“Appear! Frightened to death. I never saw a person more thoroughly terrified than he was. He even had the temerity to offer me money if I would aid him to escape,” said Mr. Sharp, in a burst of virtuous indignation.
Margaret sat for a short time in the same attitude of abstraction in which the lawyer found her. She had succeeded, then. He who had wronged and ill-treated her was already in a prison-cell. The revenge for which she had longed was now hers. Yet it failed to give her that satisfaction she had in anticipation. In the moment of her success she realized that revenge was like a two-edged sword, wounding those who wielded it, as well as him against whom it was directed. Yet would she recall what she had done? No, at least not yet. Her brain was in a whirl of excitement, a prey to conflicting thoughts. She must get into the fresh air. She rose from the chair, and with unsteady feet walked slowly towards the door, without a word.
The lawyer looked at her with a puzzled glance. He could not read her history. He had expected that she would rejoice in the intelligence be brought. Instead, she seemed bewildered.
As she lifted the latch, he said, hesitatingly, “In case I should wish to communicate with you, where shall I call?”
“I will call here,” said Margaret, briefly, and passed out.
“A queer subject,” soliloquized Mr. Sharp, as he lighted a fragrant Havana, and sat down to a meditative smoke. “Yet she may prove a client not to be despised. If things work right, I shall obtain through her a hold upon Lewis Rand which I shall be pretty apt to use. He has thrown me off without ceremony. He may find it to his advantage to cultivate my acquaintance. Well, well, the world turns round, and it is only fair that I should be at the top, part of the time.”
Meanwhile Margaret was making her way through the streets, changing her direction more than once, yet tending ever nearer and nearer to one point. At length she stood before the City Prison! With blanched cheek and aching heart she looked upward at the huge pile. She wondered in what quarter of the prison they had placed Jacob, and how he bore his confinement. What a mystery is a woman’s heart! When she had thought of him only as prosperous and triumphant, her heart had been swayed by vindictive passion. Now in his humiliation she felt drawn towards him—she felt even compassion for him. For more than an hour she stood gazing at the dismal structure. Already the sun had set, and the darkness was coming on. It closed about her wrapping her in its dusky mantle. It was one of those autumn days that are succeeded by a chill evening. She shivered as the cold penetrated her wretched shawl which scantily served as a protection, and seeing a sheltered passage-way nearly opposite where she was standing, walked there and sat down upon steps concealed from the sight of the few passers-by in a state of exhaustion. Overtasked nature succumbed, and she sank into a troubled sleep.
At an early hour in the morning she was aroused to consciousness again, and urged by an impulse which she could not resist, crossed the street, made her way to the office of the prison, and made known her desire to see a prisoner.
“Who do you wish to see?”
“Jacob Wynne.”