fact that you have returned, and I am only doing my duty in surrendering you up to justice.'

''Tis well to talk of duty in this matter, when you don't mind breaking it in every other,' returned the fugitive. 'You would destroy the peace of a family for the gratification of your own base designs, yet cannot pardon an unhappy man, who has fearlessly braved all dangers, for the sake of once more clasping a loved wife in his arms.'

'You love her!' exclaimed Charles Heathington, scornfully.

'I do.'

'Then why did you commit a crime that was certain to lead to a banishment from her?'

'If you ask me that question,' returned Waterman, 'I reply, that it was because I have a right to defend my own life.'

'Bandy not words with me, fellow,' exclaimed Charles; 'but yield at once to the fate that neither force nor resistance can avert. My purpose in coming here is well known to you, and I am resolved not to depart except with you as my prisoner.'

'Then you have undertaken more than you will be ever able to perform,' retorted the convict. 'I know the fate that would be certain to follow in case of my being taken I'll lose my life in defending myself against whatever power you may have brought for your assistance.'

'If that's the case,' exclaimed Charles Heathington, 'I shall call up the man who accompanied me here.'

'Do so,' answered the fugitive, 'and when you have put yourself to that unnecessary trouble, I shall be just as resolute in my own defence as when there was only one enemy to deal with.'

'You expect then to be a match for two of us.'

'Aye, two such as I shall have to cope against,' replied Waterman.

'How can you be sure of that, without knowing who my companion is?'

'I know well enough who it is,' answered the convict, 'and it will be better for you to place no confidence in a man that will prove himself a rank coward the moment he is required to give his assistance.'

'By what means,' asked Charles, 'have you been able to worm out so much of my secret?'

'It matters not how I have found it out,' answered Waterman. 'I know who the man is, and you will do well not to place too much dependence in a chattering barber, who has boasted of what he will do, but may deceive you when his assistance is the most needed.'

'Be that as it may,' exclaimed the libertine, 'I will not be thwarted now that I have succeeded in tracing you to your lurking place. I am equal to yourself in strength, Waterman, and can at least hold you here as my prisoner whilst the man who accompanied me goes to fetch the requisite assistance. You have defied me, and we will now see which of us is to prove conqueror in the contest that is to follow.'

Scarcely had these words been uttered than Charles Heathington sprang forward with a sudden bound to seize upon his antagonist; the other was, however, not unprepared for the attack, and in a moment they were fast locked in a mortal struggle for superiority.

Both were of nearly equal size and strength so that it was doubtful on which side the advantage lay, for each exerted almost super human power and both resolved never to yield whilst a chance of victory remained. At length, however the foot of Waterman slipped, and before he could well recover his balance, his antagonist followed up his advantage, and putting forth all his strength, succeeded in throwing his rival to the ground. The suddenness of the fall almost stunned Waterman, and as he lay prostrate at the feet of his enemy, the latter knelt upon his chest, and secured him with a firm hold, that the victory now seemed to be completely decided in favor of the libertine.

'Yield,' he exclaimed, panting from the exertion he had used. 'Yield, I say, for it is in vain to prolong a contest in which it is clear you have no chance.'

But the words so boastfully uttered had scarcely left his lips when Mike Rowley flew to the assistance of his comrade, and throwing a cord round the arms of Charles, succeeded in binding his hands and legs.—Having conveyed Heathington to the vault, they shook hands with the old man and thanked him for what he had done. But in going out, they saw the barber skulking in the garden, and having overtaken him, he fell on his knees, and begged abjectly for his life.

'See that you say nothing of what you have seen,' said Mike Rowley to him, 'and if you ever dare to hint anything, you shall die the death of a dog'

'Mercy on me!' ejaculated the barber; 'what a horrible dilemma I'd like to have fallen into. But may I ask, sir, without offence, what has become of the gentleman that I brought to this place?'

'He went away long ago,' replied Mike Rowley, wishing to mystify the barber as much as possible.

'Then there goes the reward he promised to give me.' exclaimed the other, despondingly. 'Here have I been waiting for him in the cold more than an hour, and, after all, he has sneaked off without paying what he promised.'

'You've been properly served,' said Mike, 'and ought to think yourself well off that you have not had a ducking in the pond for what you have done. So now away with you to your home, and don't forget what will happen, if you dare say one word about what you have seen to-night.'

The barber jumped nimbly upon his feet on being released from the iron grasp that held him, and ran off, too glad of his own escape to look back after those he left behind.

CHAPTER V

The Halting Place. Thrilling Scene. The Capture. The Libertine, again. Fearful Vengeance. The Place of Refuge.

HAVING, as they imagined, frightened the barber into silence, the two comrades made the best of their way from a neighborhood that was dangerous to them; and, avoiding those places where they were likely to meet with any one, they directed their steps to a spot where they might better hope for a brief concealment than anywhere else. For some time they remained silent, lest the sound of their voices should be heard; but on reaching a more open place, where they could see some distance around them, they began to consult together as to the plan they should follow in order to make certain there escape.

'If you'll take my advice,' said Mike Rowley, after three or four suggestions had been proposed and abandoned, 'we shall make our way as quickly as possible to the river side, where its most likely we shall find a boat moored close to the shore. We may then get over to Brooklyn, and have leisure to think of what it would be best to do next.'

'Haven't you thought of any place where we may hide ourselves?' asked the convict.

'There's been no time to think much about that,' replied Rowley; 'but I should think we may find a snug place enough in Jones's Woods, for people might pass near to the place, a hundred times without having a notion that any body was lying hid there.'

'But how are we to live without provisions?'

'We must take some with us,' answered Mike; 'and when they are gone I can venture out at night and go into the town for more. You have money I suppose to keep us in idleness for a little while?'

'Ay,' he replied, 'enough to last us for a fortnight if we may manage our matters with care. But when that's gone I don't know where we are to get more, for I can't apply for work now that the hue and cry has been let loose upon me.'

'Of course not,' answered Rowley; 'and so, as there's no other way of doing it, you must make up your mind to commit another: robbery when the money is gone.'

'I must be hard driven to do that,' exclaimed Waterman, 'for I came back with a resolution to amend my life, and obtain an honest living for my family by the sweat of my brow.'

'Psha!' exclaimed the other; 'what fool's notion have you got into your head now?—No one of course would give you employment, even if you could apply for it; and, as you don't happen to possess an income or your own, I see nothing else for you to do but to help yourself to money wherever and whenever you may have a fair chance.'

'I have myself been afraid it must come to that at last,' exclaimed Waterman; 'but, when I think of my wife and child, I make up my mind to suffer anything rather than further misery and shame.'

'Misery and shame!' retorted the other; 'that I should think has been done already, so you needn't be so particular about stepping on one side when it's to help you to the means of keeping life and soul together.—Besides, I've heard you say that your wife ain't afraid of a little work, and if she can support the young'un for a time, you can get on well enough as far as your own living's concerned.

'Very true,' answered Waterman; 'but if I should get into trouble she would hear of it, and it would break her heart to know that I had fallen again into evil ways.'

'Hearts ain't made into such brittle stuff that they break at trifles,' exclaimed Rowley. 'Besides, you can manage to keep clear of danger, and perhaps by-and-bye a lucky turn may come, and then you may be as honest as one half of the world can boast of being.'

'At any rate,' answered the fugitive, 'I shall not be in a hurry about taking your advice.'

'I've told you already,' answered Rowley; 'start yourself, as a thief, and at any rate you'll have as good a chance of escaping the gibbet, as you have at present.'

'If I do so,' exclaimed Waterman, 'it shall not be till every other scheme has been tried, and failed. I am not a villain from inclination; I left prison with a heart harder and more reckless, than when I had entered it.—So you see, Rowley, how I have been driven on, step by step, till I am left to starve, without name, character, or reputation.'

'Well, never mind that now,' said Mike Rowley, 'for we are getting near the riverside, and I want to know whether you mean to take my advice about crossing over to Brooklyn?'

'If a boat happens to be near the shore, I shall certainly do so,' answered Waterman.

'And suppose there isn't a boat?'

'We must then wait till the morning; when I dare say, there'll be plenty of people crossing over.'

'Ah!' exclaimed Mike Rowley, 'I now see what sort of lodging we are likely to get. It won't be in a house, I can't tell you, but under one of the old boats near the river.'

'Better there than find a lodging in a jail,' observed the fugitive, 'more than half the night has passed away, and by day-break, people will want to be crossing over the water, so that we shall be safe enough by the time our enemies begin to search after us.'

'I should think so,' answered the other; 'for it's hardly likely there'll any stir made for these three or four days at least, unless young Heathington should happen to get his liberty, which ain't to be expected, after the old chap's promise, to keep him in custody, till we are far enough off.'

'You forget, then, that there's another person we have to dread?'

'The barber?'

'Aye,' replied Mike Rowley, 'he's too talkative a chap to be depended on; and I shouldn't wonder, if, before this time, he has gone and blazoned the affair through the whole neighborhood.'

'But the fellow seemed frightened at our threats,' observed Waterman; 'and I've a notion that he would rather lose the reward, than run the risk or being murdered for his want of prudence.'

'I only hope you may be right,' said the other, 'but be that as it may, we must keep a sharp look-out, so as not run in to any danger while it can be helped.'

They had now reached the river-side, but the object they were in search of was no where to be found.

If we are caught here,' said Waterman, we shall be obliged to march to prison.'

'Not so bad as you fancy,' replied Mike Rowley; 'for, even if it came to that, you and I are able to show 'em what hard fighting is. For my own part I've made up my mind not to be taken very easily; and if I should be taken off to a prison, it will not be till some of my enemies have been made to smart for interfering with business that they have nothing at all to do with.'

'It would be madness to offer resistance,' answered Waterman, 'unless there was a certainty that it would lead to our escape.—Against two or three I should be willing enough to show fight; but as for more than that number, I should think twice before I rushed into a fray that would end in no good to ourselves'

'Do you think, then, that I've not as much reason as yourself to keep out of the way of mischief?'

You may have as much reason for it,' answered Waterman; 'but I've a notion you wouldn't mind the chance of getting into a scrape if you took it into your head to be revenged upon the persons that might come in search of us.'

'Humph! then you, I suppose, would run away from 'em like a coward?'

'Coward's an ugly name for a man that never did any thing to deserve it,' retorted Waterman, abruptly; 'I've stood upon my own defence before now, and will do so again when there is occasion, but I hold it no sign of bravery to run into danger where it can be avoided.'

'And why haven't you as much pluck now as you used to have?' asked his companion.

'Because I seem to be always haunted by the man I killed,' answered Waterman;—'day and night, be where I may, the image of the dying wretch stands frowningly before me, as if to warn me that the time is drawing near when I shall have to answer for his death by my own.'

'D—n it, man! why, you ain't fool enough to believe in a parcel of nonsense like that?'

'Murder ain't quite so soon forgot as you may fancy,' returned Waterman, gloomily. 'I myself didn't think much about what I'd done till I escaped the dangers of my sea-voyage; but as soon as my mind was clear of all that trouble it went back to former times, and then the horrors of that moment seemed to be acted over again.'

'Then why don't you drink deeply when such foolish notions come over you?' demanded his companion. 'Brandy would even give you fresh courage, and make a man of you.'

'I've tried it,' answered Waterman; 'but it only served to madden me the more.'

'If that's the case, I don't know what's to be done!' exclaimed Rowley. 'For my own part I've always found it the best way of getting rid of the blue devils; 'and, when I've had enough of it, would fight against a dozen fellows rather than suffer myself to be taken to prison.'

'But all your fighting would not do any good in the long run.'

'Very likely not; but I should have the satisfaction of knowing that I hadn't given myself up like a coward. However, it's no use talking to you about that, I see, Waterman; so, as the day's just beginning to break, suppose we go down to the ferry and wait till the first boat goes across.'

Waterman willingly assented to this proposition, and they rose to take their departure; but, before they had advanced a single step from the spot, a sound of quick tramping was heard, and in another moment they were surrounded by seven or eight men, amongst the most conspicuous of whom was their former acquaintance the barber.

The attack was so sudden and unexpected that no resistance could be offered; and both Waterman and his companion were secured and bound before they could recover from the consternation into which they had been thrown.'

'What's the meaning of all this?' demanded Waterman, who was the first to speak.

'You'll know all about that in good time,' answered the barber. 'We've found you, and shall get the reward, which is all we want or care about.'

'I'll tell you what it is, my fine fellow,' exclaimed Mike Rowley, in a swaggering tone, 'you may think it all d—d fine to make prisoners of respectable men like us, but you'll find your mistake out by and by, and then a fine scrape you'll all find yourselves in. Mind, I've warned you not to touch us; and if, after that, you choose to put us into the cage, it'll be our turn afterwards to make you smart for it.'

'Oh, as for that,' retorted the official, 'we've lived too long in a wood to be scared by an owl. We know well enough who you both are, so you may as well go with us quietly; for if you should be rumbustical, we've got handcuffs with us to keep you a little in order.'

'Aye,' rejoined the barber, 'and if they ain't enough, we've three or four loaded pistols among us; and, what is more, we sharn't mind using 'em, if we should be driven to it.'

And as he said so, he pulled out a huge weapon and flourished it about, by way of proving that the boast he had made was not a vain one. This had a marked and instantaneous effect upon Rowley, who, in spite of his vaunted courage, had no great inclination to sacrifice his life when the odds were so greatly against him. He therefore touched Waterman upon the arm, and said, significantly—

'I think, as these chaps are pretty civil, we may as well go with 'em quietly, for we know our own innocence, and of course it'll be all right as soon as we've explained matters to the magistrate.'

'Of course it will,' answered Waterman, with a faint attempt to smile; 'we can explain matters to the satisfaction of the magistrate, who will order us to be immediately released, and then all we shall have to complain of will be the short imprisonment we've suffered.'

As all resistance would have been in vain, neither Waterman, nor his associate, thought proper to offer any further opposition; and they moved forward, each well guarded to prevent the possibility of an escape.

Not a word was spoken by any one as they went along, for the prisoners were kept separate to prevent any attempt being made at escape, and neither of them felt inclined to say anything to those who were accompanying them, lest their words might after-wards be made use of against them.

At length, after a sharp walk of half an hour, they reached the Tombs, the door of which having been opened by the constable, they were thrust in, and the place having been made secure, their captors departed, exulting in the thought of having made sure of a large reward for their services.

Sullen, and somewhat alarmed at the unforeseen dilemma in which they were placed, Mike Rowley seated himself upon the stone bench, to meditate gloomily over the probable consequences of their detention.

Waterman had even more reason to feel alarm for the future, but he assumed an appearance of cheerfulness, and even ventured to express a hope that no proof would be brought against them at their approaching examination.

To this his companion listened for some time without making any reply, but at length he exclaimed, impatiently—

'It may be all very well for you to think lightly of this affair, but I can't see my way out of it quite so clearly as you seem to do. The beak won't believe a word we say, and if, as you say, no evidence is brought against us, he'll remand us till another day to give an opportunity for raking together all they can to commit us to prison.'

'And if they do,' retorted Waterman, 'I don't see that grumbling will get us out of the dilemma.'

'It's all very well to take it so easy,' exclaimed Mike Rowley, 'but this cursed piece of bad luck wouldn't have happened to me if it hadn't been for my d—d good nature in going to look after you in that old tumbledown house.'

'Well,' replied Waterman, 'I'm sorry for your sake that it's happened, but you must own its no fault of mine. Besides, I'm the only person they wanted, and when the charge has been proved against me, I don't see that they'll want to keep you for merely being found in my company.'

'Won't they!' exclaimed Rowley, 'only catch 'em letting me off so easily, that's all, after the number of times they've been trying to lay me by the heels. There's half-a-dozen charges they can bring against me if they like, and the very least of them would be enough to send me to Sing-Sing for seven years if I'm found guilty.'

At this moment, the barber peeped through at the two-prisoners, and bowing, cried; 'well, gentlemen, I hope you've passed your time comfortably since I saw you last.'

'So comfortably, you infernal rascal,' vocifered Mike Rowley, 'that if I could only get at you, you should remember the scurvy trick you've played us as long as you live.'

'Really, my good fellow, I don't know of any scurvy trick that I've played you,' answered the tonsor. I knew you to be a couple of bad 'uns, and, of course, it was my duty to have you locked up as soon as possible'

'Duty!' retorted Waterman; 'why, it was the reward that tempted you to go and lay an information against us. But I told you beforehand to look out for yourself, if any thing happened to us through your means; so you may prepare for something that will not be very pleasant, before you are many hours older.'

'That is to say if you ain't locked up'

'Locked up or not,' answered Waterman, 'you won t get off the punishment I told you of. I may not be able to do it myself, but I have plenty of friends, and they'll take care to revenge the imprisonment of their friend.'

'Oh, ho!' exclaimed the barber, 'if that's the case, I shall tell the magistrate what you say, and claim protection from the court.—He'll take care to keep you fast enough, when he hears what a couple of scoundrels are before him.'

'Scoundrel,' vociferated Mike Rowley, ''tis well, old chap, that my arm can't reach you, or I might, perhaps, have a murder to answer for presently.'

'And then you'd be hanged, instead of only being sent to prison.'

Waterman saw that the ire of his companion was becoming ungovernable, and anxious to put and end to the wordy warfare, he suggested the propriety of letting the matter drop.

'All you can say,' he added, 'won't do us any good, while some word may escape that will be brought against us when the examination comes on.'

