“Time was gliding on unusually slow—it always does when we want it to go fast, and never fails to gallop when we want it to walk. A fortnight had stolen by since my last interview with the interesting Miss Tadpoddle. Dabbs and Tadpoddle were still working like beavers, but accomplishing nothing that anybody wanted them to do. Everything they did seemed to add new links to the strong chain of evidence against Miss Bramlett. Public sentiment, which at first had been strong in favor of her innocence, had undergone a radical change, and was now as strong against her as it had been in her favor. I hate public sentiment—I detest it, for it is a heartless tyrant, anyway, as often wrong as right, and always on extremes. Miss Tadpoddle and Miss Clattermouth were, to a great extent, responsible for the sudden change in public sentiment. Their busy tongues had never been idle for a moment.
“‘I declare,’ said Miss Clattermouth, ‘the meanest thing Miss Bramlett did was to attempt to involve Mr. Bowles in her scheme of murder. He is a thoughtless, jolly, good-hearted young man, unsuspicious by nature, and the very kind of a man to be deceived by such a honey-tongued hussy as Viola Bramlett.’
“‘Indeed,’ observed Miss Tadpoddle, ‘I agree with you there. He is one of those confiding, unsuspicious sort of men, easily played on by such an adventuress. My brother was inclined to censure him but you know the simplicity of the good soul—he does not draw the proper distinctions in such cases. He is one of the best officers in the secret service, but he owes most of his success to my judgment. I often make the rounds with him, and as to Miss Bramlett’s case, I think I may say without exaggeration (for I never exaggerate) that but for my valuable aid, he never would have secured the proof necessary to convict her. And then, he was inclined to think that Mr. Bowles was as much to blame as Miss Bramlett; but I defended Bowles—I thought it was my duty to do it. I convinced him that it was his duty to let Bowles alone. The truth is, he was about to have him arrested, but I made him consent to use Mr. Bowles as a witness against Miss Bramlett, as I thought his evidence would be indispensable on the trial.’
“‘Oh! I am so delighted to hear it,’ replied Miss Clattermouth; ‘do you know, Jemima, that I think you are the dearest creature on earth? How could we manage our affairs without you? Bowles is a dear, good fellow—a little wild, I admit, but all young men, you know, must sow their crop of wild oats. I mean to tell him how you have been serving him. He comes to see me quite often, and he should know what a good friend he has in you. I am sure he will make a liberal donation to our Tramp Reform Association as soon as he is advised of your friendly intercession in his behalf. He handles lots of money, and we must get him to take an interest in our affairs.’
“‘Yes, I dare say he will make us a liberal donation if you will explain the case to him. If Viola Bramlett was fool enough to give her money to him, that’s no reason why we should not have a share of it. We will get the inns on Bowles, and if we are wise we will make good use of our advantage, but I shall depend on your cleverness to manage the money matter. By the way, what do you think of Charlotte Wallingford?’
“‘She is very pretty, and possesses good talent, but is ruining her character by her friendship for Viola Bramlett. She has no right to thrust herself among respectable people after staying in jail with that unnatural and cruel murderess. She pretends to think that Miss Bramlett is innocent, and for my part, she is welcome to her opinion, if it will do her any good, though she will get a lofty fall when the trial comes off. I am told that they have made a concert room of the jail, and are continually thumping away on an old guitar, and singing sentimental songs. I hate such romantic, pretty doll-babies, anyway, and I know it would make me sick to witness their doings.’
“‘But, speaking of Lottie Wallingford, I don’t think she ever will marry Ed Demar. He thinks she loves him, but it is my opinion that she is merely playing with him. I can’t believe she loves anybody but herself. She likes to be different from other women. That is the reason she sticks to Viola Bramlett—it is because everybody else has forsaken her. She imagines it will create quite a sensation. She likes to make herself conspicuous, talks with lawyers and politicians, makes a display of learning, holds herself above our Tramp Reform Association, quotes poetry, plays the guitar, and sings lovesick songs. Oh, I despise such women! It is my character to hate ’em. No, no! she ain’t going to marry Ed Demar—he is too sober and practical to fill her bill. She will set her cap for a poet or a politician, or some such worthless trash. Demar knows Viola Bramlett is guilty, and would leave her to her fate but for Charlotte Wallingford; he has been tied to her apron string. As for her, I expect if the whole truth were known, she is no better than Viola Bramlett.’
