She lays her hand upon her heart, and shakes her head sorrowfully.  “Yes! something like a death-knell rings in my ears-’more than one have you sent, unhappy, to the grave.’  Rejected by the one I fancy my own; my very touch scorned; my motives misconstrued-all, perhaps, by-a doubt yet hangs between us-an abandoned stranger.  Duty to my conscience has driven me to acts that have betrayed me to society.  I cannot shake my guilt from me even for a day; and now society coldly cancels all my claims to its attentions.  If I could believe her dead; if I but knew this girl was not the object of all my heart’s unrest, then the wearying doubt would be buried, and my heart might find peace in some remote corner of the earth.  Well, well-perhaps I am wasting all this torture on an unworthy object.  I should have thought of this sooner, for now foul slander is upon every tongue, and my misery is made thrice painful by my old flatterers.  I will make one more effort, then if I fail of getting a certain clue to her, I will remove to some foreign country, shake off these haunting dreams, and be no longer a victim to my own thoughts.”  Somewhat relieved, Madame is roused from her reverie by a gentle tap at the door.  “I have waited your coming, and am glad to see you;” she says, extending her hand, as a servant, in response to her command, ushers into her presence no less a person than Tom Swiggs.  “I have sent for you,” she resumes, motioning him gracefully to a chair, in which she begs he will be seated, “because I feel I can confide in you—­”

“Anything in my power is at your service, Madame,” modestly interposes Tom, regaining confidence.

“I entrusted something of much importance to me, to Mr. Snivel—­”

“We call him the Hon. Mr. Snivel now, since he has got to be a great politician,” interrupts Tom.

“And he not only betrayed my confidence,” pursues Madame Montford, “but retains the amount I paid him, and forgets to render the promised service.  You, I am told, can render me a service—­”

“As for Mr. Snivel,” pursues Tom, hastily, “he has of late had his hands full, getting a poor but good-natured fellow, by the name of George Mullholland, into trouble.  His friend, Judge Sleepyhorn, and he, have for some time had a plot on hand to crush this poor fellow.  A few nights ago Snivel drove him mad at a gambling den, and in his desperation he robbed a man of his pocket-book.  He shared the money with a poor woman he rescued at the den, and that is the way it was discovered that he was the criminal.  He is a poor, thoughtless man, and he has been goaded on from one thing to another, until he was driven to commit this act.  First, his wife was got away from him—­” Tom pauses and blushes, as Madame Montford says:  “His wife was got away from him?”