'What's that you said about escaping?' exclaimed the barber, who had only caught the sound of a single word. 'You think of getting out of this place, do you, my fine fellow? you'd give us the slip after all the trouble we've had to find you, and prevent my receiving the reward that has been offered for your apprehension; but you will be disappointed, for I shall run off to the constable and tell him what you are up to, and he'll send people to watch the place till its time for you to go before the magistrate.'

And with these words, he bolted away leaving the prisoners once more to themselves.

'If we hadn't been a couple of fools,' exclaimed Mike, 'that fellow would have been locked up with Charles Heathington, in the old house. I'd a good mind to propose it at the time, but was afraid the delay might do us more harm than good.'

'Its no use talking about that as he's done us all the mischief he can,' answered Waterman, 'we have been caged by him, and whatever our fate may be, we must put up with it quietly.'

'You, perhaps, may take it quietly,' returned the other, 'but for my own part I don't half like the prospect before us. Mr. Heathington, too, has, I dare say by this time, got out of the place we left him in; and soon we shall have the pleasure of seeing him get into the witness-box to give his evidence against us.'

'And I dare say, sooner or later, the same thing would have happened,' exclaimed Waterman, 'he has sworn to be revenged for the blow I struck him, and was determined never to give up his pursuit till he had brought me to this perilous situation.'

'Well, he's stuck to you like a leech,' observed the other, 'and I dare say chuckles to himself at what he's done; but let him look out for himself, that's all, for our people will owe him a grudge for this, and they won't forget to pay him either, before he's many days older.'

'Do you think they will take his life, then?'

'Its quite likely they will,' answered Mike. 'The fellow has made himself a little too busy in this matter, and they will not be satisfied till they have given him his full desserts.'

'For which the chances are that they will be hanged.'

'How can that be if its not known who does it? They won't go and 'peach against themselves, you may be sure, and of course they will contrive the business so that there shall be no witnesses by when they go to work.'

'That may be,' answered Waterman, 'and yet, how many men have been hanged for murder on what they call circumstantial evidence.'

'I see then,' said Mike, 'that you don't want your enemy to be punished for what he's done.'

'Not if it bring risk upon those that have served me,' replied Waterman. Besides, Charles Heathington, as well as ourselves, needs time to repent the evil he has done, and I would not encourage our companions to lay violent hands upon him.'

'But suppose they choose to do it without asking your opinion?'

Just then, the officers came to take them into Court. A considerable crowd was collected, as the report had gone out that a man accused of murder and breaking prison was to be tried.

When they were placed at the bar, the Justice asked the constable what charge he had to make against the prisoners.

'Please your honor, said the officer, 'this one,' pointing to Mike is a known thief that we've been looking for a great while; and the other is William Waterman an escaped convict from the State Prison at Sing-Sing.

'We will proceed with his examination first,' said the Justice. 'Is it true that your name is William Waterman?'

'It is, your honor,' he replied.

'Have you any witnesses?' asked the Justice.

'Yes, you honor,' answered the constable, who at that moment saw Charles Heathington enter the court; 'here's a gentleman just come in that I believe can say something about the matter.'

'Let him stand forward.'

Charles Heathington entered the witness-box, and having been sworn, was asked what he knew of the prisoner.

'I know his name to be Waterman,' he replied, 'and that he has returned from prison before the period of his punishment had expired.'

'Do you wish to ask the witness any question?' inquired the magistrate.

Waterman then stated the cause of Heathington's movement in the affair, the attempt upon his wife, and the vindictive manner in which he had been pursued.

'That cannot help your case,' returned the magistrate. 'He has only done his duty in procuring your apprehension, and nothing that you can impute to his motives will benefit your own cause.'

'It was not very proper though, I should think, to try and corrupt the mind of a virtuous woman,' exclaimed Waterman; 'he took the advantage of my absence, and being defeated by my unexpected return, he, in revenge, has resolved to hunt me to the gallows.'

'Revenge, I apprehend, has nothing whatever to do with so serious an affair as this,' observed the magistrate; 'he has, I have no doubt, been actuated by higher motives, but whether that is the case or not, he has done no more than to perform a solemn but imperious duty.'

'A duty it may be called by some people,' exclaimed Waterman, 'but what would have been said if I had slain him upon the spot, when, upon returning home, I found my wife struggling to release herself from his arms?'

'There are laws to which you might have appealed.'

'An outcast, like myself, has little to expert from either law or justice,' returned Waterman. 'A poor man is hardly believed when he brings a charge against a rich one and the only wonder is, that I didn't kill the villain in the rage that had over-mastered me.'

'She had no right to impute evil notions to me, when my visits were perfectly friendly,' answered the libertine, still determined to keep up an appearance of innocence.

'These disputes must not be suffered to take place in my presence,' interposed the magistrate, 'you,' addressing himself to Mr. Heathington, 'best know, whether there is any foundation for this man's jealousy, but, whether there is or not, can have nothing at all to do with the case that has been brought before me. I have listened attentively to every thing that bears upon the charge, and as sufficient preliminary evidence has been brought forward, I have granted the remand you ask for.'

'And I,' said Charles, 'will not fail to make good my promises of collecting together as many witnesses as the interval will allow of. Proof at any rate, of his former conviction shall be forthcoming, so that there shall be no difficulty in committing him for trial as a returned convict.'

'Unless,' observed the Justice, 'he has received a commutation of his punishment.'

'If that had been the case,' said Charles Heathington, 'it is only fair to presume, that he would have produced the written document, in order to get rid of this charge at once.'

'We are not to judge too hastily, without knowing the motives of the man,' returned the Justice. 'He may have a reason for keeping such things back, in order to produce them when they will be of more service to himself. At all events, it is not my business to interfere with advice, and the prisoner will therefore either answer your question, or remain silent, as he may think proper.'

'I shall not satisfy him just yet, exclaimed Waterman, 'for I know he is anxious to hear all he can, that he may afterwards make use of it against me.'

'You act properly enough there,' said the justice, 'and now, as I have expressed my determination to remand this case, I may suggest to you, that it would be well to engage professional assistance, against the next time you are brought before me.'

Then desiring the other prisoner to step forward, he asked if there was any specific charge against him.

The constable tried hard to get him jugged again as a man of bad character against whom various charges could be brought if time was given, but the magistrate said that he could not confine him unless he was charged with a specific offence. He was therefore discharged.

Mike Rowley bowed his thanks, and muttering something as he passed Waterman, hurried out of the place to seek his companions, who he had been seen lurking about as they were going to the police office. When he was gone, the magistrate, addressing himself to the other prisoner, said—

'The accusation brought against you, Waterman, is of a more serious character, and I have therefore ordered the case to stand forward for a week, that we may see what evidence can be collected in the mean time. If you desire the assistance of a legal adviser, he can have free access to you, so that you may meet the heavy charge you will have to encounter.'

'Please your honor, what prison am I to take him to?' asked the constable.

'Take him where he was confined last night,' answered the Justice. 'Of course you, or some one else, will remain with him to prevent communication with all persons, except his attorney.'

The court now broke up, and after the magistrate and witnesses had retired, Waterman was led out under the same strong escort that had guarded him there. On their way, however, the party gradually diminished, as one by one they dropped of to return home, so that at last there was only the constable and another man left to take their prisoner back to the lock up. Waterman now began to think within himself that it would be no difficult matter to effect his escape from such trifling odds, and he was considering how it could be best done, when, in a lonely part of the road, they were attacked by three men, who knocked down the constable and his assistant, and forced Waterman along with them for a short distance, when they separated upon a hastily given hint that their place of meeting was to be at Doublechalk's, in the Five Points.

Of the three persons who had rescued the prisoner, Richard Fordham was the first to reach the place of assignation, for he knew all the bye ways and near cuts, and was, besides, gifted with more activity of legs than the rest of his associates. On his arrival, however, he was fairly out of breath, and having ensconsed himself in the room to which we have already introduced the reader, he ordered a foaming pot of porter to be brought, and at the same time requested to be favored with the landlord's company.—Doublechalk was not long in obeying the summons. Fordham then represented to him the case of William Waterman and asked his assistance in secreting him from his pursuers. Doublechalk urged the great risk which he ran, and the consequences to himself if detected in hiding an escaped convict.

'We shall not trade with you any longer if you refuse us,' said Fordham, 'and you know that our custom is worth something to you. Poor Waterman might have been hanged for aught you care, if it had not been that you was afraid your business would suddenly fall off.'

At this period the conversation was broken off by the arrival of Sam Snatch, who, panting and puffing from the exertion he had used, seated himself by the side of the other two.

'Well, is it all right?' demanded Fordham, eagerly; 'has Waterman managed to distance his pursuers?'

'How should I know, when I've had quite enough to do to get clear off myself?' returned the other. 'I've had a confounded long run of it, after all, I dare say, we shall all get into a scrape about this business, for they'll be sure to know who it was that rescued the prisoner.'

Humph! so you are turning coward as well as old Doublechalk!'

'I don't know that there's much cowardice in a chap thinking a little of himself,' retorted Snatch.

'That's just the sort of argument I've been holding, said the landlord. 'Dick Fordham wants me to let his friend conceal himself in this house, but I don't fancy the notion of being found out.'

'Nobody ever supposed that you'd serve any one but yourself,' exclaimed Snatch, suddenly veering round to take part against the landlord. 'You are civil enough to us all the while that we're good customers, but the moment we ask you to do us a favor, you begin to find excuses for getting off it.'

'Why, you were doing just the same sort of thing yourself just this minute!'

'Ah!' answered Sam, 'that was because I had run myself into an ill-humor. But I'll never leave an old friend in the lurch while I can do him any good; and what is more, I'll cut the acquaintance of any man that refuses to do me a favor when I ask it.'

'There,' exclaimed Dick Fordham to the landlord, 'you see I'm not the only one that would be offended by your refusal, so now you know what you have to expect if our friend is to be refused a lodging here.'

'Haven't I told you already that he may make a bed up in the loft, if he likes?' retorted Doublechalk, 'I'm always obliging to my customers, as you well know, Dick, and I am sure we are not going to quarrel now, after the long time we have been acquainted together.'

'No, you can come to, I see, when there's danger of losing nearly all your business,' said Fordham;—'but hang such hollow friendship say I, for it is always my maxim to oblige anybody without being badgered into it.'

'But I have made a promise, and that ought to be enough.'

'I know you have made a promise,' said Dick, 'but was it done heartily and freely? You talked about Waterman not being much of a customer of yours, as if that was any reason why a man should be suffered to be dragged off to prison!'

'Poor devil!' exclaimed the landlord, 'I am sure I'd do anything to save him from such a fate as that. And if you ask me why I am so tender-hearted upon that subject, I reply, that it is because the gallows has already robbed me of too many or my best customers. Why, in less than ten years, I can reckon up no less than seven fine young fellows—all of the right sort—that have been sent out of the world by the hands of Jack Ketch.'

'And yet you would have been hard-hearted enough to have refused a shelter to William Waterman.'

'That is because he and I have never had any dealings together,' answered Doublechalk, 'however, I have changed my mind upon that subject, and you have my promise that he shall stay here as long as he likes.'

'But,' asked Dick Fordham, 'may we depend upon your not giving the officers a hint where he is hiding himself?'

'Is it likely that I should do that, when the place where he is going to be is nearly filled up with things that would lead to a discovery of my own dealings, with such men as yourselves?' demanded the host. 'No, no, I have too much reason for keeping that place secret; to send officers into it, even if a large reward should be offered for the discovery of your friend.'

'Well, observed Dick, 'I see there's reason enough for keeping your word, so I shall depend upon there being no tricks played. But I wonder what keeps Waterman so long, for he had no further to come than we had, so that he ought to have been here by this time.'

'He don't know his way quite so well as we do,' replied Sam Snatch, 'poor devil!—he's been abroad so long that he's quite forgot the streets and turnings of New York.'

'Perhaps he's been nabbed again,' suggested Doublechalk, 'and if that is the case, I shall be saved the trouble of finding him a lodging.'

'That is all you think about,' exclaimed Dick Fordham. 'The poor fellow may be hanged, for aught you care, so that you are to have no trouble with him. But for my own part, I hope he has not been nabbed, for if he has they will never give us such another chance of getting him out of their infernal clutches.'

All further doubt and uncertainty upon this subject was here put an end to, by the arrival of Waterman, and Mike Rowley, who, though taking different routes, had arrived at their place of destination just at the same time. They were both nearly exhausted with running, yet Fordham was too anxious to know how they had got on, to wait till they had recovered breath.

Waterman said he had some trouble including the officers, and 'now,' added he, 'I don't happen to know of a place where I can hide myself.'

'Make yourself easy about that, old chap,' said Dick Fordham, 'for the landlord here has a snug corner where you will be safe from all the officers in New York.'

'You'll be safe enough here, I promise you,' said Doublechalk. 'Your lodging, however, won't be a very comfortable one; though, I dare say, that won't matter much, since any place is better to live in than a prison.'

'Anything will do that keeps me from the fate that I'm afraid to think of,' answered Waterman.

'Aye,' observed the landlord, 'the notion of being caught ain't a very pleasant one, it must be confessed.'

'To me it's not, at any rate,' exclaimed the convict; 'though, why I should live on in this state of uncertainty and misery, I know not. But so it is; and eager enough was I to take the opportunity of escaping, though it was with the certainty that I should find no rest or quiet, go wherever I might.'

'Why, the truth of it is,' said Dick Fordham, 'we none of us fancy the idea of going back to prison. And, for my own part, I never yet knew the man that would not escape from that fate if he could. However, you may thank your own good fortune that we have found a snug place for you to hide in, and in a few days, when things begin to grow quiet again, we will see what can be done towards getting you out of this country, for I see plainly enough that they will never leave you alone while you stay in it.'

'And how soon afterwards,' asked Waterman, 'will it be before my wife will follow?'

'Why, that must depend upon circumstances,' replied Fordham; 'but she must not be too close upon your heels, for there will be plenty, I dare say, watching her movements, and it would be as well not to let anybody know where you go to, for fear of accidents.'

'They can't touch him when he is in a foreign country,' interposed Mike Rowley.

'I know that as well as you do,' exclaimed Dick; 'but I suppose, it would not be very wise to let this Mr. Charles Heathington find out where he is living, when we know the revengeful feelings he bears towards him.'

'But when he finds that I am far away,' said Waterman, 'I am afraid he will take the opportunity to repeat his insulting proposals to my wife.'

'Leave all that part of the business to my management,' said Fordham, 'and I'll take care you shall have no reason to be sorry for it afterwards. The young squire will find a tough customer in me, I can tell him, for I have no reason to be afraid of his spite, as you have; and if he dares to make love to her again, I will give him such a towelling as he shall remember to the last day of his life.'

'If that isn't a handsome offer, I don't know what is,' exclaimed Sam Snatch, in ecstacies. 'So, after all, Waterman, you've got a little luck left; and you may now go abroad as soon as they will let you get there, and have your mind quite easy about your wife.'

'Perhaps,' observed Waterman, 'I may not find it so easy to escape as I fancied.'

'For my own part, I don't see anything to be afraid of now,' exclaimed Mike Rowley. 'The place where you are going to hide in is a safe one, for I tried it myself once, when I was in a bit of a hobble; and, though I could hear the officers searching about for me in the room underneath, they never found out the place you enter by: and after waiting till they were tired, they went away, and never came to look for me in this house afterwards.'

'If it wasn't a pretty safe place,' observed Doublechalk, 'I should have been a ruined man long before this time: for it's the room where I store up some of the things I buy upon the cross; and if the goods were seen they'd be sure to be traced to their rightful owners, and then I should have to pay, or visit the prison you have just escaped from.'

'And how long,' asked Waterman, 'am I likely to be a prisoner in that room?'

'As long as they will think it proper to keep a look out for you,' replied Dick Fordham.

'I'll tell you what it is, gentlemen,' exclaimed the landlord, 'if we keep your friend talking here much longer, he'll be very likely to fall into the hands of his enemies; for I shouldn't wonder if this is not one of the first places they come to look for him; and it would be of no use to show fight, for they'd call further assistance; and then, I am thinking, it would be all pretty well over with this chap.'

'I'm ready to go,' replied Waterman, rising from his seat.

'Then here's off,' exclaimed the landlord, following his example; and taking a candle from the table, he desired Waterman to follow him in silence. The latter obeyed this injunction, and having shaken hands with his companions, he accompanied Doublechalk, who led the way into a small room, adjoining which, there was a staircase leading to the upper portion of the house.

This they ascended with as little noise as possible, till they reached an attic; where the landlord paused, and giving the light into Waterton's hand, opened a closet door, and with the assistance of a chair, slipped back a sliding panel that was so contrived as to appear like the regular ceiling, belonging to the cupboard.

Having made this opening he scrambled up, and then called to Waterman to follow his example with as little delay as possible.—This, the fugitive prepared to do, and mounting the chair, with the light still in his hand, he could see just enough into the loft to perceive that it was a low-roofed place, nearly filled with goods of various descriptions, and without any visible aperture in which the light of day could make its entrance.

Giving the candle into the hands of the landlord, who was ready to render him assistance, he contrived, though not without some difficulty to scramble up, and soon found himself in the place where he was to find concealment, though for how long a period was uncertain.

'You see what sort of a lodging you will have,' said the landlord, moving the light about to show the extent of the loft from one end to the other. 'The quarters are not very comfortable ones as you see, but I think you will be safe enough in them, and that is everything that can be wished for by a man in your situation.'

'They will do very well for the purpose I want them for,' answered Waterman. 'A few days' concealment will, I hope, be sufficient; and then I may leave my lurking-place—to wander, I know not where.'

