University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.
The Search and the Reward.

HE CAN do what he likes with the brat!'
exclaimed Meg Munson, sullenly, as
Gordon left the house bearing Robert in his
arms. `I've done my part, and shan't
trouble myself any more about the matter.'

In the course of half an hour, however,
the old woman changed her mind; and as
Gordon did not return, she began to think it
would be full as well for her to know what
had become of the stolen child.

Another hour passed, and still Gordon did
not appear. Meg was beginning to grow
impatient.

At last there was a sound of footsteps on
the stairs. Meg had her mind made up to
give Gordon a severe lecture, but it chanced
that the comer was not Gordon.

The man in green glasses entered. The
old woman knew him and asked him what
he wanted; at the same time shoving a
chair towards the spot where he remained
standing.

`Where's Gordon?' he asked.

`The devil knows better than I do,' returned
Meg. `What do you want of him?'

`I want to see him on my own business,'
answered Marvin.

`Ha! ha!' laughed the old woman. `You
want to win the rest of his money, I suppose.
Very well. Hunt him up, and you are welcome

to every penny you can get out of
him.'

`There he comes,' returned Marvin, with
a smile of cool satisfaction, as he heard
footsteps mounting the stairs.

`That is not his step,' said Meg, not a
little startled. `Who can it be?'

Marvin hastily concealed himself in the
corner occasioned by the cupboard and the
wall, where the dim lamp failed to penetrate
with its dismal light, and drew the folds of
an old dress, that hang upon a nail, over his
face and chest.

The visitor entered.

It is impossible to say which was the most
startled at sight of the pale features of the
new comer, the old woman, who looked him
full in the face as she sat with her back to
the light, or Marvin, who looked cautiously
through his green glasses from the dark
nook in which he was concealed, until the
ashy countenance of the visitor met his
view. With a start Marvin drew the dress
over his eyes, and shrunk back into the shadowy
corner, while Meg, confused and alarmed,
sprang to her feet.

The visitor was Mr. Acton.

Having learned where Gordon lived, and
firmly believing that the villain had been instrumental
in stealing his child, Mr. Acton
had ventured to go alone in the night directly
to the residence of the burglar, in hopes
of finding his son. Meg recognized him at
once, and trembled at the possibility of his
recognizing her. Thanks to her dress, and
the imperfect light in the room, Acton was
not aware that he had ever seen her before.

`One Gordon lives here I believe,' said
he, after casting his eye about the room.

His voice was low but earnest, and Meg
felt compelled to make answer in the affirmative.

`Can I see him?'

`He is not at home.'

`Has he been out long?'

`It is about two hours since he left,' replied
the old woman.

She saw that Mr. Acton had no suspicions
of her, and satisfied that the child had been
traced to her house, she thought she might
as well tell the truth about Gordon, as to
make up a story for the occasion.

`Do you expect him soon?' continued Mr.
Acton.

`He may not be here to-night,' replied
Meg, anxious to drive him away.

Having removed towards the centre of the
room, Mr. Acton once more cast his eyes
about him, and perceived in the exact spot
where Marvin was concealed, what struck
him forcibly as being the outlines of a man's
lower extremities.

Marvin, meanwhile, saw with no little
trepidation, as he looked through a rent in
the garment before his face, the visitor approaching
him, and riveting his searching
eyes upon his uncovered feet. There was
but one way to escape discovery, and that
Marvin resolved boldly to adopt.

As Acton's hand was extended to lift the
garment that concealed his features, Marvin
burst from his hiding place, tore down the
old dress and threw it over Mr. Acton's
eyes, and dashing across the room, extinguished
the light before Mr. Acton could
cast a single glance at his face.

The room was in total darkness. Mr. Acton
sprang forward to grasp the fugitive, but
Marvin was upon the stairs before his pursuer
reached the door.

`Strike a light, quick!' cried Mr. Acton,
as he dashed against the wall in the darkness,
and went staggering across the room.

Meg fumbled about the room for some
time, and at last succeeded in lighting the
lamp.

`Was that Gordon?' demanded Mr. Acton,
grasping her arm.

`No,' answered Meg, sharply.

Mr. Acton, anxious to clear up the mystery,
and to find his child, pressed the old woman
to speak frankly, and tell him all she

knew of Gordon's late transactions, but
finding her obstinate in her refusal to tell
him more than he already knew, he reluctantly
left the house.

It was late when Mr. Acton reached
home. His wife, agitated by the events of
that afternoon, was alone in her room, awaiting
his return. Mr. Acton entered; their
eyes met; and in the look of both was the
anxious inquiry,

`Has the child been found?'

And the expression of hopeless grief, anxiety
and fear that followed, was the only reply.

`Our friends,' said Mrs. Acton, `have
made thorough search in every direction, far
and near, but the poor boy is no where to be
found. God grant that the morning may
bring some intelligence of what has become
of him!'

But the morning came, and still there was
no news of the absent Robert.

In the forenoon the search was continued
with the same success as on the night before.
There was now no longer any room to hope
that the child had not been stolen.

