. All the papers, all the shops, were
full of his wife and her movements; he alone knew nothing of them.

As he walked back, up Broadway, he looked at the bulletin boards. He had
a habit of doing this now. In front of the _Herald_ office they were
changing the bulletin, and he waited a moment to see. The first line on
the new broadside he read aloud:

"_Mrs. Oswald Carey sails for Brazil._"

Carey went in and bought a copy of the newspaper. In it he found the
sailing-list of the City of Rio, and there the first name was "Mrs.
Oswald Carey and maid," and then, just below, "Jarley Jawkins."

Carey stood on the sidewalk several minutes, like a statue. Then, slowly
crumpling up the newspaper in his hand, he threw it in the gutter. That
night he was a passenger in the emigrant train for the North-west.

CHAPTER XX.

"FROM CHAIN TO CHAIN."

"Mr. Windsor," said the Duke of Bayswater to his host, as the two were
sitting in the library of the latter's house in Boston, "I have received
to-day a letter from our poor friend Sydney from my late residence,
Dartmoor Prison. It is exceedingly interesting to me."

"Poor fellow," answered Mr. Windsor. "What a pity it was that we could
not effect his escape with the rest of you. How does he bear up?"

"Ah! pretty well, pretty well," answered the Duke, rubbing his
gold-bowed spectacles with a white silk handkerchief. "But still, I must
say that the poor fellow seems very down-hearted. Shall I read you his
letter?"

Mr. Windsor bowed assent, and the Duke adjusted his spectacles to his
sharp aquiline nose, and read, in faltering tones:

"DARTMOOR PRISON, 198-.

"DEAR DUKE: I was delighted that you all made good escape on that
eventful night of the fog. It is foolish to complain of fate, or
rather of the life of free living, which made me have a tendency to
rheumatic gout. As I sat on the edge of the canal and watched you
then, as you suddenly disappeared over the hill, I cursed all
French cooks and vintages, and my roystering old grandfather to
boot. But I led the guard, who were hot on your scent, a devil's
own dance when they found that the lock of the last bridge was
filled with pebbles. But I am delighted that you others escaped; I
could not bear to imagine you, dear Duke, whose magnificent
hospitality I had enjoyed in days gone by, cramped in a narrow
cell,