So they stood: he, hanging his head, deserted by his manhood, crushed as by a blow from out the skies; she, erect, scornful, magnificent, all her womanhood aroused, all her unspeakable fury blazing in her eyes: so they stood, when, the door creaking open, two new personages advanced upon the scene.
He did not recognize them; but an instinct told him who they were. He was petrified. It did not occur to him to interfere.
“Mrs. Peixada, I believe, ma’am?” said one of them, with a smirk.
He had to repeat his query thrice before she deigned to give him her attention.
Then with supreme dignity, bending her neck, “What do you wish with me?” she asked.
“Here, ma’am, is a bench-warrant which I have the honor of serving upon you—matter of the People of the State of New York against Judith Peixada, otherwise known as Judith Karon, charged with murder in the first degree upon the person of Edward Bolen, late of the City, County, and State of New York, deceased. Please come along quiet, ma’am, and make no resistance.—Donnelly, get behind her.”
The officer delivered himself rapidly of this address, and thrust his warrant into the prisoner’s hand. The man spoken to as Donnelly, took a position behind her, obedient to orders. His superior opened the door, and pointing toward it, said, “Please move along fast, ma’am.”
She, flinging one last, brief, scorching glance at her husband, bowed to the officer, and swept out of the room.
For an instant Arthur remained motionless, riveted to the spot where she had left him. All at once his body quivered perceptibly. Then, realizing what had happened, he dashed headlong through the show-room—heedless of Romer, Peixada, and a score of Peixada’s clerks, who stood still and stared—and out into the street, calling, “Ruth, Ruth, come back, come back,” at the top of his voice.
On the curbstone, hatless, out of breath, stupefied, he halted and looked up and down the street. Ruth was nowhere to be seen.