Before the night again set in it was known
that Mr. Acton had offered a reward of
one thousand dollars for the restoration of
his son.

It was not until the day following that
Meg Munson saw the announcement, in
print, of the boy's disappearance, and of the
sum that would be paid to any one who
would bring him back safely to his parents;
and that announcement served only to fire
her avaricious heart with uncontrollable passions.
Like the hungry wild beast that is
allowed the sight and smell of flesh he cannot
reach, she was wrought into a fury.

That golden reward she could not claim.

`Ye fiends!' she muttered through her
teeth set with rage, `assist me to find the
child! Bring Gordon back to me, if it is
with a rope around his neck!'

She had not heard from the burglar since
the hour of his disappearance, when he car
ried Robert away in his arms; and what he
had done with the boy Meg Munson could
not divine.

She raved like a maniac. After originating
the plot himself, and stealing the child,
to have him stolen from her, and the reward
withheld from her hands, was maddening in
the highest degree to an avaricious nature
like hers.

In the midst of her trouble she knew not
whom to apply to for assistance. As she
was considering the practicability of letting
some of her associates in crime into the secret
and requiring their aid, she was visited
by an old acquaintance of the reader.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon that
Light Joe came swaggering up the stairs.

`Where's Gordon?' he asked.

`Bless us!' exclaimed Meg, `I was just
going to you to see if you couldn't tell me
what has become of him. If you don't
know—'

`I know? Lor'! I havn't seen him in an
age!'

`Then he is gone to the devil; that's
all!'

`Very probable.'

`I wish I had him beneath my feet!'
growled the old woman striking her hand
with her brawny fists.

`Why, my dear Meg, what's the matter?'
asked Joe.

The old woman fixed her basilisk eyes upon
his face, and grasping his arm, said in a
passionate whisper,

`I formed the plan—I stole the child myself—I
brought him here—and now Gordon
has carried him off, and will he get the reward.'

`The reward!' echoed Joe.

`Mr. Acton,' pursued the old woman,
slowly and distinctly, `has offered one thousand
dollars—'

`For the child?'

`Yes; for as worthless a thing as that;—
and now that the reward is to be had,' added

Meg in the bitterness of her anger,—
`neither Gordon nor the child can I find!'

`What can I do for you?' asked Joe.

`Find Gordon!'

`Where shall I look for him?'

This was a question the old woman could
not answer. She at last told him to go to
Kate, and learn if she had heard from either
Gordon or the child.

`Why don't you go yourself?' asked Light
Joe.

Meg related the events of the evening
when Mr. Acton visited her, and replied that
she feared being recognized.

Under such circumstances, Joe promised
to go himself to visit Kate.

It was not without some scruples that the
young burglar ventured upon ground he had
trod in the capacity of house-breaker, being
impressed with the possibility of such a
thing as detection; but he was a brave youth,
and shaking off all foolish fears, he boldly
called for Kate at Acton Hall.

He found her very pale and very sad.

`What ails you?' asked Joe, when they
were alone.

`I know you'll think me very weak, dear
Joe,' she replied, brushing away a tear, `and
you will laugh at me perhaps when I tell
you.'

`Let's hear it,' said the young burglar,
kindly.

`Had it been a mere robbery,' pursued
Kate, `I shouldn't have cared; but to think
I have helped rob them of a child—a dear
and only child!'

And the poor girl sobbed aloud.

`Fie, fie!' exclaimed Light Joe, with an
attempt at a laugh; (he brushed away a
tear, however, as he spoke,)—it ain't all
your fault. Besides, they'll get the boy
again soon.'

`That is possible; but to see such an agony
of grief and suspense they are in now,'
sobbed Kate; and to think I was the cause
of it, after they have been so kind to me!'

It seemed that the poor girl's heart would
break beneath its load of sorrow and self-reproach.

`Do they suspect you?' asked Joe.

`Suspect me? no!' replied Kate, `I wish
they did, for it would not make me feel so
bad as it does to have them think my sadness
now all arises from pure sympathy with
them.

`Kate,' said Joe, with more feeling than
was his wont, `you are a better girl than I
believed you once. You are too good for
the life you lead, by far. You have a kind
heart, and I love you far better for it. I
swear never to tempt you to do wrong again
as I live, and I will reform myself, if I can
conveniently. Then, dear Kate, we will be
married, and try to live honestly. Mine is
a ticklish profession, and I hate it.'

`Dear Joe,' said the girl, `dont you think
people are happier when they are honest and
virtuous? I do—in fact, I know they are
happier. Oh! I would give worlds of wealth
if I was as innocent and happy as I once
was!'

Kate covered her face with her hands,
weeping bitterly; Joe brushed away a second
tear that glistened in his eye, as if half
ashamed to be seen there, and drawing Kate
gently to his bosom imprinted a fond kiss upon
her lips. Then, with a strange feeling
in his heart, such as he had seldom experienced
before, he hastened back to town, to
inform Meg that he could hear nothing of
Gordon.