Miles Tremenhere: A Novel. Vol. 2 of 2

by Annette Marie Maillard

"Oh!" exclaimed she, after carefully perusing it, "this must have been written by Miles's father, before his birth. Oh, Mary! how may we discover this man? he must have been the person who married them," and the delighted wife almost danced with joy, to think of Miles's rejoicing. "Shall we tell him yet?" asked she after a pause, "or wait—search every thing ourselves? Poor dear Miles will suffer so keenly should he be disappointed; and then, too, he is seriously occupied now with a painting which engages all his attention. Let us work unknown to him, Mary; and, oh! think of our joy if we can, some day, place the proof in his hands!"

"I think your idea will be the better one to pursue," said Mary quietly, after a moment's thought—she was less sanguine, and more cautious than warm-hearted Minnie; "but we must not too soon reckon upon success, we may not succeed—he may be dead. Oh! how I wish I had secured the remainder of the letter! we might then have told Mr. Tremenhere, and he could have directed us how to act, we are so powerless alone."

"Do not say that; we will inquire how we had better commence our research. I do not like telling dear Miles yet; it would be so happy a surprise!"

And this it was which caused a mystery in Minnie's manner, which raised the demon suspicion once more in Tremenhere. All her energies were exerted in this anxious search, and in consequence she became thoughtful and pre-occupied. Mary had some acquaintances, from whom she inquired which would be the better way of discovering a lost address, and she was told to search the passport-office at the Prefecture.

The most timid woman will find energy and resolution for all, when the happiness of one she loves is at stake. In the first instance, the two women employed a man to go to the office for them; but this did not satisfy Minnie when he proclaimed his want of success.

"How can we be quite certain he went, or searched as we should have done?" asked she. "I will go myself."

"You cannot do so alone!" cried Mary, "and I am unable to leave my shop."

"Why not? Oh, but I can! Miles will be all day to-morrow at the Louvre; I will not accompany him, and putting on a close bonnet and veil, lest I should meet any one, take a fiacre and go."

Mary tried to dissuade her for some short time, and then she relinquished the task herself, convinced that it would be the most secure and satisfactory thing to do. Minnie had no one to advise or assist her, and on Mary she almost looked as upon a sister, from the circumstances of her childhood passed with Miles and his mother; then again, they were mutually interested in this affair, and Mary was so humble and contrite in manner, it would have been impossible for the other not to love her. All this intimacy, however, did not pass without censure on Miles's part, not that he doubted Mary then; but he deemed, in worldly wisdom, that where Minnie's name had been in question, however innocent she had proved, too much caution could not be observed; then, too, the one dark spot in his happiness ever arose before him—her imprudence in flying with himself, which would ever leave one place in her fame open to animadversion; but he spoke to the least worldly woman ever created, and then at this moment she had so strong a motive in seeking Mary, that all his arguments terminated in a tacit consent on his part, however unwillingly given, when Minnie's arms encircled his neck, and her smiling cheek pressed itself like a child's to his, as she coaxed him into good temper; then, too, there was a fonder hope in his heart than any he had ever yet known, whatever he had once said of being even jealous of his own child.

Thus weeks crept on, and as disappointment followed disappointment in their search, Minnie grew saddened and uneasy; still, every day she rejoiced that she bore her trouble alone, and that Miles was exempt. Poor creature! she did not perceive that her unexplained, altered manner, was making him once again most unhappy. Doubts, fears, suspicions of all, arose in his mind, and he began to ask himself, "Could Burton be in Paris, and at some fiendish plot?" He resolved to verify this doubt by inquiry. He went to several of the principal hotels, without success. No such name was on their books; then, as a man perfectly acquainted with Paris and its habits, he went to the passport office, and searched; he was on the point of leaving, perfectly assured no Burton was in Paris, consequently it must be something else preying upon her mind and directing her actions, when a woman's figure flitted through the office, closely enveloped and veiled. But it was Minnie, and none other; for the second time, she had come to the prefecture to seek d'Estrées. Miles stood transfixed with surprise. Whom could she be seeking? Quietly he stole after her; without turning, she entered a fiacre and drove away. This was a day on which he was supposed to be engaged at the Louvre. He stood irresolute a moment, then, walking composedly back again, commenced a search after another passport and name—the act was the offspring of a moment's thought. "Yes, monsieur," answered the functionary, rather more civilly than these men generally speak in all public offices in France; "the gentleman, ce milord, is in Paris, I know—I remember the name—ah! here's the passport, and address, Rue Castiglione 7," and he gave the shuddering Tremenhere his own address.