'Whatever you do,' exclaimed Doublechalk, 'don't let anybody hear you walking backwards and forwards, for there's often some of my people in the room underneath, and if there should be any sounds, that they are not used to, its a hundred to one but they fancy the place is haunted; and then if a search takes place, you'll be done for, as sure as a gun.'

'Must I take no exercise then?'

'Why, you must have a little,' I suppose, replied the landlord, 'but it must be managed as cautiously as possible. I should advise you to take your shoes off, when you walk about; and even then you must tread gently, for these old boards creak at almost every step, and if that was heard down below, there'd be a rare to do in the house directly afterwards.'

'And how am I to be supplied with food?' asked Waterman.

'You must leave that to my management,' answered the other. 'In the morning I'll contrive to come here when my absence is not likely to be noticed, and I'll bring you enough to eat and drink to last you three or four days afterwards.'

'Then I shall have no society—no one to speak to, all the time I'm here.'

'Why, I believe there's rats enough that will keep you company, if you don't think proper to drive 'em away.'

'And then, by way of change,' continued Doublechalk, 'you can examine the stores that are heaped up about the loft. You'll find a variety I can tell you; though, it must be confessed, the things I keep here ain't of much value.'

'Will any of my companions that are now down stairs, be able to come and see me here?'

'The devil a bit must they come,' exclaimed the landlord.

'In that case,' said Waterman, 'I must put up with solitude as well as I can.'

'You'll be safe,' said Doublechalk, 'and though they open the closet door below, the sliding panel above is made to look so much like the ceiling that they never can discover it.'

Doublechalk then descended through the opening, and when the panel was again closed, the fugitive was left in utter darkness.

CHAPTER VI

Woman's Love. A Stirring Scene. Virtue Triumphant. The Thieves' Resort. An Encounter. The Escape.

WHEN Charles Heathington saw Waterman remanded by the Justice, he supposed that all was now finished and that his victim was done for. He set out for home and reached the Mansion at——ville in due course. Here, however, he found his father who severely upbraided him for the part he had taken against Nancy Waterman and her unfortunate husband. The Colonel then waved his hand for his son to depart.—Charles immediately set out for the cottage, where he found Nancy, and bade her not to be alarmed as he had brought news of her husband.

'My husband! Oh! say is he well.'

'He has been arrested and sent to prison,' was the reply.

'Oh heavens!' she cried, burying her face in her hands,' then he is lost to me forever.'

'I suppose that you consider me his foe,' said Charles.

'There are too many reasons for doing so,' said she.

'There you mistake,' he replied, 'for the love I bear you will induce me to do all I can for the preservation of your husband.'

'It is in vain for you to tell me so,' cried Nancy, 'because it is impossible, and I feel well assured, Charles Heathington, that your visit to me to-night bodes me no good.

'What purpose do you imagine I can have?'

'A short time will prove that,' answered she.

'I came, he replied, 'to tell you of the misfortune of your husband, and to see if you have any suggestions to make by which I may do him a benefit.'

'Such at least is the shallow excuse by which you think to impose upon me.'

'You are determined, I see, not to give me the credit of good intentions,' exclaimed Charles Heathington.

'Alas!' she replied, 'have I not seen too much reason to believe the contrary?'

'It is a foolish prejudice that you would do well to get rid of as soon as possible,' he replied. 'Have I not offered to place you in a situation far above the one you at present occupy, and is not that of itself a sufficient proof of the regard in which I hold you?'

'You have done so,' she exclaimed, reproachfully, 'but what was the sacrifice I was to make for it in return. I was to become your mistress—to forsake husband, child, and all, alas, that is most dear to me, to sell myself to one that I loathe and detest!'

'Take care how you anger me with words like these,' exclaimed Charles Heathington; 'hitherto you have found me a supplicant for your slightest favor; but my temper will not endure an insult, and if once we separate in wrath, you will from that moment find in me an implacable foe.'

'Be it so,' she calmly replied; let your wrath fall upon me alone, and I will endure it without complaint.'

'It will not fall upon you alone,' he exclaimed; 'because I know the sufferings would be far increased if my vengeance falls upon your husband. I will even do all I can to assist in procuring his conviction, and what he will then suffer will have been caused by your own scorn towards myself.'

'Monster!' she wildly cried, 'is it to drive me to madness, that you conjure up those frightful images before my eyes?'

'It is rather to bring you to your senses,' he replied, with cold sarcasm; 'I would have you perceive the consequences of your own folly in order that you may see which is the better plan for you to adopt.'

'You believe me to be friendless,' said Nancy; 'and, coward-like, would take advantage of my helpless situation. But I have heard your father has arrived at his mansion, and strangers as we are to each other, I'll seek an interview with him to-morrow, and implore his protection against the evil doings of his profligate son.'

'Indeed' retorted the other with a sneer. 'It's well I know your intentions, Nancy; for being thus prepared, I may take precautions to avert the mischief you would do. On presenting yourself at the house, you will be turned from the door by the servants.'

'In that case, I'll wait, patiently, till I can meet your father in his walks.'

Your patience must be inexhaustible, then,' he replied; 'for Colonel Heathington never leaves the house, except to take exercise in his own gardens. Nor would a letter to him do for it is always my task to open all that are sent to him; so you may well imagine, that one from you would never reach its place of destination.'

'It is certainly something to exult at the success of your own villany,' cried Nancy Waterman; 'but you may yet find out, that the deepest laid schemes do not always end as may be expected. I have said that your father shall know of his son's worthlessness, and I will find a way to do so, in spite of all the cautions you may take to defeat my object. Nay, if everything else fails, I'll make my story known to the minister, who, I know, is a frequent visitor at the mansion. He will not refuse to assist me, and through him I will make known the infamous propositions you have made to me.'

'All this,' exclaimed Charles, 'is but an idle waste of words. My father has already been informed of my frequent visits to this place, and in a conversation that I had with him, scarcely an hour ago, I admitted the charge, and asserted my own right to do as I pleased. We parted in anger; but there's no doubt, when we meet again to-morrow, he will be all sunshine and good-humor.'

'Perhaps so,' answered Nancy Waterman; 'but it will be in expectation that his son will not be insensible to the advice he has given him.'

'His wrath was but the spirt of a moment,' replied Charles Heathington; 'and, as usual, will not last any long time. You see, therefore, how little dependence is to be placed upon him, and I now ask, for the last time, if you will purchase liberty for your husband, by accepting the proposal that I have so often made before?'

'What power have you to bestow liberty upon him?' demanded Nancy. 'If, as you tell me, he is in prison, there is no help for him, and it will only remain for me to do all that a wife can, to save him.'

'But the murderer, when once committed is never spared from the gallows.'

'And who is there to prove that Waterman has been guilty of shedding man's blood except in his own defence?' demanded the unhappy wife. 'You are the only person that has dared bring such a charge against him, and I know your motives for doing so, too well, to believe the falsehood.'

'I have uttered no falsehood about it,' exclaimed the libertine.

'What proof have you of it?'

'William Waterman will know all about that in good time,' answered Charles; 'at present, I shall continue to visit you, in spite of all that you or my father can say, to bring you intelligence of your husband's crimes and punishment.'

'Then there is but one other alternative,' answered Nancy Waterman; 'I will myself quit the neighborhood, though I know not of any other place where I may meet with the kindness I have here.'

'It will be useless for you to do so,' exclaimed Charles Heathington; 'for, go in what place you will, I shall follow you without delay. You will think mine a perverse spirit, Nancy Waterman, and perhaps it is so; but I have been unused to contradiction all my life, and cannot now submit to be conquered by a woman.

'Have you forgotten, then,' she asked, 'that the world's respect depends upon your conduct in this matter?'

I am well aware of all that,' he replied; but my heart is too stubborn to yield, even though I see the trouble my wilfulness must lead to. Even the warnings of my father are thrown away, and I rush onward to my ruin with all the frenzy of a madman.'

'Let us speak no more upon this subject!' exclaimed Nancy Waterman, earnestly.—'Your words are wild and meaningless, and we have already suffered this interview to grow to too great a length. Leave me, I beg, and let this be the last occasion that we shall ever meet each other.'

'No,' he cried, 'we will not part so easily as that. You shall go with me, Nancy;—by heaven, you shall! so resist me not; for, were the great fiend himself to appear, I would not be thwarted in my object.'

He advanced to seize her; but Nancy Waterman foresaw his design, and reaching down the leaded gun that hung over the mantel-piece, she retreated a few paces, and then presented it at him.

'Mr. Heathington!' she exclaimed; 'I am armed, as you see, for my own protection, and will not hesitate to fire, if you advance another step towards me. Leave the house, I command you, or I shall presently be guilty of shedding the blood of a fellow-creature.'

'Nay, hear me,' he cried; 'and do not that in haste, which you will afterwards have to repent of.'

'I am firm and resolute in my demand,' she returned in the same tone of determination. 'You have thought proper to invade the privacy of my own humble home; and, having none here to protect me, it only remains for me to show that I am not to be intimidated by the insolence of a heartless libertine. Begone, I say to you once more, and tempt me not to commit a deed that at any other time I should have shuddered at.'

'Will you not hear reason, Nancy Waterman, and—'

'I will hear nothing that you have to say,' she replied, interrupting him. 'Already I have endured your presence here too long; and now, for the last time, I desire you to remain no longer beneath this roof.'

'Your command shall be obeyed,' exclaimed Charles Heathington, alarmed at the determination with which she addressed him. For the present, I take my departure; but it will only be to return here again at no distant period.'

He turned angrily away, and rushing out of the door, was lost in the darkness of the night.

It was fortunate for Waterman that he followed the suggestion of the landlord; for he had not left any very long time, when an altercation was heard at the bar; and in a few minutes afterwards, our old friend the constable, and three other men, entered the room. A hasty glance around, however, served to convince them that the object of their search was not there; and they were retreating, when Mike Rowley called them back, to enjoy a little fun at their expense.

'Where the devil are you off to, in such a hurry, old fellow?' he exclaimed. 'Do you scorn to drink with an old acquaintance, that you bolt off as soon as you're come into the room?'

'Why, hang me, if it ain't that infernal scoundrel that got discharged this morning, when every body thought he was safe booked for three months, at least,' cried the constable, opening his eyes with astonishment.

'Yes,' replied Mike; 'I'm the identical chap you was so kind as to take care of last night. But it was no go, old fellow, for the magistrate know'd more of the law, than you and I put together; and he saw that he got into the wrong box, if he sent me to limbo, when I hadn't been doing anything that deserved it.'

'Well, never mind about that,' returned the official; 'for if I put you to a little inconvenience convenience, it was only in the way of doing my duty. I made a mistake, I suppose, and it was lucky for you that you'd a sensible magistrate to go before, for there's some of 'em that would have sent you off for three months, with hard labor.

'What for?'

'Why, for being a suspicious character.'

'There now,' exclaimed Mike Rowley, appealing to his friends; 'what man can consider himself safe, if they look upon me as a suspicious character. By and by, I supposes they'll want to be scragging me, because they may take it into their heads that I aint quite what I ought to be.'

'That's the blessed injustice they always deal out to poor hard working fellows like us,' chimed in Sam Snatch. 'If we're seen walking ever so quietly, in the public street, there's some people that will take into their heads that we are wanting to pick pockets; and if we are found sitting in a house like this, there's always some d—d good natured friend or another that's ready to swear we belong to a set of thieves.'

'Our business,' answered the constable, 'is, I rather think, over for to-night.'

'What,' said Snatch, 'you can't find some chap, that you're looking after? Isn't that about the ticket?'

'I dare say you know as much about it as I do,' said the official. 'The prisoner that we had in custody to-day has escaped; and there'll be a devil of a row about it, if we don't get hold of him again.'

'Why you don't mean to tell me,' exclaimed Mike Rowley, with well dissembled disguise, 'that my fellow-prisoner has managed to escape out of your clutches.'

'He has though,' answered the other; 'and for all your pretending to be so much surprised, I've a notion that you had a hand in helping him, to escape.'

'Nonsense! you never can think that?'

'Indeed, but I do, though

'What an idea?' exclaimed Mike Rowley, again appealing to his comrades. 'You hear what this chap says and yet every one of you can swear, that I came straight here after leaving the police office, and that I've never been out of your sight from that time till now.'

'Oh, yes, returned Dick Fordham, 'we can swear that, I should think, with a very good conscience.'

'Well,' said the constable, 'if you know anything about the escaped convict, it is your duty to tell where he is, even if no reward was offered; and, surely, there can't be any very great objection to earning a sum of money, when it's to give up a man that's charged with escaping from prison.'

'All this blarney won't do any good with me, I can tell you,' exclaimed Mike Rowley; 'the prisoner has escaped, and I can only say good luck to him, for he was a tramp of a fellow whilst we kept company, and I should be sorry to hear of any harm coming to him.'

'Very well!' returned the official, 'you can do as you like about it of course; but mind this, my fine fellow, you'll make yourself liable to a severe punishment if you harbour or assist to conceal a man that committed a murder.'

Doublechalk , who had just left the fugitives in the loft, returned into the room whilst these latter words were spoken; and, looking inquisitively at the constable, he at once guessed the object that had brought him there. He, however, affected ignorance upon the point; and addressing himself to the unwelcome intruder asked, 'what it was he wanted?'

'We want somebody that we're not very likely to find, it seems,' replied the functionary; 'a prisoner has escaped out of my custody, and I thought it was not at all unlikely, that I might meet with him here.'

'I don't harbor bad people,' exclaimed the landlord, sharply; 'so this is about the last place in the world where you might have expected to find a thief.'

'The man I'm looking after is worse than that,' returned the other, 'for there's a charge of murder against him; and, if I don't meet with him before this day week, I shall be likely to find myself in the wrong box.'

'What's the name of the man?' asked the landlord.

'William Waterman.'

'Humph! don't know him;—never heard the name before.'

'You do know him though; for he's been in this house two or three times very lately.'

'I don't know him by that name then,' answered Doublechalk; 'a great many stranger's come into this house in the course of the day, and it isn't for me to ask who they are, or where they come from.'

'I don't know how that may be,' returned the other, 'but it seems my visit here's no go; and that being the case, I shall wish you all a very good night.'

'Oh, good night to you, old fellow,' exclaimed Sam Snatch; 'but I say, my cove, when will you come again, and stay a long time?'

'It won't be long before I'm here again, I dare say,' replied the other; 'I've a notion now, that the man's concealed somewhere about the place, only I don't like to risk my own life when there's such a bad lot about me.'

The constable, and attendant satellites, marched themselves off as soon as they had given utterance to this; and, as soon as they were fairly out of hearing, Mike Rowley burst forth into a boisterous fit of laughter.

'What are you making such a muss about?' asked Dick Fordham; 'was there anything very funny in the fellow calling us a bad lot?'

'It wasn't that,' replied Mike, 'but, for the life of me, I couldn't help laughing to see them chaps go away; when, all the while, what they were looking after was in the house.'

'Yes, yes,' said Doublechalk, 'all this is fun to you, but it's very pleasant to me to hear them hint at searching the house.'

'Well,' returned Sam Snatch, 'it won't be the first time they've had to talk about that sort of thing.'

'May be not; and yet I can't say that I feel any the more comfortable on that account.'

'What's the use of grumbling when you can't help yourself,' exclaimed Mike Rowley; 'the man's in the house, and you can't rid of him, unless you take it into your head to turn him out neck and crop.'

'Gentlemen,' exclaimed Doublechalk, 'if you're going to get up a quarrel, the sooner we part the better. It's quite late enough for me to close the house; and then, if the police should come and find the place empty, the appearance of matters will be all in my favor.'

'Well, old fellow,' returned Dick Fordham, 'I don't know but what you're right as far as that goes; so, for the sake of appearances, as you call 'em, we'll relieve you from the honor of our company. To-morrow we shall pay you another visit, and mind we hear a good account of comrade William Waterman.'

They then drained their glasses to the bottom; and, bidding the landlord good-night left the house one by one, so as to excite as little observation as possible.

CHAPTER VII

A Journey. The faithful Wife. The Libertine, again. Woman's Love. A Trying Scene. The Old Brewery. The Escape.

THE day following the return of Charles Heathington into the country, Nancy left her cottage to the care of a female neighbor; and, with her child, took a place in the stage, in order to reach New York, that she might be near her husband, who was, according to the libertine's account, in prison on a charge of murder. The money she had saved was sufficient, with prudence, to last some little time; and, although her presence might not be of any real advantage to William, it would at least be some consolation to have her near him, and to have interviews with her as often as the rules and discipline of the prison would permit.

Her journey, to one so anxious as herself, was a most tedious one; for the vehicle moved lazily along the road, and stopped so often on 'the way, that it was not until nine o'clock on the third morning that Nancy found herself in the busy streets of the city of New York.

On arriving in New York, Nancy bent her way, with little Pamela, to the house of her sister Mary in Water Street, where her husband had made his first rendezvous on reaching the city.

Mary was both surprised and delighted at seeing Nancy, and gave her the welcome information that William had once more made his escape from his captors. 'But,' added Mary, 'it is supposed that he is not very far off, and some of the police in plain clothes are watching all about the neighborhood.'

'Does rumor mention the name of the place where he is supposed to be?' asked Nancy.

'Yes, it is called the Old Brewery, in the very centre of the Five Points.'

Nancy made no reply to this, but resolved to lose no time in paying a visit to that place, as being the most likely where she might obtain some clue towards discovering her fugitive husband; at any rate this seemed to be the only course that lay open to her, and, in a manner to avoid as much as possible the chance of having her purpose suspected, she inquired in what direction the Five Points was to be found.

