One of the men spoke,—
“Mr. Morton,” he observed, quietly, “we have tracked you at last. You are arrested for the robbery of ten thousand pounds from the British Bullion Bank.”
“Old Boots” stood before them erect and even dignified. Jessie flew to him, and throwing her arms round his neck, wept bitterly.
“I am ready,” said Mr. Morton, the peccant secretary of the Bullion Bank. “May I request you to show some consideration for this innocent lady.”
Evelyn Jones stood forward.
“I, sir, do not shrink from knowing you in your—your misfortune. I will take care of your daughter.”
“You brainless puppy!” shrieked the prisoner. “She is my wife.”
And so indeed she was.
XIV.
A MISSING HEIRESS.
A RECENT case of a Missing Heiress—how recent does not matter—attracted a large amount of public attention. Stimulating paragraphs first suggested that an heiress was missing. And eventually still more stimulating paragraphs announced that she had been found—and found under circumstances the most romantic in the world. If the mothers of Missing Heiresses deposit their little charges on strange doorsteps and at an early age, it is no reasonable matter of surprise that difficulty should arise in satisfactorily tracing them. And the heroine of the case under consideration will have the satisfaction of knowing that had it not been for the untiring and disinterested efforts of the heir-at-law, she must have continued to perform menial duties to the end of time. The Missing Heiress having been suddenly transformed into a Discovered Heroine, did not thereupon cease to be an object of public interest. Indeed the interest increased. Editors of penny dreadfuls set their young men to “work up” exciting fictions on the basis of facts, and a sensational evening paper discussed the circumstances in a leading article full of that learning, good taste, and common sense, for which the organ in question has been for so long and so justly celebrated. The righteous example of the sensational broadsheet has been followed with more or less success by the editors of the provincial papers, and the story of the Missing Heiress has become as familiar in our mouths as “household words.” But while Society and its organs have been discussing the romantic history of the Heiress from the area, neither Society nor its journals have so much as heard of the story of Mrs. Stubbs, the wife of the umbrella-maker of Blandy Street, Manchester. And there is nothing more certain in the world than this: that had there been no Missing Heiress there would have been no story to tell of the wife of the umbrella-maker of Blandy Street, Manchester.