"Philip, if you marry that girl I'll peach; I will, so help me G--d,"
replied a woman's voice. "I've given you the money, and I've given you
plenty before, as much as I had to give you, Philip, and you know it. I
don't mind that, but you shan't marry till I'm dead. I'm your lawful
wife, and if I'm low now, it's your fault, for you drove me to it."

"I'll drive you to hell if you worry me. I tell you she's got lots of
money, and a farm, and niggers, and you shall have half if you only keep
your mouth shut. Come, now, Molly, don't be a fool; what's the use,
now?"

They went down the stairway together, and their voices were lost as they
descended. Arthur determined to follow and get some clue, if possible,
as to the man's, intentions. He therefore gave his address to Mary, and
made her promise faithfully to meet him on the following morning,
promising to befriend her and send her to his mother in Vermont. Hearing
the front door close, and surmising that Philip had departed, he bade
her good night, and descending hastily, was upon the sidewalk in time to
observe Philip's form in the starlight as he turned the corner.

It was now ten o'clock; too late to call upon Miranda without disturbing
the household, which he desired to avoid. Arthur's present fear was that
possibly an elopement had been planned for that night, and he therefore
determined, if practicable, to keep Searle in view till he had traced
him home. The latter entered a refreshment saloon upon Broadway; Arthur
followed, and ordering, in a low tone, some dish that would require time
in the preparation, he stepped, without noise, into an alcove adjoining
one whence came the sound of conversation.

"Well, what's up?" inquired a gruff, coarse voice.