Dinner was ready when I went into the house. Lilian had almost worn herself out in getting ready for her departure. She told me she had been at her mother’s, and that the whole family were astonished when she told them I had sold out the English basement house. She had informed them that I had an offer in New Orleans, as I had directed her to do; in a word, she had been faithful to my instructions. Before the carriage came for us, Mrs. Oliphant and her two daughters appeared to bid us good-by. I must say that “dear ma” behaved with great propriety on this trying occasion, for it must be remembered that she expected to see no more of Lilian for months, if not for years.
We drove to the railroad station with our two heavy trunks. It was fortunate that neither Tom Flynn nor any one but the Oliphants took it into his head to “see us off,” or the quantity of baggage we carried might have provoked inquiry. The train moved out of the station-house, and I felt that I had bade farewell to Boston forever. I had my wife, but I had sundered all ties with every body else.
“I hope we shall not have to come back here again next week,” said Lilian, as the train began to increase its speed.
“There is little danger of that,” I replied.
I was obliged to admit to myself that I might possibly be brought back by an officer, with irons on my wrists, within a week. I had committed a crime which would condemn me to the State Prison for a long term of years, if discovered—and it could not be long concealed.
“Do you really think we shall go to Europe, Paley?”
“I have hardly a doubt of it.”
“Then why didn’t you let me tell mother, and not make her think I was going to New Orleans?”