“Yes, yes; she was troubled, no doubt, things were so altered; and, if her heart had not turned to stone, she must have thought of me sometimes regretfully.  But all bids fair now, Mrs. Jessup, both for me and her, and for Mabel.  For the rest, let them go—­they are fiends!”

“Thee has a very flushed and hot cheek, Miriam, now that I see thee closely and touch thy face”—­doing so lightly with the back of her hand as she spoke.  “A bowl of sage-tea would, no doubt, be of service to thee; shall I—­”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Jessup; I never could drink that wise stuff in the world.  I have just had a good supper, and am excited, that is all.  Jenny will tell you what she overheard concerning my escape of to-night, and that will account for all.”

“Good-night, then, Miriam; may the Lord have thee in his care this night”—­and she withdrew, followed by Jenny, eager, no doubt, to commence the recital of my adventure, or to hear what more Captain Wentworth and Dr. Pemberton had to say on the subject.

It was nearly daylight when they parted, one to snatch a few hours of needful slumber before setting out on his professional tour, the other to go at once to the officers of justice, and, at the very earliest hour possible, obtain the authority to arrest the brace of arch-conspirators, still protected by the shadows of the dawn.

For Justice has its time of sleeping and waking in large cities, and will not be denied its meals, its hours of rest, and even recreation.  So it was seven o’clock in the cold November morning before the proper ceremonials could be accomplished which placed it in the power of Wentworth to arraign Basil Bainrothe and Luke Gregory.

He occupied one seat in the hackney-coach, which was otherwise filled by the officers of the law; but, when he rang a sonorous peal on the portal bell of Bainrothe’s residence, it was unanswered, and, though the house had been watched since daylight by an armed police force, who had no connection with McDermot, it was found, when an entrance had been effected, that the only inhabitants of the mansion were a sick woman, an old negress, and a child, apparently, from its puny size, about a twelvemonth old.  The woman could not be aroused from the coma in which she seemed to have fallen, either as a crisis of her disease or a precursor of death (medical opinion was divided), until suddenly, about noon, she waked, perfectly clear in mind and comfortable in body, and called loudly for nourishment!

I had slept profoundly until that hour, and my first thought in waking was of Mrs. Clayton and her probable condition; then came the concentrated effort necessary for her release; and she, too, awoke, as I have shown, to consciousness and physical ease.

Her surprise, her indignation, at being thus deserted, surpassed even her disappointment at my escape, and her involuntary somnolency was a theme of self-reproach and marvel both.  But all yielded in turn to terror when she found herself under arrest in her own chamber, in company with her fellow-conspirator Sabra.