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"I don't know what to do I suppose I've got to take you to the station, at any rate," said the policeman, hesitatingly. "Well," said Potts to Beatrice, "if you do go to the station-house you'll have to be handed back to me. You are under age." "It's false!" cried Beatrice. "I am twenty." "No, you are not more than seventeen." "Langhetti can prove that I am twenty." "How?
He availed himself of our stolid indifference, put us as passengers in the steerage on board of a crowded emigrant ship, the Tecumseh, and gave us for our provisions some mouldy bread. "We simply lived and suffered, and were all waiting for death, till one day an angel appeared who gave us a short respite, and saved us for a while from misery. This angel, Louis, was Paolo, the son of Langhetti.
"She was discontented here, though I let her have every thing. I found out in the end all about it. At last she actually ran away. She joined this infamous Langhetti, whom she had discovered in some way or other. They lived together for some time, and then went to London, where she got a situation as an actress.
It seemed to me at first that Potts was still trying to get control of us, but a moment's reflection showed that to be improbable. Then the mention of 'the friends of the family' made me think of Langhetti. I concluded that he had escaped death and was trying to find me out. "I went to Toronto, and found that you had gone to New York. I had saved much of my wages, and was able to come here.
Deeply perplexed, and almost in despair, Langhetti left the house and drove home, thinking on the way what ought to be done. He thought he would wait till evening, and perhaps she would appear. He did thus wait, and in a fever of excitement and suspense, but on going to the lodging- house again there was nothing more known about her. Leaving this he drove to the police-office.
He bowed his head. "It is it is. And if so, I implore I conjure you to tell me. Look I am calm. Think I am strong. I am not one who can be cast down merely by bad news." "I may tell you soon." "Say you will." "I will," said Langhetti, after a struggle. "When?" "Soon." "Why not to-morrow?" "That is too soon; you are impatient." "Of course I am," said Beatrice. "Ought I not to be so?
At any rate, she got acquainted out there with a strolling Italian vagabond, a drum- major in one of the regiments, named Langhetti, and this villain gained her affections by his hellish arts. He knew that I was rich, and, like an unprincipled adventurer, tried to get her, hoping to get a fortune. I did not know any thing about this till after her arrival home.
He was so faint that his voice was scarce audible. Beatrice put her ear close to his mouth. "What is it?" asked Despard. "He wants Edith," said Beatrice. "I have written for her," said Despard. Beatrice whispered this to Langhetti. An ecstatic smile passed over his face. "It is well," he murmured. Potts departed from the Hall in deep dejection.
If she had not been foully dealt with she must have gone with Langhetti. But if so where and why? What possible reason might Langhetti have for taking her away? This conjecture was impossible. Yet if this was impossible, and if she had not gone with Langhetti, with whom could she have gone? If not a friend, then it must have been with an enemy. But with what enemy? There was only one.
"Do you fear for me, or for some other person?" "Only for you." "Do not fear for me, then, I beseech you; for it is not only my desire, but my prayer, that I may know this." Langhetti seemed to be in deep perplexity.
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