“For me to tell all the tales of slimy slander that were put in circulation by Miss Tadpoddle and her friends, would occupy too much time and would bore my audience. Suffice it to say that Lottie’s spotless name came out unscathed. It was impossible to keep her in ignorance of the reports that were being circulated by those malicious old hags, though I had done my best to do it. They always managed somehow to let the parties slandered know of the fact. At any rate, such was the case in this instance; but to my utter astonishment, Lottie seemed to be unmoved by it. No evidence of anger or annoyance was exhibited by her, and she smiled derisively, remarking that if it afforded Miss Tadpoddle pleasure to wag her tongue she had no objections to urge against it.
“One bright, sunny evening, when the atmosphere was soft and invigorating,—I think it was about three weeks after Harry had started for California—I was strolling alone in Doctor Dodson’s flower garden, busily occupied in castle building. I did not like the state of affairs, and I wanted to steal away and be alone, so as to sum up things and see if I could make a sure guess as to the future. The painful situation in which Lottie was placed was a source of great uneasiness to me, and I began to think it was my duty to extricate her if possible. I had mentioned the subject to Mr. Rockland, and he promised to endeavor to persuade Lottie to cease her sojourn at the jail, for he agreed with me that the proof fixed Viola’s guilt beyond question. But when he mentioned the subject to Lottie she peremptorily refused to abandon Miss Bramlett, vowing that she was innocent, and that she never would forsake her. I had another interview with Dabbs and Tadpoddle, who had discovered a new batch of evidence that appeared to settle the question as to Viola’s guilt so completely that it was useless to make any further fight in her behalf. The truth is, I had lost all hopes at last, and the main question to be considered now was how to get Lottie away from the jail. I was well aware of the fact that I was treading on dangerous ground when I ventured to talk to her about Viola’s guilt. I took a seat on a low wooden bench in the arbor, and gave the rein to my thoughts. They strayed back to my boyhood days, when I was tramping along the road with Lottie by my side; then they dashed off to California and endeavored to interview Harry. My fancy next snatched up Lottie’s lovely image and placed it before me—then my heart grew light. I tried to fasten my thoughts on that dear image, but couldn’t do it; for in spite of me, they would wander off to unpleasant subjects. A dozen little birds gave me a serenade with their delightful melody, as they perched among the vines over the top of the arbor, and I tried to induce my mind to interview the sweet little songsters, but it refused. The fact was, my thoughts seemed bent on mischief, that is to say they appeared to be determined to make me miserable, because instead of dwelling on Lottie and the birds, they went off after Miss Tadpoddle and Miss Clattermouth and came lugging them back to my arbor.
“I began to watch the sun as it was going down among the trees on the Arkansas side of the river, looking like a huge ball of fire, and my thoughts must have gone down with the sun, for I stretched myself out on the bench and soon was sound asleep. I dreamed that I was in Heaven, and that a beautiful angel, who had been there long before my arrival, met me at the outer gate, and announced herself as the guide, who had been sent out to escort me in, and to show me the charming beauties of the place. She conducted me along the main street for some distance, where solid blocks of gold constituted the pavement; then she led me through a beautiful landscape thickly studded with green trees, whose foliage gave forth the most delicious perfume. After wandering through those delightful groves for some time, she brought me to the banks of a beautiful river, whose bosom was covered with little boats, gliding over the smooth surface of the water. Each boat contained a band of angels who were singing hymns of praise to the great King of Heaven. My guide conducted me to a lovely spot near the banks of the beautiful river, and instructed me to take a seat on a bench of gold, that was furnished with cushions of exquisite pattern. The spot was covered with strange-looking flowers, whose perfume filled all the air with a sweet scent. My guide then informed me that there was an angel in Heaven who had been watching and waiting for me a long while; that she had been besieging the great Throne with her prayers in my behalf; and she told me to keep my seat and wait a short time, and she would inform the angel of my arrival. She then spread out her golden wings and flew to the northern part of Heaven; then as soon as she disappeared, I was seized with a drowsy feeling, and I lay down on the soft cushions, and soon was asleep. After a while I thought that the flowers overhead began to fall gently down on me. I felt them softly touching my cheek. My guide returned, accompanied by another angel. Oh, she was the most charming creature that I had ever seen! Her beautiful form was robed in spotless white, with long waves of golden hair flowing unconfined about her shoulders. Her large blue eyes gazed down on me, while tears of joy trembled in them. I thought she touched my cheek with the beautiful feathers at the tip of her wing. I shouted for joy and woke myself, and Lottie was standing over me tickling my nose with her handkerchief. There stood the angel exactly as I had seen her in Heaven, only she was dressed in blue silk instead of white, and minus the wings.