“Stop a moment, Dr. Demar,” said Mr. Peniwinkle, rising with his hat in his hand, and bowing low before him and Queen Mary, “I cannot wait any longer; I most humbly beg your pardon for the indignity that we have unwittingly offered you. We have been following you for the last ten days, believing you to be Edward Debar—but I now see what an unfortunate mistake we have made. While we have been watching you, we have let the real criminal get away. We had traced Debar to Memphis, and found where he had his wife concealed, and have been thrown off his track by the great resemblance you bear to him. Indeed, the resemblance must be very striking to have misled us so. We have committed a most unlucky blunder, and have lost our reward. The real criminal has escaped, and we have been so unfortunate as to offer you an unpardonable insult.”
“Not at all, Mr. Peniwinkle,” Ingomar replied; “you only did what you considered right. You thought you were performing your duty as an officer, and I rather feel inclined to applaud, instead of censuring you. It seems that other officers have fallen into the same error. Be seated, Mr. Peniwinkle, and let the matter drop; I would most willingly grant pardon, but where no wrong has been committed, of course there is nothing to pardon.”
Mr. Peniwinkle resumed his seat, and Ingomar went on with his story.
“I must now tell you what was transpiring at Memphis while I was in jail, all of which was afterward related to me by eye-witnesses. General Calloway was at Horn Lake very early on the morning that I had promised to meet him there; so were Harry and his friend Heartsell. Ten o’clock, the hour when we had all agreed to meet, arrived, and every one was at his post but me. After waiting for me until eleven o’clock, Harry became impatient, and intimated to Heartsell that it was his opinion that I had fled.
“‘Yes,’ replied Heartsell, ‘and I’ll bet my last cent he has carried that woman off with him.’
“‘Let him go and welcome,’ said Harry; ‘but I should have been glad to have had one shot at the villain’s carcass before he went.’
“General Calloway made inquiries of all the citizens of the little village, hoping to hear from me, but no one had seen me. I of course had managed to get out of the village quietly without being noticed by any of the residents, as that was in accordance with General Calloway’s instructions, and I suppose that the two officers who had arrested me had not told any one their business; hence I had been carried off without any one knowing anything about it. When twelve o’clock came, and still no tidings of my whereabouts had been obtained, General Calloway became restless and suspicious. Heartsell approached the general and said:
“‘I suppose it is unnecessary for us to wait here any longer. The time agreed on has passed by two hours ago. I think your friend Demar has concluded that “discretion is the better part of valor;” in plain terms, I think he has run away.’
“‘I cannot believe he has done such a cowardly act as that,’ replied General Calloway; ‘some serious accident, I fear, has happened to him. He took the freight train at Memphis, and he may have got hurt on the railroad. It is my duty to have this matter thoroughly investigated, and I mean to do it. I have always believed Demar to be a brave, honorable young man, and I shall not condemn him without positive proof. Of course you and your friend Wallingford had better return to Memphis, while I shall take the necessary steps to ascertain the cause of Demar’s mysterious disappearance.’
“Harry and Heartsell returned to their homes. As they were leisurely riding back in their carriage, it was agreed that Heartsell should renew his suit for Lottie’s hand, and that Harry was to throw the weight of his influence with his sister to induce her to accept him. Those two rash young men were just like thousands of others who are ignorant as to the material composing a true woman’s heart. They imagined that Lottie Wallingford would transfer her heart, with all its pure love, to Mr. Heartsell, and gladly consent to become his wife. But they were building a magnificent castle on a sandy foundation. They had a sad lesson to learn, which it would be well for all men to know. A woman’s heart cannot be traded off and bartered round like a bolt of calico or a bale of cotton, but when it is given to a man, it is his! he may bruise it, he may break it, but he cannot transfer it at will. A man’s heart is a negotiable instrument, transferable at will; but not so with a woman’s. I perhaps should not say that all men’s hearts are negotiable, for I know there are exceptions to that rule, but it will apply in a majority of instances.