'Oh, it is over the other side of the city,' returned Mary, 'you'll have to pass up the next street to Chatham Square, and then down to Orange Street: but it is a nasty place for strangers to visit; and you'd better, go in the dark.'

How was the escape contrived?' asked Nancy

'Oh, by means of some of his friends, I suppose,' replied Mary; 'after the examination they were going to lock him up in the Tombs, when—all of a sudden—out rushed, I don't know how many men, who knocked down the constables and got the prisoner clear away before the poor fellows could pick themselves up again.'

'When did this happen?' asked Nancy.

'The day before yesterday.'

'And he has not yet been found?'

'I don't know what to-day's paper may say about it?' she replied; 'but no one seemed to know where to look for him.'

A knock at the street door now called up Mary out of the room; and putting by the remainder of the meal, for which she had no appetite, Nancy wrapped a shawl around her sleeping infant, and left the house, after informing Mary that she should return home at an early hour in the evening. Unused, as she was, to the streets of New York, she found no little difficulty in finding her way to the place she was in quest of; but, having inquired in some of the shops as she went along, she at length reached Chatham Square, where she again paused, uncertain which way to proceed. Whilst she was thus standing still, a gentleman approached, who, uttering her name in a tone of surprise, advanced at a more rapid pace; and, to her consternation and alarm, she recognized the form of Charles Heathington.

'Good heavens!' he exclaimed, 'how is it that I find you at this distance from your home? What extraordinary whim is it that has brought you to New York?'

'To save my husband, if possible, from the arts of his cruel persecutor,' she replied. 'I have come to seek him whom you would destroy; and, if I cannot save, to at least die, ere they lead him forth to prison.'

'Be advised by me, and return to the country without delay,' exclaimed Charles: 'your presence cannot possibly be of service to him, though it may do him more mischief than you are aware of.'

'Mischief I will not do him,' she replied;

'But it may not be out of my power to do him a service, in spite of all the schemes of villany you have formed for his ruin'

'You are still as much prejudiced against me as ever, I see, Nancy,' he exclaimed, whilst his lip curled with a bitter smile.

'Mine is not an idle prejudice,' she replied: 'the evil that you have done to me and mine is greater than you can ever repair. You profess to love me, though my vows are already given to another; and, when I reject your proposals with the scorn they deserve, you turn your vengeance against my husband, though you well know that the consequences must be fatal to him.'

'Your anger on that account,' exclaimed Charles, 'may now cease; for your husband has escaped, and, for the present, all trace of him has been lost.'

'I know he has escaped,' she replied;—'and my earnest prayer to heaven is, that he may no longer fall into your power.'

'Perhaps you know where he is.'

'Alas! I know no more of him than you do.'

'You would save him, I suppose, from the danger he is threatened with,' said Charles Heathington.

'Aye—if the sacrifice of my own life would do it.'

'There's no reason for so great a sacrifice as that,' exclaimed the libertine: 'you know the terms I have already proposed, and they are still open for your acceptance. Promise to become mine, Nancy Waterman, and your husband shall not want assistance to get out of the country,'

'Away! let me pass on,' she exclaimed, endeavoring to press forward. 'Let me pass, I say, or I'll claim assistance from the first person that approaches.'

'Moderate your anger,' he said, 'and do not commit yourself by doing that which you will afterwards repent. You may expose me to whom you please, but remember, it will be repaid with interest. Waterman has only escaped for a time; in a few hours he may be in custody again.: whatever follows will be through your own fault.'

'I know,' exclaimed Nancy, 'you will appear against him, and do your best to procure a conviction; but the moment of your triumph shall be that also of your disgrace, for I will myself stand forward in the witness-box, and proclaim your shame to all around!'

'What can you say to injure me?'

'I can make known to the world the base propositions you have made to me,' she replied.

'Psha! People have too much business of their own to attend to, without caring about mine or yours.'

Seeing several persons approaching, Nancy took advantage of their presence to break away from her relentless persecutor.

Terrified as she was, lest she should be pursued be her tormentor, Nancy relaxed not her speed till she became so overcome by the exertion, as to be compelled to pause a few moments to recover herself. To her own infinite gratification she discovered that no attempt had been made to follow her, and having sufficiently recovered herself, she proceeded with more confidence to search for the house she had come in quest of.—The place in which she now found herself was the filthiest and lowest in New York; crowds of wretched-looking people were thronging to and fro. The grog-shops sent forth their shoals of drunken and disorderly persons, and language of the coarsest and most filthy description met her ears at every step she took.

Under any other circumstances, Nancy would have turned back in disgust; but the object that she now had in view was of such paramount importance, that she still proceeded onwards, though without knowing whether she was going in the right direction or not.

At length meeting a decent looking woman, she stopped to inquire the way for the Old Brewery; and having received from her a clear and satisfactory direction, she again went on, though with anything but confidence in the success of her mission. A short walk brought her to the door of the house she was in search of, and there she paused a minute or two; for the place looked like a resort for bad characters, and the sounds of drunken revelry within made her fearful of meeting with insult from the dissipated wretches who were there congregated. Upon consideration, however, there was no alternative: it was the only place she knew of where there was a likelihood of hearing anything of her husband, and that consideration alone induced her to enter the forbidding-looking place. Perceiving that there was a room forward, she hastened there; and finding it empty, rang the bell, which was answered by a boy, who she desired to send his master to her, as soon as he was disengaged. The lad stared at her with stupid surprise, and then turned away, thinking, no doubt, his master had got a queer sort of a customer. Sooner than she expected, the landlord entered the room, who, after eyeing her with suspicion, inquired what was her pleasure?

'My errand,' she replied, timidly, 'is to ask if you can give me any information of a man named William Waterman?'

'William Waterman!' exclaimed the landlord; 'who are you that have come here to ask about him?'

'His wife.'

'Indeed! and how am I to know that this ain't some trick of the officers to find out where the fellow is?'

'On my honor, I have told you nothing but the truth,' exclaimed Nancy Waterman, earnestly.

'How can that be,' demanded Doublechalk, 'when I've heard him say his wife lives somewhere down in the country?'

'I do live there,' she replied; 'but hearing that he was in prison on a charge affecting his life, I hastened to the city with my child to see if anything could be done for him.'

'You've heard, I suppose, ma'am, that some of his friends managed to rescue him from the constable.'

'Yes,' she replied, 'I have heard that he is again at liberty, and, as the report stated that he had been seen in this house on three or four occasions, I came here thinking you might be able to tell me where to find him.'

'I can't give you any information about that,' exclaimed the landlord. 'William Waterman don't trust me with any of his secrets, and, even if he had, I should not blab 'em to a person that I never saw in my life before.'

'Do you think, then, his wife would betray him?'

How do I know that you are his wife?' demanded the other sharply. 'It would be easy for any other person besides yourself to tell me as much, and if I was fool enough, for aught I know Waterman might soon afterwards find himself in prison again.'

'You do not deny knowing where he is, then?'

'Why, as for that,' replied Doublechalk, 'I dare say, if I happened to want him for anything, I should not have much trouble to find him out.'

'Is he far from this place?'

'Humph! not very far.'

'Can I see him?'

'I should say no, most decidedly, answered the landlord. 'His life depends upon the good faith of his friends, and as I've promised not to tell any one this secret, I mean to keep my word.'

'For which I give you my thanks,' exclaimed Nancy Waterman. 'He is, I see, not so deserted by his friends as I imagined, though I could wish you would let me see him, if it was only for two or three minutes.'

'But what a deal of mischief might be done in those two or three minutes, my good woman,' returned Doublechalk. 'There may be some scheme in this visit of yours; so, as far as I am concerned, you'll go away from this house very little wiser than you came into it.'

'You still suspect me, I see,' exclaimed Nancy, 'and yet, if my motives were unfriendly, you have already acknowledged enough to get yourself into trouble.'

'What have I said?'

'That you know where he is, and are consequently conniving at his escape.'

'Ha! and you mean to inform against me for it, do you?' exclaimed Doublechalk. 'But I thought from the first it was all gammon about your being his wife, so you may go back to those that sent you here, and tell them Waterman is in such snug quarters, that no one will ever be likely to find out where he is.'

'Thank heaven for that,' cried Nancy, fervently. 'You believe that I am some spy sent here to worm out the secret of Water man's hiding-place. Such, however, is not the fact, for I am indeed his wife, though most unhappy at the fearful situation in which he stands.'

'Well, returned the other, I should think, if you really are his wife, you can't be very happy. He is in a precious awkward mess, I can tell you, madam, for the police are keeping an uncommon sharp look-out, and if they should happen to find him, he'd be nabbed, certainly.'

'But you say there is little chance of his being traced to the place where he is?'

'He is all right enough at present,' answered Doublechalk, 'but the secret's known to three or four people besides myself; and, as a reward of two hundred dollars has been offered for his discovery, there is no saying whether one of them might not tell where he is, for the sake of the money.'

'Then, why not remove him to some other place?' demanded Nancy Waterman, eagerly.

'Because it cannot be done without exposing him to too much danger,' replied the landlord. 'People are watching about for him in all directions, and as sure as he ventures out of doors they will nail him.'

'And are you still determined,' asked Nancy, 'that I shall not be permitted to see him?'

'I see no reason for altering my determination,' he replied. 'You say you are his wife, and it may be so, for aught I know; but it's likely any other woman would come with the same sort of story, if there was any trick to be played off against us.'

'Can I send a message to him?'

'Yes—I will tell him anything you like but he won't hear it for some hours, because cause I don't visit him oftener than need be, for fear there should happen to be inquisitive people watching my movements.'

'When shall you see him?'

'The first thing to-morrow morning.'

'You will tell him, then, that his wife is now in town; and ask if he can suggest any plan by which she may assist him in his present unhappy condition.'

'I'll give him your message to a certainty,' exclaimed the landlord, 'though for the life of me, I can't see what help can be given by a woman like yourself.'

'I can, at least bring love and zeal into the cause,' replied Nancy Waterman. 'My regard for him has been strengthened by the trials he has gone through, and though all else forsake him, he shall find that the affection of his wife is unshaken.'

'Ah!' exclaimed Doublechalk, 'I begin to believe you are the wife of William Waterman, for he said you was a trump, and the words you have just now spoken prove you to be one.'

'Then since you have nothing now to fear from me, why may not I see my husband?'

'It is impossible now,' said Doublechalk, 'that rascal who seeks to betray Waterman, and who gave evidence against him in Court, may have followed on your footsteps to this house, and in that case'—

'You mean Charles Heathington!' exclaimed Nancy—'I met him in the street as I came hither.'

'Then, madam, the best thing that you can now do is to retire, and come to-morrow again, and we will see what can be done for you after having consulted with William Waterman about it.'

With a heavy heart, Nancy turned away and directed her course to Water Street, where she found her sister Mary anxiously awaiting her return.

While they were seated at supper, for which Nancy felt little appetite, a double knock was heard at the door. Mary went to open it, and finding a young man there, she mistrusted that it was Charles Heathington, and after a short altercation with Mary, who would have resisted his coming further than the threshold, the libertine entered the room. His step was firm and resolute, as if he had already made up his mind as to the course he should adopt, and taking a seat he first addressed himself to Mary, and desired her to leave the room, as he wished the interview to be a private one.

'My sister will remain where she is,' exclaimed Nancy; 'there can be no secrets that she may not hear, for I have told her all that has transpired, even to the persecution I have endured from you.'

'Well, she can stay here if she likes,' returned Charles, 'but it must be on condition that she does not interfere with any thing I may say or do.'

'Indeed, young gentleman, but that will depend entirely on circumstances,' replied Mary; 'I have heard that you have not very honorable feelings towards this poor creature, and I should wish you to understand, that while she remains under my roof she will be protected.'

'Your protection is not required, exclaimed Charles, 'and I will endure no meddling interference, when my business here is to forward the ends of justice. Have you seen anything of her husband?' he demanded, looking intently in her face, as if he would read her inmost soul.

'Seen him!' exclaimed Mary; 'do you think it likely that I would assist to conceal a criminal when I well know what a scrape it would be sure to lead me into?'

'Women are generally plotters,' he replied; 'and I have seen no reason yet why I should not believe you to be as much so as the majority of your sex. At all events, I shall keep a sharp eye upon your movements, and on the least suspicion of foul play. I will have you taken before a justice, and strictly examined as to what you may know of the fugitive William Waterman.'

'As heaven's my witness, she knows not where my husband is!' exclaimed Nancy, alarmed lest the kind-hearted woman should get into trouble on her account.

'Of course,' returned the libertine, 'I don't expect that either of you will tell the truth when it might turn so much against yourselves . However, I would warn you of the danger you may be running into, for if I have good reason for believing that you know where the fugitive is concealed, I will take such steps as may appear most likely to extort the secret from you.'

'Even if I knew the place of his retreat,' said Nancy, 'is it likely that I would, under any circumstances, betray him to one so vindictive and blood-thirsty as yourself?'

'Not willingly, I dare say,' he replied, 'but there are ways to make even the most obstinate yield. There may, however, be no occasion to resort to extreme measures, for we have vigilant officers engaged in this affair, and, from what I have learnt from them, there is little doubt that Waterman will be in their hands before many hours have passed over his head.'

'God forbid!' exclaimed Nancy, shuddering as these words of evil omen met her ear.

'Oh, don't believe a word he says about it,' interposed Mary. 'He wants to frighten you, that's all; but take my advice, and don't listen to what he says.'

'She may find my words come true sooner than she expects,' returned Charles. 'The police have received fresh information in the course of last night, and I am in hopes the murderer has been taken and locked up in some place of security.'

'And pray,' said Mary, 'what reason can you have for taking so much interest in this affair.'

'There can be no occasion for me to answer that question,' he replied; 'because no doubt your sister has made you acquainted with all the points of this matter.'

'She has acquainted me with some few particulars certainly,' answered Mary; 'and, if the truth must be told, I don't think they reflect much credit upon yourself. You chose to fall in love with a married woman, and when she treats your addresses with the contempt they deserve, you spit all your vengeance upon the poor creature, because she had virtue enough to remain faithful to her husband.'

'Am I to be lectured like a school-boy?' demanded Charles, wrathfully; 'I came here to see your lodger, and not to be railed at by a woman.'

'Did ever anybody hear villany so coolly uttered?' exclaimed Mary. 'When Nancy first told me of your conduct, I could hardly believe but what she must have been mistaken; but you have now repeated it in my presence, and all I can say is, that if I was in her place, I would go before a justice, and ask if there was no protection for a woman against the villanous arts of a libertine.'

'And she would be told that there is not,' he replied; 'besides, her story would not be believed, when it was known that she who made the complaint was the wife of the man I am taking so much pains to apprehend. It would be thought, indeed, that the charge was invented for no other purpose than to bring my name into contempt.'

'Not if I went with her to confirm her statement.'

'Why, that would make it all the better for me,' exclaimed Charles; 'for I should then turn round and bring a charge against both of you for conspiring to do an injury to my character.'

'Ah!' returned Mary; 'I see it plainly enough that you are capable of doing any dirty act, if it's to suit your own purpose; but in me you have got a troublesome customer to deal with, I can tell you, so mind what you are about, or you may get the worst of it, for all your cunning ways.'

'My business here is with you, he exclaimed; addressing himself to Nancy Waterman; 'and not with this woman, who has so impertinently thrust herself forward in an affair she has nothing at all to do with. At present I shall leave you to reflect on what I have said, and this evening or to-morrow I will come again, to learn if you are willing to disclose the place where your husband is concealed; and remember, your obstinate refusal to do so will only involve yourself in trouble without serving the fugitive, who must of necessity be taken, before many days have passed over his head.'

With this he rose from his chair, and having cast a withering look of hatred toward Mary, walked out of the room and immediately quitted the house.

'That's a pretty sort of a fellow, truly,' cried Mary, as the door was violently closed. 'He thinks to do just as he pleases; and when people won't let him have his own way, he flies in a towering rage, and threatens to do all sorts of vile things. But as I told him just now, he's got one to deal with that don't care a brass button for him, and as for what he threatens to do against you, he had better not try it on, I can tell him, for, as long as you remain here, I will take care to prevent his plots from doing you any harm.'

'Then have I indeed found a friend,' cried Nancy, in accents of gratitude. 'Heaven never deserts the helpless, and I now begin to believe that the evil designs of him who has just left us will not be permitted to be carried into effect.'

'Of course they won't, if we mind what we're about,' said Mary; 'but you must not let him see that you are frightened of him, though, for if once he gets that notion into his head he will never leave off annoying you.'

'How can I help betraying my terror, when I find myself in the presence of such a ruthless enemy?' asked Nancy. 'He knows well enough that I fear him, or he would not have dared to act towards me in the way he has.'

'And he had better not do it again,' exclaimed Mary. 'The worthless scoundrel has heard what sort of an opinion I have of him; and he shall find me as good as my word, if he comes to frighten and annoy you.'

Doublechalk had become more and more uneasy about having Waterman confined in his loft, and sometimes half concluded to give him up to justice sooner than to run any more risk on his account, when Mike Rowley suddenly entered the house, and said: 'we must be on our guard, Double-chalk, for I'm pretty sure the house will be searched.'

'What makes you think so?'

'Because it's been the case for the last two or three days,' answered Mike Rowley; 'some of the police are always lurking about the place, for I know some of the chaps in spite of their being in plain clothes.'

'Then, they intend mischief.'

