"He was once a gentleman, sir," said the youth with the air of one who knew much of the affairs of the neighborhood, and was anxious to impress the bystanders.
The old gentleman beckoned to a couple of policemen, and thus armed made his way to the infamous den.
The grey hairs and reverential mien pleaded more than the most honeyed words, and within a short time all necessary information was obtained. Amid shrieks and groans, Montague Arnold was placed in a cab and conveyed to a public hospital, and the good, old Samaritan went on his way happy in the thought of having done his duty.
Nor did he rest here.
On the following day, after having made inquires as to the unfortunate man's condition, he set forth to find the destitute and unhappy wife. Five or six hours search in a wretched tenement habitation, and a sad scene presented itself.
After climbing the third flight of rickety stairs the old gentleman sees a shabbily dressed woman, and as he glances at the surroundings his soul sickens. All is drear and desolate. The apartment is cold, and a few coals seem trying to keep a little glow that the poor creature may not succumb to the pitiless element.
Some coarse shirts are lying upon the rude table—it is the same old song which Hood made immortal:—
"Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
Sewing at once, with a double thread
A shroud as well as a shirt."
"Do not fear madam, I am no bailiff. I have come to bring you to your husband," said the old gentleman in trembling accents. "Oh spare me, dear sir! I never wish to see his face again! His brutal treatment has left me as you now see—this wretched hole and these dry morsels! Oh God! did I ever think this would be my sad fate!"
Who could recognize in this wretched-looking creature any semblance to the peerless proud beauty—Evelyn Verne.