om jail. In the long interval
I had married the Newark widow, and had served a brief term in the New
Jersey State prison for doing it; I had married Mary Gordon, in New
Hampshire, and had run away, not only from her, but from constables and
the prison in that state; the mock marriage with the Rutland woman at
Troy, and the altogether too real marriage with the Montpelier milliner
had followed; I had spent three wretched years in the Vermont prison at
Windsor; and numerous other exciting adventures had checkered my career.
What had happened to Sarah and her son during all this while? There was
not a week in the whole time since our sudden separation when I had
not thought of Sarah; and now I was near her old home, with means at
my command, leisure on my hands, and I was determined to know something
about her and the child.

So long a time had elapsed and I was so changed in my personal
appearance that I had little fear of being recognized by any one in
Pennsylvania or the adjoining part of New Jersey, who would molest me.
The old matters must have been pretty much forgotten by all but the very
few who were immediately interested in them. It was safe to make the
venture at all events, and, I resolved to make the venture to see and
learn what I could.

I had the idea in my mind that if Sarah was alive and well, and free,
I should be able to induce her to fulfil her promise to come to me, and
that we might go somewhere and settle down and live happily together. At
any rate, I would try to see her and our child.

I did not communicate a word of all this to my son Henry. I told him I
was going to New Jersey to visit some friends, to look for business, and
I would like to have him accompany me. He consented; I hired a horse and
carriage, and one bright morning we started. I had no friends to visit,
no business to do, except to see Sarah--the dearest and best--loved of
all my wives.

When we reached Water Gap I found an old acquaintance in the landlord of
the hotel, and I told him where I was going, and what I hoped to do. He
knew the Scheimers, knew all that had happened eleven years before, and
he told me that Sarah had married again, seven years ago, and was the
mother of two more children. She lived on a farm, half a mile from
Oxford, and her husband who had married her for her money, and had
been urged upon her by her parents, was a shiftless, worthless, drunken
fellow. The boy--my boy--was alive and well, and was with