'Perhaps so,' replied Rowley, 'but they'll get tired of this sort of work if we can manage to keep Waterman out of their sight a few days longer.'

Doublechalk was considering within himself what sort of an answer he should give to this, when Sam Snatch, panting, and out of breath, ran into the room.

'They're coming!' he exclaimed; 'they'll be here in a few minutes, so prepare yourselves with answers to any questions they may put to you.'

'Who's coming? Who will be here directly?' asked Mike

'The police.'

'The police!' exclaimed, the landlord, with alarm, 'how know you they are coming here?'

'In this way,' replied Sam: 'as I was coming along just now, I saw about half-a-dozen of 'em standing talking at the corner of a street some little distance from here, so I pretended to be looking into a shop-window, and then I heard them talking about Waterman, and that they had received information of his being concealed in this house—and here they are, too; so now look out for squalls, for there will be a muss in the place presently.'

Then, to prevent having awkward questions to answer, I will go up and hide myself with Waterman.'

Thus spoke the landlord, and the words were hardly out of his mouth, before he was scampering up the stairs. As he disappeared from one door six policemen entered the room, and having glanced round, one of them inquired where the landlord was?'

'I don't know anything about him,' replied Mike, 'but I suppose he is gone out, for we have not seen him to-day.'

'Do you happen to know,' asked the Captain, 'if a man named Waterman has been seen any where hereabouts within the last few days?'

'I know the chap you mean,' returned Mike, 'but it is not very likely he would show himself, when he must know well enough that your people are looking after him, and if he should be found, there is nothing but a prison for him to expect.'

'And found he will be before long,' said the Captain, 'so, if you happen to know where he is to be met with, you may as well earn the reward that has been offered for him, as any other person.'

'He has not been fool enough to let me know where is, returned Mike, 'and even if he had, I should not have been rogue enough to tell you or any body else where he is.'

'Then you would assist a murderer to escape, instead of doing what you can to bring him to punishment?

'I have not said that, nor anything like it, though you choose to give me the credit of it.'

'The truth of it is,' exclaimed the policeman, 'we have orders to lose no opportunities of finding' the man we are in search of He has been rescued from custody by some of his comrades, and if you can tell me who they are, I can take it upon myself to promise that you shall be well rewarded for your pains.'

'Do you take me then for a common informer?'

'No; but you might as well make money when it is to be done so easily.'

'Well, then, to speak my mind plainly at once,' answered Mike, 'I will see you—and all the lot of you—d—d before I would sell people for the sake of a paltry reward. The man never harmed me, and I won't injure him for anything that might be offered.'

'If I was only sure that you know anything about the man we are in search of, I would soon find a way to make you alter your tone,' exclaimed the Captain. 'I have a pretty good notion that I have seen you in bad company before now, and if I happen presently to recollect when or where it was, I shall not part from you quite so easily as you may have expected So just remember what I have said; and if it is in your power to give us any information, do so at once, and it will save you a deal of useless trouble.'

'How can be give any information if he don't happen to know where the chap is to found?' demanded Sam Snatch,

'Nobody asked you for an opinion about the matter,' exclaimed the Captain, 'and now I come to look at you, young fellow, I rather think this ain't the first tune that we have had the pleasure of being in each other's company?'

'Ah!' returned Sam, 'what an astonishing memory you have got, to be sure. Why, it is five years ago since that little affair that you have been reminding me of.'

'Yes, it is five years, sure enough,' answered the policeman, 'and the most remarkable part of the affair is that you should have escaped hanging so long.'

'There is nothing very remarkable about that I should think,' exclaimed Sam, 'because I have a natural aversion to hanging, and of course, I have taken uncommon care to do nothing that might bring me to it.'

'Well, do you happen to know where we may light upon this William Waterman, the escaped convict?'

'Not I.'

'What the devil's all this muss about?'—exclaimed Dick Fordham, who at this period entered the room. 'Six police in this house all at once! then there must be something fresh up that I havn't heard of yet.'

'We are looking after a man that I dare say you know something about,' returned the policeman.

'Can you tell me his name?'

'Oh, yes, his name is William Waterman.'

'Why to be sure I know him,' exclaimed Dick, he is a particular friend of mine.'

'Well there is two hundred dollars' reward offered for his apprehension, if you know where he is.'

'I don't know where he is,' said Fordham, 'and if I did, I would not accept your blood-money'

'All I can say is,' cried the policeman,'that you are fools for not making two hundred dollars when you have so fine a chance.'

'Perhaps so,' returned Fordham, 'but the man is hunted like a fox for nothing but defending himself like a brave man when the mate of the vessel on board of which he sailed sought to take his life with a handspike.'

'I have nothing to do with that,' exclaimed the Captain. 'He has been tried and sentenced. But I am resolved to search this building from the very foundation to the roof.'

Doublechalk overhearing those words determined to flee to the loft, and hide himself with Waterman.

Just as the Captain and his force started on their exploring expedition, Doublechalk flew before them up the stairs and lost no time in removing the false ceiling in the cupboard, and scrambling up he closed the opening and then looked round for Waterman whom he found sleeping on same old lumber that had been collected together.—Doublechalk lost no time in waking him from the uneasy dreams with which his mind was perplexed and troubled.

'Waterman,' he said, shaking him by the shoulder; 'wake up I tell you, for the police are down below, and if they should happen to find their way here, we shall have enough to do to fight our way out of danger.'

'Why should I try to escape from them?' asked Waterman, rousing himself. 'It is only avoiding my doom for a few days, and prolonging miseries that grow more and more wearisome. Lead them here at once, and I will surrender myself a prisoner into their hands.'

'Certainly that is a very pretty notion of yours,' exclaimed the landlord, staring at him with surprise. 'So you wouldn't mind giving yourself up to justice, though by acting in such a mad-headed manner you would let the police know that I have been concealing you in my house, instead of giving the officers information where you were to be found.'

'I forgot all about that,' answered Waterman, 'and rather than bring you into any danger, I will suffer still longer the torments of anxiety, that seem to me almost insupportable.'

'Aye,' exclaimed Doublechalk,' and you would be still more willing to remain out of danger when you hear who came to make inquiries about you last night.'

'Inquiries about me!—then it must be some of those that would drag me from my hiding place. Perhaps, your visitor was no other than Charles Heathington, the unprincipled scoundrel, to whom I owe so large a part of my miseries.'

'You are wrong there,' replied the landlord, 'for the person I am speaking of is your own wife.'

'My wife!—is she in New York.'

'To be sure she is; the poor creature could not bear the uncertainty she was left in, so she put into her pocket all the money she had been saving, and came up to town, that she might be near in case her assistance might be useful.'

'Where is she now?'

'I cannot tell you that,' replied Doublechalk; 'but, I rather think it is somewhere the other side of the city, for she spoke about crossing Chatham Square on her way here, and meeting with that chap that would take your place, when you were supposed to be far enough away from America.'

'You mean Charles Heathington?'

'That's the very man.'

'Do you know whether he insulted, or offered any violence to her?' demanded Waterman, eagerly.

'I am not able to tell you much about that, answered the other; 'but, I believe he kept her a long time in talk, and she wouldn't have got away when she did, but for somebody coming towards them, and then she bolted off, knowing well enough that he dare not follow her.'

Waterman remained silent for some little time, and then striking his clenched fist on a table, near which he was standing, he hoarsely exclaimed—

'This only adds to the debt of vengeance that I owe to the heartless scoundrel, who would take from me the only blessing that this life affords. I have tried to banish all evil thoughts against him from my mind, but he still pursues his own evil course, and in spite of all my resolution, I find myself forced to resent the injuries he has tried to inflict on me.'

'You know best what ought to be done in a case of this kind,' returned Doublechalk; 'and, all that I can say about it is, that if it had been an affair of my own, he should not have been alive at this moment, to hunt me out as he has done you.'

'You think I have been too forbearing,' answered the fugitive; 'yet I would avoid committing further crime so long as it may be possible to do so. Now, however, that I see it is in vain to expect any change for the better, he must keep clear from me, or there will be bloodshed between us.'

'All I hope is, that you won't happen to meet together in my house,' observed the landlord.

'You need not fear about that,' replied Waterman, 'for I have made up my mind not to remain here longer than the coming midnight hour.'

'You have?'

'Aye,' he replied, 'this hiding and sneaking suits me not, and I will at once take my chance, whatever it may be.'

'Well, it is strange enough that I was going to speak to you upon that subject,' exclaimed Doublechalk. I begin to think you cannot remain here any longer with any safety; and, as the policemen are now in the house, I shouldn't at all wonder if they search about till they discover this loft, and then it will be all over with me.'

'And with me, too.'

'Aye, both will get into trouble about it,' returned the host, 'so I think the best way you can do will be to cut away from this place, as soon as you possibly can.'

'It shall be at the time I have said tonight.'

'Before then, if you please, Mr. Waterman,' exclaimed the other. 'I have a contrivance for getting you away at once, without much fear of your being discovered.'

'How can that be done?'

'Behold!' exclaimed Doublechalk, raising a trap door just above their heads. 'This leads to the roof of the house, and will afford the means of escape I told you of.'

'But if the officers should happen to discover this loft, they will be sure to seek me on the top of the house.'

'We can let ourselves down by a rope to the roof of the next house, where the trap door is kept always open, as the man, who lives there has sometimes had dealings of a private nature with me,' replied Doublechalk.

'Hark!' exclaimed Waterman, nudging his companion, 'I hear the footsteps of several persons coming up the stairs! The enemy is upon us, and we have not another instant to lose!'

'Stop, at any rate, 'till I give the word to cut,' whispered Doublechalk; 'we shall have plenty of chance when we see them begin to move the sliding panel, so do not speak another word above your breath, but listen to every thing that passes, and we may hear something that will be a guide to us how to act by-and-bye.'

A dead silence now ensued between them, and, in a few seconds, they heard several persons enter the room beneath, and from the few words that were spoken by their pursuers they soon learnt that the fact of there being a loft overhead had, by some means or another, been revealed to them.—Waterman and his companion heard them groping about in search of the secret entrance, till at length the sliding panel was seen to move, and then, as any longer delay would have been dangerous, they passed speedily through the trap-door, and descended through that belonging to the next house, which they bolted securely to prevent pursuit, and then hurried down stairs, And it was well that they lost no more time, for the Captain and his men entered the loft just as the others had reached the adjoining house in safety.

'The bird has flown, at any rate,' exclaimed one of the men; 'and I suppose, as the trap-door has been left open, we shall have to scramble after him over the roofs, at the risk of breaking our necks.'

'We must take our chance about that,' returned the Captain, 'for as we are so close upon his heels, we will take him, and pocket the reward that has been offered for his apprehension. So both of you follow me, and remember, dead or alive, William Waterman must be secured.'

He then sprung through the trap-door, and accompanied by the others an active search commenced along the roof. They could see nobody behind the chimnies or in any other place, and then tried the trap-doors which were found to be fastened.

'Surely he has not jumped off the roof!' said one of the police.

After looking about them a few minutes, the policemen descended again through the trap-door, and returned to the bar-room of Doublechalk. Just then, the latter entered with a basket of potatoes on his arm, which he had procured at the house into which he had descended with Waterman, and staring broadly at the police, he demanded what was their errand in his house.

They were not slow in telling him, and after threatening him with the vengeance of the law if he was detected in secreting convicts victs in his house, the baffled officials went grumbling away.

William Waterman had been led by old Doublechalk to the cellar of the house which they had entered by the trap-door, and there was found a subterranean passage.

'This will lead you to a friend's house on Mulberry Street,' said Doublechalk, 'of an old negro named Peter. You will tell him that you came from me, and then get into Mulberry Street as fast as possible. Go up Mulberry till you come to Bayard Street, and then into the Bowery.'

Waterman did as he was directed. He pursued the dark passage till he came out into a cellar where was a fat negro wench engaged in washing. At first she seized the washboard and seemed disposed to break it over the head of the intruder; but when he gave the name of Doublechalk, she permitted him to pass quietly up stairs and out of the front door. Waterman then made the best of his way to the Bowery, when he hastened into one of Murphy's line of Harlem Stages, and was soon rolling up the Third Avenue at a swift rate.

After riding several miles, they came to a thick wood on the right, some three miles in circumference. It was known as Jones's Woods in the neighborhood. Here Waterman paid his fare, and got out of the stage. He intended to retreat into the wood, but feeling very hungry, he thought best to stop at a little tavern on the left, at the corner of a new street, and procure some refreshment. The place was kept by a little man named Oliver, who was, at that moment, conversing with a man coarsely dressed, whom he termed sometimes 'Jove,' and at other times 'Lawyer Ross.'

Waterman looked hard at the latter individual, thinking if he was a member of the bar, there might be danger in remaining there. But judging from his dress that if he had ever practised law, it must have been a long time ago, Waterman calmed his apprehensions.—While he was calling for something to eat, 'Joe' suddenly said to the landlord—

'Did you hear, Mr. Oliver, that they had tracked that Waterman fellow to the Five Points?'

'No—is it true?' inquired Oliver.

'Yes,' said Joe, 'he's a keen fellow that. They wouldn't catch him in a hurry; as I was telling Martin Haeys only yesterday, they've found their match this time.'

'But do they know where the house is that he stops at?' said Oliver.

'Yes—they say he's stowed away somewhere in the Old Brewery.'

'They cannot be long in hunting him out,' said Waterman, taking a seat, 'if they've found his hiding place.

'Oh, go along,' said Joe, looking at the stranger. 'You don't know nothing about it, mister; if he is in the Old Brewery, I tell you there is holes and corners there that the devil could not dig him out of with a fine tooth comb.'

'You think so,' said Waterman.

'I know it, I don't think nothing about it,' returned Joe, 'and if some of them Irish policemen goes there to sarch for him, they will get knifed before they know where they are.'

'You think this fellow you speak of will make a vigorous defence?' said Waterman

'He! why a dozen policemen could not take him. He is a giant, that fellow is.—He is as big as you and me both put together, and would lick a dozen just such men as you are in less than no time.'

Having finished his hasty repast, Waterman went out, and walking up the road a short distance, he came to one corner of the wood which seemed to afford a suitable place for getting over the wall, as he was hidden by the embankment. Just then he heard a low whistle, and looking in the direction from whence the noise came, he perceived the top of a man's hat jutting up above a fallen tree. Hastening to the spot, he was surprised to find it was Dick Fordham squatting there.

'How came you here, Fordham?' said he.

'I have been on your track,' replied Dick, and knowing what course you would take, I was at the corner of Mott Street when you reached the Bowery, and saw you enter a stage, I entered another and here I am.—But what do you intend to do now?'

'I was going to hide myself in these woods,' said Waterman.

'Not now,' replied Fordham, 'as you are, no doubt, observed by some persons in the neighborhood. But there is an old ruined cottage out on the plain between here and Manhattanville, kept by a coiner named Peter Datchet, and there you will be perfectly safe, for a time at least. Give the name of Doublechalk to the coiner, and you have nothing to fear.'

Fordham then gave him such directions as he needed, and Waterman set out for the abode of the coiner.

And now, in order to escape the notice of those passengers whom he might meet, he took his way through the most obscure paths, till he reached the utmost limits of the town, when crossing over some fields he made his way towards the road, by the side of which he understood the cottage he wanted to find was situated. This task occupied more time than he had reckoned upon, so that when he reached his place of destination, darkness had completely set in, and the sky was studded with its countless thousands of stars.—Passing through a gate, he crossed an ill-conditioned garden, and, as there was no other substitute, knocked gently at the door with his knuckles. He listened, but the silence of death reigned within, and having waited in vain for an answer to his summons; he repeated the knock, but on this occasion somewhat more loudly. This had the desired effect, for he could hear a chair move as if some one had risen from it, and then footsteps were heard cautiously approaching the door.

'Who's there?' demanded a querulous voice from within.

'A friend!' was the brief reply.

'Your name?'

'You would not know it if I was to tell you.'

Then how can you call yourself a friend?'

'Because my purpose is not unfriendly.'

'Who do you come from.'

'One that you know well—Doublechalk, the landlord in the Five Points.'

'This announcement seemed to have the desired effect, for after the removal of several fastenings the door was opened, and a middle-aged man, having a candlestick in his hand, presented himself. He peered suspiciously into the face of his visitor, and being apparently satisfied with the examination, desired him to walk in. This was instantly obeyed by Waterman, and the door having been again carefully barred, Peter Datchet inquired what errand his visitor had come on from his old friend and companion, Tom Doublechalk.

'I am on no errand of his at all,' answered the fugitive. 'To be brief with you, I am pursued by some officers of justice, and he sent me here with a request that you will give me shelter for a few hours.'

'What could Tom have been thinking of?' exclaimed the coiner, his countenance towering with anger as he heard these words; 'does he want to get me into trouble that he sends to my house a man, who confesses that he has the hounds of the law dodging close at his heels?'

'I did not say they were anywhere near me,' answered Waterman: I only want to keep out of their sight, and in a few days I hope to be where they will not be able to reach me.'

'You have been committing a robbery, I suppose.'

'No; but the offence is looked on as being quite as bad: I have broken from prison.'

'Humph! Your name?'

'William Waterman.'

'Ah!' exclaimed Peter Datchet, 'I heard of you, about an hour ago, from a man that was here on a little business. There is a murder charged against you, I believe.'

'Some have accused me of it,' answered Waterman; 'but it is a matter that you and I need not enter upon just now. All I want to know is, whether you will give me the shelter that has been asked for by your friend Doublechalk.'

'Why, as Tom has recommended you, I can hardly refuse,' exclaimed the other.—

He once assisted me in the same sort of way; but I think he might have been more cautious than to have sent a stranger to my house.'

