Eudora relapsed into despair, and Malcolm sank into thought. He had taken her from confinement and immediate danger, but not perhaps from quick pursuit and rearrest. In the plan of her instant deliverance his decision and his action had necessarily been so prompt and rapid, that no time had been left him to determine upon any fixed place of refuge for the fugitive. His only general idea had been to fly with her, and conceal her in the multitudinous wilderness of London, until he could arrange her escape to the Continent. He wished above all things to make her his own by marriage as soon as they should reach the city; but he knew that to do so would expose her to certain discovery. He felt therefore obliged to defer this purpose until he could escape with her to the Continent.
To attempt to take her from England immediately he knew would be to expose her to the certainty of arrest. For, according to the usual practice, as soon as her escape should be discovered, which it must inevitably be in a few hours, telegrams he knew would be despatched to the police or every seaport to anticipate her arrival and to intercept her passage.
To hide her, therefore, in the crowds of London until the first heat of the pursuit should be over, then to escape with her to some foreign country, and there unite his fate with hers for good or ill forever—and then wait patiently until Providence should bring the truth to light, by discovering the guilty and vindicating her innocence—seemed the only plan that promised any success.
“But where in London should he leave her?” It must be in a part of the town far distant from the terminus of the Great Northern Railway; it must be in a thickly-populated neighborhood, where the presence even of a remarkable stranger should not attract the slightest notice; it must be in lodgings over some small busy shop, where the people should be too much occupied with their own concerns to pry into those of others.
After much close thought, Malcolm fixed upon the Borough as the neighborhood of their destination. Lodgings of the description he wished to find for Eudora were not scarce in that locality.
Having settled this point to his satisfaction, the next thing to be considered was under what name and character, and with what pretext, he should leave her in her destined lodgings. To introduce her by her real name would be certain destruction, since, before another twenty-four hours, that name—connected with a horrible crime—would be widely blown over England. To pass her under an assumed name, though the extreme exigency of the circumstances might almost seem to justify the deception, was an idea abhorrent to his truthful, honorable and high-toned nature. The longer he thought of this difficulty the more insurmountable it seemed. Occupied with this problem, which any one of less delicate scruples would have quickly solved, Malcolm did not once speak again to his companion, even to attempt to rouse her from the fit of despondency into which she had again fallen.
Meantime the train flew over the sterile heaths of Yorkshire, and in due time entered the more cultivated country nearer the great metropolis.
At last, rousing himself desperately, he said to his companion:
“Eudora, dearest, have you any middle name?”
“Yes; I was christened Eudora Milnes; but I never use my middle name, and, indeed, never did; it is quite a dead letter,” replied the girl, in surprise at the question.