'He knows well enough that I am to be depended on,' replied Waterman; 'and, as a proof of his confidence, he told me by what means you get your living here.'

'The devil he did!' cried Peter, with alarm. 'And, pray—what did he tell you was my business?'

'A coiner.'

'What was he thinking of to tell you that?' demanded Peter.

'He knew that I was to be depended on,' returned Waterman, 'your secret is safe with me.'

'But why did you stay in the country after getting clear from your prison?'

'Because I have a devoted wife who loves me in spite of my misfortunes, as well as a daughter bore since I was sentenced.'

'It would have been better for you to be a single chap, as I am,' observed the coiner 'Luckily, there is not a soul in the world to care for me, so that, happen what may, my death won't cause a moment's uneasiness to any one.'

'True,' exclaimed Waterman; 'it would have saved me many a bitter pang, that I now suffer; when I think of the miseries I have brought upon her. Yet, who would have thought on the day we married that all this mischief was brewing for us. It was impossible for me to foresee that I should ever be driven to killing a man, and that in the end It would lead to the situation I am now in?'

'Ah!' cried the other, 'those that made those infernal laws have much to answer for, though it is not an easy thing to make 'em think so. Your rich man believes that all the good things of this life were sent for his use only, and that the hard working man has a right to be content with the commonest fare, such as none of them would give to the dogs they pamper and fondle as if they were so many Christian beings. And then they wonder if the poor man grumbles at the injustice that is done him, though the very laws we are speaking of have led to more deaths than our rulers would like to think of.'

'A low tapping was at this juncture heard at the window-shutter; and recognizing the usual signal of those who came to him on business, the coiner opened the door without the slightest hesitation and gave admittance, as he had thought would be the case, to Dick Fordham.

'So I see you have got here safe and sound,' he exclaimed to the fugitive; 'but methinks you were talking rather loud just now, if you had any secrets that you did not want to make public to the world.'

'We were not talking of anything that we need care about being heard,' answered the coiner; 'the subject was the laws; and I was giving my opinion of the laws to your friend here, that is all.'

'And he, no doubt, agreed with you in condemning them,' returned the last comer. 'I know his opinion upon the matter, and it is not to be wondered at, seeing that he owes all the trouble he has gone through to the killing of a man who sought his life.—However we won't talk about that now, because we have something more important to attend to, and I suppose by this time you've been told what I allude to?'

'Yes,' replied Peter Datchet, 'I know he has got a lot of people after him that he don't want to see, and that my old friend at the Five Points sent him here to ask for shelter till you could find a way to get him out of the country.'

'That's it,' answered the other; 'but the mischief of it is that I don't see my way very clear just at present. The search after him has grown hotter than ever since he left Doublechalk's, and if he leaves the place now he'll be sure to fall into the hands of those that are looking for him.'

'What! if he takes the opportunity of going out on a dark night like this?'

'Pshaw!' retorted Dick Fordham; what's the use of a dark night when we know it will be followed by a light morning? I haven't been able to think of any place where he can hide yet, though I have a notion he may find concealment in one of the dark holes at Jones's Wood.'

'That is a capital thought of yours, Dick,' exclaimed the coiner; 'for I remember seeing some of them that are completely overgrown with trees and bushes. No one will ever think of looking for your friend in that lonely place; you can easily supply him with what he wants in the shape of eatables and drinkables.'

'I see,' retorted Fordham 'you don't care what becomes of the poor devil, so that you get rid of him.'

'Consider the risk 1 run, my dear fellow.'

'And consider the risk I have taken upon myself,' answered Dick Fordham; 'you've been glad to find a friend before now, and yet when it comes to the turn of some one else you'd leave him to his fate, though you well know that danger is staring him in the face all the while.'

'Every man ought to look to himself first,' exclaimed Peter Datchet; 'not that I mean to refuse him a lodging for the night, because he has been sent by my friend Doublechalk; but all I mean to say is, that you must find some other place as soon as possible.'

'There'll be no time lost about that you may depend on it,' answered the other; 'in the morning I'll go to Jones's Woods, and see which is the most likely place to hide in, and to-morrow, when it's dark and few people are about, I'll take him away, and relieve you of his company.'

'I'm sorry for it too,' exclaimed the coiner, 'for he'll find but queer accommodation there I'm afraid.'

'Accommodation is the last thing I shall think of,' said Waterman, who had hitherto taken no part in the conversation. 'Concealment from my enemies is all that I desire, and for the rest you may make your minds perfectly easy. I have had more hardships than this to encounter; and shall think myself lucky to owe my safety to the contrivance that has been mentioned by my friend Fordham.'

'As for that,' returned Dick, 'I've made up my mind to get you out of this scrape, if possible, and when once I say a thing it isn't a trifle that will put me off it. Besides, I can make you more comfortable than you expect, for there's plenty of leaves to be found about the place, and if I throw a lot of them down into the pit, you may make up a better bed than you have had for some time past.'

'And as the spot ain't very far from here,' said the coiner, 'you can call upon me, and I'll supply him, through you, with whatever food he wants. So you see I'm willing to lend a helping-hand, Dick, though I don't want him to stay here at the risk of bringing after him a lot of my old enemies, the police.'

'But they know well enough who you are.'

'They do,' he replied; 'but they little suspect that so much of the bad money that's daily passing in New York comes from my mint. It puzzles and amazes 'em to think where the storehouse can be, and I should be a fool to do anything that might serve to betray myself.'

'There's no fear of anything wrong happening through giving this man a lodging for one night,' exclaimed Dick Fordham; 'he has given his pursuers the slip, and so completely are they at fault, that they don't know which way to look for him.

'How do you know that?'

'By making inquiries, to be sure; I ain't such a coward as you are, and, before coming here, I asked everywhere that I thought information was to be got.'

'And you learnt that the officers have lost all clue to the man they are looking after?'

'They're completely bothered,' answered Fordham; 'and a report has begun to go abroad that he went on board a ship that was just then sailing for a foreign country, and that he was now, most likely, beyond their reach.'

'Of course, then, it won't be long before they convince themselves whether there's any truth in the rumor,' observed Datchet; 'they've only to go to the wharves, where they can search every ship that is outward bound.

'True,' answered Dick, 'but that would be just giving us the time we want. I'm pretty quick at inverting a scheme, and while they're looking for Waterman in one direction I'll take him off somewhere else, and by the time they've found out their mistake, our friend here may be landed at some place where he'll have nothing more to fear.'

'Capital!' exclaimed Peter; 'your plan, my boy, is a famous one, and now I begin to see a chance of this man's escape, that I couldn't perceive before. He shall have a lodging here to-night, Dick, and I'll do anything else for him as far as my own safety will allow.'

'Give us your hand, old fellow,' cried Fordham, at the same time extending his own; 'I thought it was very strange it you had turned selfish all of a sudden, but it seemed so much like reality, that I had almost made up my mind never to speak to you any more.'

'Did you ever know me turn my back upon an old friend?'

'I don't know that I can charge you with that, Peter,' answered the other; 'but I began to think it looked devilish like it just now, when you hummed and ha'd about letting him stop for the night, well-knowing, too, that he had been sent here by a man that once obliged you in the same way.'

'Ah!' exclaimed the other: 'Tom Doublechalk certainly did act towards me like a trump, and I've never forgot it from that time to the present. In fact, this man can tell you that I let him into my house the moment he mentioned the name of the person that sent him.'

'Why, of course, you know that Doublechalk wouldn't send anybody that you need be afraid of.'

'And that,' said Waterman, laughing, 'was, I dare say, the reason why you took so long to let me in!'

'It must be confessed that was my reason,' answered Peter Datchet.

'And yet,' exclaimed Waterman, 'it seemed to me that you believed everything I had stated.'

'Why, there was a little scheming in that,' replied the coiner; 'it was plain enough that I was more than a match for you in case of our coming to loggerheads, so I pretended to take in all you had been telling me.'

'And now,' exclaimed Dick, 'I suppose you are quite satisfied that Waterman did not come here as a spy?'

'I can't have much suspicion about that now that you have acknowledged him as a friend of yours,' answered the coiner; 'besides, haven't I promised that he shall have a lodging here to-night? and that don't look much as if I was afraid he'd afterwards do me a mischief. But you won't forget, Dick, that you are to find him some other place tomorrow?'

'Oh, I'll not forget that, depend on it!' replied the other. 'In the morning early I'll go to Jones's Woods, and, I dare say, it won't take long to find a well-shaded pit where he may lay concealed till we can do something better for him.'

'You may take your time about it,' said Waterman, 'for I have been so long buffeted about in the world that I can bear a good deal more without complaining.'

CHAPTER VIII

Jones's Woods. A Thrilling Adventure.—The Libertine's Vengeance. A Wife's Devotion. Friendship in Adversity.

FAITHFUL to his promise, Dick Fordham turned out at an early hour in the morning; and, after calling upon Rowley, took his way to Jones's Woods, where he had no doubt of finding the sort of place he had spoken of to Waterman.

The task he had undertaken, however, was not to be performed heedlessly, for it was of the greatest importance that he should avoid observation as much as possible; and, in order to effect this object, he kept a sharp look-out to see when any one was approaching, and whenever he saw any one he gave up his search, and pretended to be sauntering about, as if with no particular object in view. In this way he passed three or four hours without finding a place that suited him; but at length, turning into a lane that seemed to be but little frequented, he saw an old pit, so completely overgrown with bushes that it would escape the observation of any person who was not absolutely in quest of such a place

Having satisfied himself that no one was near, he made a close examination, and found that it was about nine feet in depth, with an over-hanging ledge near the bottom that would afford excellent shelter in case of wet weather, and at the same time conceal him in case any one should be inquisitive enough to look down into the pit.

Here a few arms-full of dry leaves and branches would form a tolerable substitute for a bed; and, with a few books to read, he thought Waterman might make himself very comfortable till better lodgings could be procured for him, or an opportunity offered to get him safely out of the country.

Having thus far satisfied himself, he directed his way towards the cottage of the coiner, there to relate what he had done; and then, when the night was dark enough, to conduct the fugitive to his new hiding-place.

Fordham having no wish, however, to be there longer than was necessary, he went into a road-side public house, partly for rest and refreshment, and partly to pass away the time that he knew not otherwise how to dispose.

Seating himself in the kitchen, which also served the purpose of a tap-room, he was soon afterwards joined by an old man and woman the former of whom, saluting Dick Fordham, inquired if he had seen him two or three hours before in the woods.

'Very likely you might,' he replied, 'for I've been there the greatest part of the day, though I don't recollect seeing either you or the old woman.'

'I don't know how you should,' exclaimed the tramp, 'for we were resting ourselves under some bushes, and I didn't want you to see me, because I had taken it into my head that something was to be made out of you.'

'Something to be made out of me!' returned Dick, startled by the strange tones in which the old man spoke; 'did you suppose I had got money to give away to beggars?'

'The devil a bit of it!' he replied; 'but I took you for a chap that a reward has been offered for.'

'Who do you mean?'

Why, William Waterman, the convict.'

'And do you believe that I am him?'

'I think it is very likely, answered the tramp; 'and the more so, because you seemed to be looking about to find some place where you might hide yourself.'

'Then make up your mind not to receive the reward, exclaimed the other, 'for I am no more William Waterman than you are.—I know the chap you are looking for well enough, and, to save you the trouble of trying to get the poor fellow locked up, I can tell you that by this time he's far enough away from here.'

'Bless your heart, man, I don't want to harm him,' returned the other; the reward that's been offered is a bit of a temptation, to be sure, and I thought I might as well have it as anybody else; but if he's got clear away I am glad of it, for they'd have jugged him, I dare say, if it had been his bad luck to fall into their hands.'

'And serve him right, too,' croaked the old woman, who seemed to be rather disappointed at what she had heard; 'they say he has been guilty of murder, and if that's true, I should have thought the money honestly earnt that was received for giving him up to justice.'

'Hold your tongue, you fool!' muttered her husband; 'don't you hear the chap is far enough off by this time? and as we've no chance of getting the money ourselves, let us hope that he will not fall into any other hands.'

'I don't believe he's so far off as this man says he is,' returned the woman, 'it is only a trick to put us off our guard, and I would not mind wagering all I have got in the world, that this chap is the very William Waterman that people are making so much talk about just now.'

'If you think that,' exclaimed Dick, 'you had better give me into custody, and then you would soon find out what a mistake you have made. I am as honest as either of you are, I'll be bound and perhaps you would have more reasons to be afraid of appearing before a magistrate than I have.'

'Pshaw! I don't suppose any of us are too honest, so the less we say about the matter the better,' interposed the man; 'at first I did fancy you were Waterman, and no wonder at it, for you seemed to be crawling about the woods as if afraid of being seen by anybody, and I could not help telling the old woman that I thought we were in a fair way to get the two hundred dollars reward that has been offered.'

'And supposing it had been so,' asked Dick Fordham, 'what good do you suppose the money would have done you?'

'Well, I do not know but what you are right there,' exclaimed the man, 'for I once knew a chap that received blood-money, and it brought him to the gallows after all.'

'How was that?'

'Why, he was never sober while the cash lasted, and when it was gone he could not settle himself to do anything in an honest way, so first of all he took to thieving, which led him to commit a murder, and that murder cost the poor fellow his life.'

'You say you knew the man?'

'Aye, too well; he was my son.'

'What occasion was there for you to tell him that?' demanded the old woman; 'it's bad enough that we have lost our boy without telling all the world of it.'

'Well then, good people,' said Dick, 'perhaps that you can assist in secreting the poor fellow, if you are rewarded for it. Where do you live?'

'In a little shantee back of Yorkville, answered the old man,' and for a couple of dollars we will keep him safe for a while at least.'

'Mind then, there must be no foul play about it, or you'll bring a nest of hornets about your ears,' said Fordham.'

'Ah, you need not be afraid of us,' if you keep your part of the promise,' said the old woman, 'we don't want to see the poor fellow nabbed; only if we run a risk, we expect to be paid for it.'

'And suppose he should be traced there,' asked Dick, would there be any chance of his escaping, think you?'

'Yes,' replied the man,' and a very capital one. Our place is close to the river-side, and we always have a boat ready for immediate use.'

'That is capital,' replied Dick. 'It will do.'

'We cannot make him very comfortable,' said the old man, 'but he will know that he is safe.'

'He can stay there,' said Dick, 'till he gets a chance to go to sea and flee to a foreign land, where he can spend his days in peace.'

'That can be managed easily enough, I dare say,' observed the tramp, as he and his wife rose to take their departure. 'So remember, three nights hence, we shall expect to meet you here, and then your friend can go with us, and we will give you a direction where to find him afterwards.'

Upon this understanding, the old woman and man left the house, and as it now seemed late enough for his purpose, Dick Fordham soon afterwards followed their example, and, having first satisfied himself that no one was watching him, he again resumed his way towards the cottage of Peter Datchet the coiner.

On arriving there, the usual caution was observed by the inmate before he ventured to open the door, and no sooner had Fordham entered, than he anxiously inquired if he was come to take his friend away with him, as he was afraid he could not remain there long without being followed by the people he was trying to avoid

'Oh, yes, old chap,' returned the other, 'you may make yourself quite easy about that. I've found a place where he may hide himself without any thanks to you; but mind you, it may come to your turn to want a friend some of these days, and then you will not find any of your old pals quite so ready to serve you, as they were on a former occasion.'

'What more would you have of me?' demanded Peter. 'Have not I given your friend a lodging at the risk of getting myself into trouble?'

'Yes, but d—d unwilling though.'

'That is because I feel inclined to take care of myself rather than of any one else,' answered the coiner. 'You know what a devil of a thing it would be for me, if it was known what sort of business I am carrying on here, and I don't want to be sent to Sing Sing again, any more than this other chap does.'

'Perhaps not,' said the other, 'but what have you done with him? How is it I don't see him?'

'He is in the next room,' answered Peter Datchet; 'there is no saying who may call here, so I thought he had better be where he would not be seen'

Upon hearing this, Fordham opened the door that had been pointed out, and the fugitive immediately came forward.

'You see, old friend, I haven't been worse than my word,' exclaimed Dick, 'I have had rare trouble to find a place where you may be snug for a little while, and after all, the one I have chosen ain't so comfortable as I should have liked.'

'Any place will do in my present wretched plight,' answered Waterman; 'I feel that my presence here is anything but agreeable to your friend, and I had determined, if you did not come by ten o'clock to-night, to take my leave of him and trust to chance for what might fellow.'

'What has he been growling at you then?'

'No,' answered the fugitive; 'he has made me as comfortable as he could, I dare say; but it was easy enough to see that he was afraid of my being followed here, and I'd rather risk myself, than he should get into any trouble on my account.'

'Why, there was not any fear of his getting into trouble,' returned Dick, 'no one can guess that you are in the neighborhood, and what is more than that, I have heard a good many people talking about your escape, and the general opinion seems to be that directly after leaving the Five Points, you made the best of your way to Europe.'

'That is more than you can answer for,' exclaimed the coiner. 'It may be all very well for you, Dick, to think there is no danger, but I have a right to look to myself, and to take care not to get into a dilemma that it would not be so very easy to 'get out of.'

'Well, then, make your mind easy, old chap,' continued the other; 'for I am going to take him away with me as soon as it is dark enough. I know of a place where he may find a lodging that will do for him just for two or three days; but I shall keep you to the old bargain about supplying him with what food he may require while he stays in this neighborhood.'

'Aye, aye, I will do that,' replied Datchet, 'but you must come and fetch what's wanted, you know.'

'To be sure I will; my visits will be paid here after nightfall, because it will be dangerous for me to go to him while there's people about.'

'And how long do you suppose this is to last?'

'Only till the third night from this,' replied Dick Fordham; 'he's then to go to a place where he'll be more comfortable.'

'Where's that?

'You mustn't ask any questions,' returned the other, 'because I only mean to let two or three, besides myself, know that secret. It is a long way off though, and from what I have heard, Waterman may remain there safe enough till we can find some place or another for getting him out of the country.'

'How did you happen to find it?' asked the fugitive; 'for it is clear you can't have been any great distance off since you were here last night.'

'I do not mind telling you that part of the business,' replied Dick, 'because there can't be a great deal of harm come of it. The truth is, I met a couple of tramps as I was coming here, and as I found, after being with them a little while, that there was no danger of their blabbing a secret like this, I told them I wanted a snug place for a friend to hide in till we could do something better for him.'

'Now it is all up with me,' exclaimed Waterman;' 'for when it is known who I am, they will be sure to hand me over to justice for the sake of the reward that is offered for my apprehension.'

'You don't suppose I was fool enough to go preaching about the affair till I knew they were to be depended upon?' exclaimed Dick; 'I found that a son of their own had been hanged, and when they heard that you was trying to escape the police they promised to give you shelter.'

'Well, Datchet, have you got no books for me to read while hidden in the woods?' inquired Waterman.

Peter Datchet went to a closet and took out three or four lettered volumes, among which was the Criminal Calendar.

'A capital book this, 'said Dick Fordham, reading the title page for a man who continually has the State Prison before his eyes!'

'There are others,' said Datchet, 'as for me I never read books, for there is more comfort in a pipe.'

'Very well,' said Fordham, 'we shall now be able to get along without any more of your aid which you have given so unwillingly.'

'You talk as if I had not good reason for being cautious,' replied Peter Datchet, 'don't I know what would be the end of it if once it were known what sort of a game I am carrying on here? Would there be any mercy shown, think you, and is a man to be blamed for keeping himself snug and quiet when he knows the consequence of a discovery?'

'You have done quite right,' said William Waterman, 'and so far am I for not blaming you for it, that I am very thankful for the shelter you have given me when I was in need of it.'

'There now,' exclaimed Peter, 'you hear how reasonably he can talk about this matter. He seems to be a decent chap enough, and I am only sorry I cannot do anything more for him, but the truth is, I am afraid; so you may call me coward, or anything else you like after that.'

'And a coward you certainly are, though I little thought ever to call you one,' answered Fordham.

'I care nothing for what you say of me,' retorted the coiner, 'and as for Doublechalk, I can well enough excuse myself to him when next we meet; if anybody's to blame, it is him, for he'd no business to send a person here that he knew has been searched after in every hole and corner.'

'It was more my fault than his,' said Waterman, 'because I had no business to come here to save myself at the risk of bringing you into trouble. However, I am glad to find that no harm has come of it, and I feel grateful to you for the short time you have let me stop here.'

'You have more need to be grateful to Doublechalk,' exclaimed Dick Fordham, 'for if it had not been for making use of his name, you might have asked long enough before you would have been suffered even so much as to pass the threshold. But that is neither here nor there now, so tuck the books under your arm, for it is quite dark enough to set off now, and by the time we get to your new quarters there won't be anybody about to watch us.'

Waterman had no objection to offer to this; and having been provided with a sufficient supply of food to last till the next night, they left the coiner's hovel, and took a narrow lane, where few persons were to be met, and which led by rather a round-about way towards the woods.

As they walked along, they spoke but little, for fear of attracting attention towards themselves; and on two or three occasions, when they heard people coming along the lane, they crossed to the other side of the hedge, and threw themselves flat on their faces till the strangers had passed on their way.—All this served to delay them a good deal: but, at length, they came out into the road, when they assumed a bearing of greater indifference, conversing freely as they went along, and acting in every way so as to excite as little as possible the attention of any policeman that they might happen to meet.

A short time served to bring them to Jones's Woods, where they paused to look round them, in order to see if any one was watching; and having satisfied themselves that all was right, Dick Fordham led the way towards the spot that he had pitched upon as a safe hiding-place for his fugitive friend. About a quarter of an hour served to bring them there; and Dick, leading Waterman to the edge of the pit, desired him to look into it.

'I don't know whether you can see to the bottom of it,' he said; 'but it was quite dry when I was here this morning, and, in my opinion, you may make a very good shift with this lodging till we can get you to a better.'

'Is it deep?' asked Waterman.

'About nine feet, I should think.'

'But, in case of a heavy rain coming on, I should have no shelter to cover me.'

'You will find a better shelter than you expect when you get down,' answered Dick.

'At the bottom a place quite long enough for your body has been scooped out for some purpose or another; and that you can make your bed-room at night and a place of shelter in case it should come to rain heavy. When you are safely landed, I'll throw you down some leaves to make up a bed with; and, as the night's warm enough, I am much mistaken if you don't get a more comfortable night's rest than you looked for.'

'How am I to get down,' asked Waterman, trying in vain to penetrate the darksome abyss, upon the verge of which he was standing.

'Oh! that's to be done easily enough,' replied the other. 'You have only to catch hold of some of these shrubs that are growing at the edge of the pit, and then let your body gradually down. You won't have much more than three feet to drop after you leave your hold.'

'At any rate,' said Waterman, 'the greater the difficulty the less likely I am to be discovered. So, good-night to you, Dick;—and, when you have thrown down the leaves you spoke of, I will make up my bed under the ledge, and I dare say, my night will be passed quite as comfortable as the last was.'

Waterman then threw his hat and books down into the pit; and, having shaken hands with his warm-hearted friend, he descended precisely in the manner that had been recommended.

Dick then proceeded some little distance to gather a sufficient quantity of leaves; and throwing them down, he inquired of his friend how he liked his lodgings.

'As far as I can judge,' replied Waterman, 'it seems to be dry and comfortable enough for my purpose; but I shall be glad to change it for a better as soon as possible.'

'Have you found the place where I recommended you to make up the bed?' inquired Dick Fordham.

'Yes, and a snug berth enough it seems to be,' answered the other.

'How far does it go underground?'

'About five or six feet,' replied Waterman.

'That will do famously for a hiding-place in case any one should have the curiosity to look down, exclaimed his friend. 'There will be very little chance of your being seen there; so keep yourself out of sight as much as you can, and to-morrow, about this time, I will come here to see how you are getting on, and to bring you something to eat and drink.

He then withdrew, and Waterman immediately employed himself in making his dormitory as comfortable as circumstances would permit. This occupied some little time; and, having at length completed his arrangements, he crept into his narrow chamber, well pleased at the prospect of having a good night's rest.

Nothing could exceed the rage and disappointment of Charles Heathington as hour after hour passed away, and yet no tidings could be heard of the man he had sworn to destroy, let the trouble to himself be what it might.

Money to a considerable amount he had given in various directions to procure the assistance of those who were most likely to further his object; but still he seemed as far as ever from the accomplishment of his design, and every moment that passed away served to increase his fear that Waterman would find means to leave America before any clue could be found. Be that as it might, however, he was determined never to relax his efforts whilst the slightest chance remained; and he was just about leaving his hotel to pay another visit to Nancy Waterman, when one of the waiters came to inform him that a gentleman had called who wished to see him. Thinking he might have some information to give respecting the person he was in search of, he desired the visitor to be shown in; and, to his surprise, his father's friend, Major Corfield, entered the room.

'Egad, Charles, I am glad to have found you at last,' exclaimed the officer, as soon as the first salutations were over. 'I have searched New York pretty well through, and was just going to give up in despair, when, quite by an accident, I heard that you were lodging in this hotel.'

'Has anything particular occurred at home, that you have taken so much trouble to find me?' asked Charles.

'No; but Colonel Heathington is naturally uneasy at your long absence, and the care you have taken to conceal yourself.'

'I have not had a thought of concealing myself,' answered Charles; 'indeed, so far have I been from wishing to do so, I have been constantly walking about the streets, and visiting all the most public places in the metropolis.'

'And all, I dare say, for no other purpose than that you may have your spite against the unfortunate husband of Nancy Waterman.'

'You have guessed it, Major Corfield,' returned the young man, haughtily; 'but I have yet to learn by what authority you take me to task for what I am doing?'

'I assume no authority, young gentleman,' exclaimed the major; 'but, as a friend of your father's, I take the liberty of saying that the task you have undertaken belongs more properly to a thief-taker, than to the son of a man so honorable and so justly esteemed as Colonel Heathington.'

'The reproach, if deserved at all,' retorted Charles, 'would have come much better from my father than from yourself. I know William Waterman to be a convict, and have good grounds for suspecting that he has been guilty of a murder, so that I have done nothing more than my duty in assisting as much as lies in my power to cause him to be apprehended.'

'That may be all very well as far as it goes,' exclaimed the major, 'but I happen to know there is another motive, which nothing you can say will palliate. The man's wife happens, most unfortunately, to have attracted your notice, and because she has had virtue enough to resist your dishonorable advances, both she and her husband are to be hunted and prosecuted till your revenge has been gratified.'

'Did my father send you here to admonish me,' asked Charles Heathington, 'or am I to understand that you have voluntarily taken the task upon yourself?'

'Your father would have come instead of me,' answered Major Corfield, 'but I saw how angry he was, and fearing lest a quarrel should take place, I came to see if a little gentle remonstrance would turn you from your purpose.'

'Really, major,' exclaimed the other, impatiently, 'your advice might have been spared till I asked you for it; I feel no inclination to listen to your lectures, and shall, therefore, be obliged by your changing the subject of our conversation.'

'My dear sir, I have not come here to offend you by giving my advice, but to recommend some other course that will be more honorable to you. And now we are upon this subject, I would be permitted to ask if you are aware that Nancy Waterman has suddenly left her home?'

'I know she is now in New York.'

'Was it through any persuasion of yours that she came?'

'I have had no more to do with it than you or anybody else,' replied Charles.—'She has come, to be near her husband, and I am now upon the point of paying a visit to her.'

'Will you permit me to accompany you?'

'I have no objection in your doing so,' replied Charles, 'for the only motive I have in view is to discover whether she has any knowledge of her husband's hiding-place.'

'Why persist in demanding that of her,' asked Major Corfield, 'when she has already declared that she is entirely ignorant upon that subject?'

'Because I am unwilling to throw away any chance,' said the other; 'I have made up my mind to pursue this matter till my object has been gained, and I do not think Nancy will stand out much longer, when she knows that her obstinate silence will not have the effect of preventing the punishment her husband so richly deserves.'

'I shall myself hear what she says,' returned the major; 'and perhaps; when you have received her answer, you will be guided by my advice?'

'That will depend upon whether it accords with my own opinion,' exclaimed Charles 'your interference may be well intended, Major Corfield, but to tell you the truth, I would much rather have been without it.'

'Perhaps you would, also, rather that I did not accompany you to her house to-day? returned the other.

'I should have been glad if you had not made the proposition,' answered Charles Heathington, 'but, as you have done so, I shall not think it worth my while to offer any opposition to it.'

'Under those circumstances,' exclaimed the major, 'I shall not think of going with you. In the evening I will call here again, and then, perhaps, you will have no objection to acquaint me with the result of your interview?'

This proposition was gladly acceded to by the young man, and as soon as the major had taken his leave, Charles snatched up his hat and left the hotel to pay his unwelcome visit to the convict's wife.

We must now return to Nancy Waterman, who, after waiting in the greatest anxiety and doubt, was agreeably surprised by a visit from Dick Fordham, who, to save her suspense as much as possible, announced at once that her husband was in a place of safety, and with every prospect of getting clear away from his pursuers. This intelligence was most consolatory to Nancy and, she inquired where her husband was concealed, and whether there was any possibility of her seeing him.

'I shall not tell you where he is,' exclaimed Dick; 'because if anybody should ask about him, you can tell them with a good conscience, that you don't know. And as for seeing him, you must not think of doing that till we have got him all right and safe out of this country.'

'Is he far from here?'

'No, not above four or five miles; but he will be a good bit further off before long. We are obliged to shift him about you know, Mrs. Waterman, for fear anyone should happen to find out where we have taken him.'

'Is he safe, think you, among the people he is with?'

'He ain't in a place with any one,' replied Fordham, 'so of course there can't be anything to fear on that account.'

'When did you see him?' inquired Nancy.

'Last night,' he replied; 'and I am going to him again as soon as it is dark enough. Luckily, there is no moon just now, so I can go to him without any fear of my being seen.'

'You have indeed been a kind and faithful friend to him,' exclaimed Nancy, wiping away the tears, that she found it impossible to restrain.

'Why, as for that, madam,' returned the other, 'it would have been hard indeed, if I had turned my back on him when he was in the midst of all his troubles. It is bad enough for him to be hunted about as he is, and if one pal will not help another when he is in need of assistance, he does not deserve to find a friend if he should ever be in want of one.'

'And there are others, I believe, besides yourself, who have assisted in keeping him out of harm's way.'

'Yes,' replied Dick, 'and jolly good follows they have proved themselves, too, for though a large reward has been offered for the discovery of your husband, there is not one of them that has been rogue enough to turn against him. The other day, too, when they were taking him back to the police-office, we managed among us to rescue him, and from that time to the present, neither Mr. Heathington nor any one else has been able to discover him. To be sure, they pretty nearly had hold of him the day before yesterday, but we got him off before the infernal police could come within reach of him.'

'You spoke of Mr. Heathington,' said Nancy; 'are you aware whether he is still in pursuit of him?'

'Aye, he is as hotly after him as ever he was,' replied Dick, 'but he may as well give up the chase, for there are plenty of us to lend a helping hand against him; and, if things should come to the worst, I would no more mind shooting the scoundrel than I would a dog.'

'For heaven's sake, let there be no bloodshed,' exclaimed Nancy, earnestly. Save my husband, if possible, but let not a life be lost in your efforts to do it.'

'Why, surely, you cannot feel any pity for such a scoundrel as this Charles Heathington seems to be?'

'He has power to do much injury if incensed,' said Nancy, and I would not have him hurt on my account.'

Here Mary came running in, and said that Charles Heathington was coming down the street, and begged Fordham to secrete himself in a cup-board.

A loud double-knock was now heard at the door, and Mary opening the cup-board door, begged of Dick Fordham to hide himself at once, and by no means to come out till the visitor was gone, unless he found that there was any occasion to do so. This he promised to attend to; and no sooner had he concealed himself than Mary hastened to let in the newly-arrived visitor. As Charles Heathington entered the room, she followed him; but with an impatient gesture he desired her to retire, though not without muttering at the impudence of some people, who ordered other people about as if they considered them mere nobodies. Charles saw the terror which his presence had inspired in the unfortunate woman he had come to visit, and seating himself opposite to her, he said, sternly—

'I suppose, Mrs. Waterman, there is no occasion for me to explain the motive that has brought me here to-day?'

'I can guess your object,' she replied, but my mind remains unaltered since I last saw you.'

'You are determined then not to reveal the place where your husband is hiding himself from those that seek him?'

'Really, Mr. Heathington,' she replied, 'you are mistaken in supposing that I know where he is; I am as ignorant of that fact as yourself; and it is my wish to remain so, since it places me beyond the reach of your threats.'

'It is false!' he exclaimed, furiously; 'you know where he is, and so certain am I of it, that I am now resolved not to leave this house till you have told me.'

'Won't you, indeed!' cried Mary, opening the door a little way, and just popping in her head; 'you are rather bounceable, sir, it seems to-day; but I can tell you the young woman has friends about her that you do not expect.'

'I have desired you to leave the room.'

'Very well, and have not I done so?'—asked Mary; 'I know you told me to leave the room, but I shall listen outside the door if I like, and you shall not hinder me.'

And with this, the young lady retired, but it was only to resume her former situation, where she could overhear all that took place.

'I would not advise you to place any reliance upon the assistance that person may have promised you,' said Charles, in a lower tone than he had yet used; 'the object I have in view is perfectly justifiable, and it may be as well to remind you, Mrs. Waterman, that there are means within my reach to compel you to reveal the secret of your husband's hiding-place.'

'You have heard me declare before' she exclaimed, 'that I know not where he is, and even if I did, it would not be just to turn informer against my husband.'

'Were it your own child,' returned the libertine, 'the law would compel you to assist in his apprehension. If you still refuse to say where Waterman is, you will be taken before a magistrate, and there charged with aiding to conceal a criminal from the justice he has too long evaded.'

'Your threats cannot move me, sir,' she replied, 'because even if I could be base enough to betray my husband, it is luckily out of my power to say where he is.'

'Do you mean to tell me, then, that you have not seen him since your arrival in New York?' asked Charles.

'As heaven is my witness! I have not.'

'Neither have you had the curiosity, I suppose, to inquire where he has secreted himself?' demanded the other.

'I certainly have asked that question,' she replied, 'but those that could have told me, refused to do so in order that I might swear with a safe conscience that the affair is as great a mystery to me as it is to yourself, or anybody else.'

'Who are the persons that have refused to tell you?'

'That is a question that I shall not answer,' replied Nancy.

'Remember, you may be made to do so.'

'I know no power that can compel me,' she answered.

'Why are you so obstinate?' asked Charles Heathington, 'when you must be well aware that your silence cannot retard the discovery of your husband more than a few hours.—It may be natural enough for you to wish to screen him from the consequences he has brought upon himself; but you owe obedience to the laws of your country, and, if you break them, the consequences will be heavier than you perhaps imagine.'

'Your words will not frighten me into compliance,' replied Nancy; 'for the duty a wife owes to her husband is, in my opinion, quite equal to that which she owes to the laws. You appear to believe sir, that I may be forced into a confession; but the last few days have served to convince me that I am not without friends, as well as enemies, in this dark hour of trouble and adversity.'

'Friends you may have,' exclaimed the libertine, 'but they are not such as can render you a service, if once I am compelled to take you before a magistrate.'

'If you desire that I should appear in a police-office I will accompany you of my own free will,' she replied. 'I have done nothing to be afraid of, though you have yourself cause to shrink, if I explain the base motives that have induced you to persecute and annoy me.'

'Such a charge would not be listened to,' returned Charles; 'for it would at once be imagined that it was only done in spite for the course I have adopted. My own word would be sufficient to convince the magistrate of the groundlessness of such an accusation; and my next step would be to press for your remand, till I could produce further evidence to prove that you have connived at concealing an escaped convict from the punishment of his crimes.'

Dick Fordham could hardly restrain himself three or four times from rushing out of his hiding-place; but he wished to hear still more of the libertine's villany, and he, therefore, remained where he was—vowing, within himself to punish Charles on the very first occasion that might offer itself.

As for Nancy Waterman, the threats that were uttered had very little effect upon her; and, assuming an appearance of as much courage as she could command, she said—

'I suppose, Mr. Heathington, you will now leave me? I have answered you: and neither threats of danger, nor promises of favor will ever alter my determination.'

'This obstinacy will but bring upon you misery that might be avoided,' exclaimed Charles. Hitherto I have tried to prevail upon you by fair means; but now, unless you give the information we want, I shall charge you with aiding and assisting the escape of a felon; and, when once that step is taken, there will be no way left for me but to proceed to extremities.'

'For myself, I care not what you do,' she cried; 'but for my child I do most earnestly implore you to pause, ere you send him as well as his mother, to prison.'

Overcome by her terror, Nancy, snatched up her sleeping infant, and fell upon her knees before the heartless libertine, who had thus worked upon her most tender feelings. This was too much for the patience of Dick Fordham; and, bursting out from his hiding-place, he raised Nancy from the lowly attitude she had assumed, and, casting a threatening glance towards her persecutor, exclaimed—

'You may think this all very fine, Mr. Heathington, 'but you have carried on this game long enough; and, if you don't take yourself off in double quick time, I will give you such a mauling that your own mother shouldn't know you.'

'Who are you that dares threaten me? demanded Charles, hardly able to restrain an impulse he felt to strike the person against whom he was so unexpectedly confronted.

'It matters very little who I am,' retorted the other: 'I am here to protect this woman; and, if you don't leave this house directly, I shall do something more than merely threaten.'

'Scoundrel!' vociferated the libertine, 'you shall be made to repent this insolence, if there is any law or justice in the land.'

'I'm no more a scoundrel than you are,' answered Dick; 'so don't come to calling names, or I shall lose my temper, and you'll have good reason to repent it.'

'The repentance will rather be on your side than mine,' exclaimed the libertine 'for I suspect you are one of those that rescued William Waterman; and, if I am right in my conjecture, you will have a chance of paying a visit to the inside of the State Prison.'

'And, if all people had their deserts, it would not be very long before you found yourself in the same place,' cried Mary, who had entered the room as soon as she heard Dick Fordham leave his hiding-place.—

'You thought to have it all your own way, I'll be bound; but this poor creature ain't quite so friendless as you thought, and you will have to leave my house no better than you came.'

'Your triumph will not be a very long one,' exclaimed Charles; 'though I may have been thwarted by the presence of this meddling fool However, I shall now apply to the magistrate for a warrant, and Mrs. Waterman may expect in a few hours to make her appearance in a police-office.'

Having uttered this threat, Charles Heathington turned away, with a look of mingled scorn and hatred; and, with inexpressible satisfaction, Mary closed the door upon the unwelcome visitor.

CHAPTER IX

The Lovers. The Lucky Meeting. The Escape. A Happy Re-Union. Conclusion.

WE left William Waterman in a deep pit in Jones's Woods, where he hoped to rest secure from his enemies. The day that Dick Fordham paid a visit to Mrs. Waterman was bright and clear, as Waterman could easily perceive. But he was forbidden to enjoy its beauties. He heard several persons pass his place of concealment in the course of the forenoon; and warned by that circumstance, he lay snug as possible and never once ventured to thrust his head above ground.

Towards the middle of the afternoon, Waterman heard voices very near the mouth of the pit, and judging by the tenor of the conversation, he believed it to be a young man and his favorite lass who had reclined upon the sward to enjoy a few moments of tender conversation.

'If anything should happen to sunder us and to prevent our marriage,' said the youth, 'I should be the most unhappy of men.'

'Alas!' said the maiden with a sigh, 'that would be the most terrible calamity which could befall me!'

'Do you then really love me so much?'-inquired the youth.

'Can you ask it?' replied the other in a soft and melodious voice. 'Have I not given you the strongest proofs of affection? Did I not turn off Mr. Smith for your sake, and when my mother insisted that I should marry the rich Mr. Alloby, did I not risk her displeasure by a downright refusal? Ah!—James, how can you ever doubt me? You are so handsome that when you look at me, I seem to see Paradise itself in the glance of your dark eyes!'

'Ah! Mary Ann,' said the young man 'how flattering is your preference! Don't be afraid to lean your hand on my arm I like to have it there. The nearer you are to me, the happier I feel.'

A momentary pause ensued, and Waterman listened attentively, when he once more heard the girl say—'I could sit here forever in your sweet company.'

'But we can't stay much longer,' returned the youth, 'for those men who are in chase of the fellow that escaped front Blackwell's Island are coming this way. I hear them come.'

'Then let us go,' said Mary Ann, 'for they might mistake us for loose people and insult us.'

Then Waterman heard them moving off swiftly from the spot.

'So it seems,' said he to himself, 'that one of the prisoners has escaped from the Island. It is unfortunate, for his pursuers may discover this pit, and seek him here.—Then I should be discovered and dragged forth to the light. But I must take my chance, and if I am doomed to lead such a life as this, the sooner my fate is decided the better.'

While absorbed in these gloomy reflections, he heard some person rustling in the bushes overhead, and imagined that Dick Fordham was about to make his appearance; and indeed a man suddenly jumped down the pit.

'It's life for life, cried Waterman, making an attempt to seize the intruder by the throat, for he readily saw that it was a much younger man than Fordham.

'If you are a police officer,' cried the intruder struggling with Waterman, 'you will not capture me without some trouble.'

'Are not you an officer?' said Waterman, gradually releasing his hold of the other.

'No, indeed,' was the reply—'but tell me, friend, are you, too, in fear of the police?'

'Aha!' cried Waterman, a sudden light breaking on his mind, 'you must be the man who has just escaped from Blackwell's Island,'

'And you?' questioned the other.

'Oh, I am in trouble as well as yourself; and since it seems that we are companions in misfortune, give me your hand. I took you for one of the infernal police who have been on my track for some days.'

'Then you must be the famous William Waterman of whom I have heard our keeper often speak. You came down from Sing Sing, recently, did you not?'

'You have hit the right nail on the head, exclaimed Waterman, 'and therefore you need no longer be fearful that I shall betray you.'

'Now that I know you, I have no such fear; but tell me, do you suppose that we are safe in this pit?'

'That you probably can tell better than myself, for I am a stranger in this place,' returned Waterman. 'But how did you happen to find the pit?'

'I knew of it in my school days,' was the answer. 'I was brought up in the city, and once on a Saturday afternoon, when myself and several others had been out this way to skate, we stumbled upon this pit. I have been trying to find it for an hour past, and have been pursued through the wood by a dozen men. In one case, I was near being taken, when I got-behind a rock, and tying some of my clothes to a piece of wood, placed my hat on top of the whole, and set this effigy afloat in the river. This drew off the attention of my pursuers, who are gone in chase of the effigy. I then fled this way and was lucky enough to find the same old pit which I discovered when a school-boy.'

'But will not others find it too?' inquired Waterman.

'I think not. If it was generally known I should have heard something about it before this time, for several men have escaped from the Island since I was taken there, and not one of them mentioned this pit when they were brought back; though they mentioned almost every other spot in these woods.'

'Then I think we may rest safely here for the present,' said Waterman; 'but where do you intend to go when you leave the pit?'

'My plan is marked out,' replied the other, 'and as I am not afraid of your betraying me, I'll tell you my story. I was taken up and sentenced to the Island for one year on account of a riot in which I was engaged. I lately received a message from my brother, who is Captain of a brig now lying at Pine Street Wharf, and bound for Liverpool. He sent word that if I could escape, he would take me on board and carry me to England where my sister and her husband live, and when I get there, I shall find employment in the shop of my brother-in-law.'

'So you took your brother at his word, and made your escape?'

'I did so, and as soon as it is dark, I mean to go to the brig.'

'How long have you been imprisoned?' inquired Waterman.

'I had been on the Island but two months and two weeks when I made my escape.'

'You are fortunate to have such a kind brother,' said William Waterman. 'I also should be glad to get out of this country, and go to some place where I can lead an honest life, and send for my wife and child to join me.'

'You have followed the sea some, I believe.'

'I have been two voyages,' replied Waterman, 'and on my last voyage I was attacked by the mate and came near losing my life, as he struck at me with a handspike. I caught up the cook's axe and struck at him, though I did not intend to wound him seriously: but at that moment, he put his head forward and received the blow on his forehead. It was fatal to him.'

'Well, Waterman,' said the young man, seizing his hand, 'you are a stranger to me; but as you have a wife and child, and say that you intend to lead an honest life hereafter, I will tell you what I will do for you.'

'Speak out.'

'We will both go from here together, if you please to the brig. You shall pass for a fellow-prisoner of mine who escaped with me from Blackwell's Island. I will tell my brother that I am indebted to your courage and ingenuity for my freedom, and that will open his heart to you directly. He will let you work your passage to Liverpool in the brig, and when once there, you may snap your fingers at your pursuers and rest in perfect safety.'

Waterman expressed his joy at this proposition, and was proceeding to thank his companion for his generous offer, when a voice was heard at the mouth of the pit.

'We are betrayed,' cried the young man.

'All our fine plans are brought to nothing.'

But Waterman now heard the voice of Dick Fordham, and assured his companion that there was no danger.

When Dick had descended into the pit, he started at finding two men there instead of one. Waterman laughed and said—'I have got company as you perceive, and very agreeable company it is, as this young man has named a scheme to me which promises freedom in a way that I had already anticipated, only I did not know how to bring the matter about.'

Dick Fordham looked hard at the stranger before he answered. 'Well, Waterman,' said he, at length, what is this fine scheme you have got in your head.'

Waterman related all the particulars to Dick Fordham, who turned to the young man and said.—'A thousand thanks for this, my brave youth; it is exactly the thing, if we can only get you both safely on board the brig. A search has already been made for Waterman on board all the outward bound vessels, and as he was neither found nor heard of, the police believe he has gone to Boston or Philadelphia.'

Thus the three men continued discoursing in the pit until it was fairly dark; when they emerged from the bowels of the earth, and crossed the woods and came to an open field. Here was an old house inhabited by a milkman, formerly kept by Mr. Odell as a tavern, and as they passed by, several dogs came out at them and made noise enough to alarm the whole neighborhood. They, therefore, thought it best to descend the bank and gain the road. They jogged on-quietly for a mile or two then darted into the most unfrequented street of the city. As they went along, they talked loud about their ship and the treatment on board so that any one who heard their voices might suppose them to be sailors.

They reached the wharf whither they were bound without interruption, and after bidding Fordham farewell, they mounted the side of the brig and went directly down the cabin.

There they found the Captain who was over-joyed to see his brother at liberty.

'It is well,' said the Captain, 'that you did not come before; for the police have just been here searching for one William Waterman, a convict from Sing-Sing, and they would have nabbed you as a deserter from Blackwell's Island.'

The young man then introduced Waterman to his brother under the name of Purdy, and stated that but for him he should never have been able to get off the Island.

'Was he then a prisoner too?' inquired the Captain.

'Yes,' said the youth, 'he was taken up with me for being engaged in the same riot, and was sentenced for six months only,'

The Captain thanked the supposed Purdy for aiding his brother in making his escape, and it was soon agreed that 'Purdy' should go to Liverpool in the brig.

The Captain then went to the liquor case and brought forth bottles and glasses and invited them to drink. Thus the evening was spent in hilarity and social conversation.

Early on the next morning, the pilot came on board, and the brig got under way. The breeze died away by the time they had got into New York Bay; and the brig made but slow progress through the water. Waterman was sorry to see this as he felt that he should not be safe till the vessel was fairly out to sea.

While watching the shore of Governor's Island, and thinking of his wife and child, and the joy that the former would feel when Dick Fordham acquainted her with his escape, the Captain suddenly came forward to the spot where Waterman and his companion were standing, and said,—

'There is a boat coming towards us from the shore. She is full of men, and I fear that they have found out you are on board this brig.'

He then reached the spy-glass to Waterman who looked through it at the boat. He recognized Charles Heathington sitting in the stern, at the first glance, and turned very pale.

To have so nearly escaped and now to be taken, seemed to him a misfortune far greater than if he had been taken in the loft of the Old Brewery.

'You think as I do?' inquired the Captain.

'Yes, sir,' replied Waterman, 'all is over with us if those fellows get on board the brig.'

'The wind is very high,' returned the Captain with a sigh, 'but we must do what we can to hide you away in the hold. Come with me, Charles, and you too Purdy, and we will see what can be done.'

Waterman and the young man followed the Captain to the lower hold, when he placed them in what he conceived to be a sure hiding-place, and then came on deck.

The boat was now nearly within hailing distance, and a man armed with the symbol of authority stood up in the head of the boat and motioned to the brig to lie to. But the Captain continued his course and pretended not to see the signs of the officer.

At length the voice of the man came faintly over the water—'Heave to there, in the name of the law!'

Still the brig kept on. The boat had, in the next quarter of an hour, come so near that it was easy to converse with persons on board of her.

'Brig ahoi! heave to, and let the police come on board of you.'

'What do you want?' demanded the Captain, now showing himself on the taffrail.

'We have reason to believe,' was the answer, 'that the notorious convict, William Waterman, is on board your brig.'

'Certainly not,' replied the Captain, who felt perfectly safe on that score—'we were searched last evening and no such man was found on board.'

'But he was seen to go on board, in company with a young man afterwards,' cried Charles Heathington in a rage, 'and unless you heave to, it will be the worst for you.'

'I cannot be delayed on my voyage with such trivial suspicions,' cried the Captain.—

'I tell you that no such man is on board this vessel.'

'If he is not on board, it can do you no harm to let us search,' said Charles Heathington.

By this time the boat was so near that one might have thrown a biscuit on board of her from the deck of the brig: but the Captain perceived that a light breeze had sprung up, and that the boat no longer gained upon the brig. He, therefore, ordered all sail to be set, and trimmed his yards so as to make everything draw.

This movement was observed by Heathington and the officer, who now shouted aloud for the ship to heave to. As no attention was paid to this order, and as the breeze continued to freshen, Charles Heathington flew into a most violent rage. He stamped and swore and finally foamed at the mouth, till the gale became strong enough to propel the brig eight or nine knots an hour.

Then the boat rapidly fell astern, until she appeared as a black speck on the surface of the water.

The brig shot through the Narrows and went to sea in fine style.

About a week after Nancy Waterman had heard of the safe retreat of her husband, she was sitting in the house of her sister Mary, with little Pamela on her lap, when she heard a double knock at the door.

Startled by the sound, she looked around for Mary, but her sister had just gone to a grocery store on the corner. She therefore requested a little colored girl, who had recently been engaged as a servant. to go to the door and see who was there. The girl went to the door, and having opened it, called to Nancy, and said a gentleman was there who wished to see her.

'What name?' said Nancy.

The girl soon answered—'Heathington.'

Nancy trembled, and cried out as she walked to the head of the stairs—

'Mr. Heathington, I absolutely forbid you to enter this house. You know that your presence is always unwelcome.'

'But you have never been troubled with my presence before,' replied a gentle but manly voice at the door—'my name, madam' is Col. Heathington.'

'I ask your pardon, sir. Be kind enough to walk up,' returned Nancy, as she returned to the room, and set out the best chair for the unexpected gentleman.

Col. Heathington walked into the room, and said,—'Your name is Mrs Waterman?'

'Yes, sir! pray be seated sir.'

'I called,' said the colonel as he seated himself, 'to inform you that my son Charles is no more.'

Nancy started—'Indeed, sir, I had not supposed he was ill.'

'He was thrown from his horse while returning from New York and badly injured. He has since died of his wounds, and is buried. But I called to do an act of justice to an injured and persecuted woman—to make some amends for the wrongs that you have received at the hands of one whose opportunity for repentance was cut short.'

When rising up, the Colonel put a purse into the hands of Nancy, and making a bow left the house without another word.

When he was gone, Nancy opened the purse and found in it some three hundred dollars in gold and bills, and a draft on a mercantile house in Liverpool for $1000.

In another week, Nancy and her little Pamela were on their way to Liverpool. The astonishment of William Waterman at seeing his wife and child in England was exceeded only by the sight of the draft for a thousand pounds. The draft was duly honored, and the money at once paid down to Waterman.

Little Pamela is now a young woman, tall and graceful, and frequently waits upon customers when her father is absent from the shop.

THE END