“As if I wasn’t an honest woman,” continued the virago, following Mrs. Lane. “As if I’d extort on a lone woman! Give me patience! When ye pays the dollar and a half, ye can go; but not a foot shall ye take from my door until then.”
A scuffle took place in the bar-room at that moment, attended by a new eruption of oaths and imprecations.
Quickly sprinting from her chair, Mrs. Lane, with Mary in her arms, glided from the room, and ran panting up-stairs to her chamber, the door of which she locked behind her on entering.
Half an hour of as calm reflection as it was possible for Mrs. Lane to make brought her to the resolution to leave the house at all hazards. Where she was to go, was to be an afterthought. The greatest evil was to remain; after escaping that, she would consider the means of avoiding what followed. Putting on her bonnet and shawl, and taking her basket, she went down-stairs with her child, determined, if possible, to get away unobserved, and after doing so, to send back, by any means that offered, the only dollar she possessed in the world to the landlady. No one met her on the stairs, and she passed the parlour-door unobserved. But, alas! the street-door was found locked and the key withdrawn. After a few ineffectual attempts to open it, Mrs. Lane went into the parlour, and, standing there, debated for some moments whether she should leave the house by passing through the bar-room, or wait for another opportunity to get away by the private entrance. While still bewildered and undetermined the landlady came in from the bar-room.
The moment she saw her guest, she comprehended the purpose in her mind.
“Where are ye going?” said she in a quick sharp voice, the blood rising to her coarse sensual face.
“I am going to leave your house,” replied Mrs. Lane, in as firm a voice as she could command. As she spoke she drew forth her purse, and taking out the solitary dollar it contained, added—”Unfortunately, this is all the money I have with me, but I will send you the other half-dollar.”
But the landlady refused to take the proffered money, and replied, indignantly,
“A purty how d’you do, indeed, to come into a genteel body’s house, and then expect to get off without paying your bill. But ye don’t know Biddy McGinnis—ye don’t! If yees wants to go paceable, pay the dollar and a half. But until this is done, ye shall not cross my door-stone.”
“I can’t stay here! What good will it do?” said Mrs. Lane, wringing her hand. “It’s all the money I’ve got; and remaining won’t increase the sum, while it adds to the debt. Better let me go now.”
“Indade, and ye’ll not go, thin, my lady! I’ll tache yees to come into a respectable body’s house without as much money in yer pocket as ‘ll pay for the night’s lodging. I wonder who ye are, any how! No better than ye should be, I’ll warrint!”
While speaking, the Irishwoman had drawn nearer and nearer, and now stood with her face only a few inches from that of her distressed guest, who, bursting into tears, clasped her hands together, and sobbed—
“Let me go! let me go! If you have the heart of a woman, let me go!”
“Heart of a woman, indade!” returned Mrs. McGinnis, indignantly. “Yer a purty one to talk to me about the heart of a woman. Stalein into a body’s house at twelve o’clock at night, and thin tryin’ to go off without paying for the lodgings and breakfast. Purty doings!”
“What’s the matter here?” said a well dressed man, stepping in from the bar-room and closing the door behind him. “What do you mean by talking to the lady in this way, Mrs. McGinnis? I’ve been listening to you.”
There was an instant change in the Irishwoman. Her countenance fell, and she retreated a few steps from the object of her vituperation.
“What’s all this about? I should like to know,” added the man in a decided way. “Will you explain, madam?” addressing Mrs. Lane, in a kind voice. “But you are agitated. Sit down and compose yourself.”
“Let her pay me my money, that’s all I want,” muttered the landlady.
In a moment the man’s purse was drawn from his pocket. “What does she owe you?”
“A dollar and a half, bad luck till her!”
“There’s your money, you old termagant!” And the man handed her the amount. “And now, as you are paid, and have nothing more to say to this lady, please to retire and let her be freed from your presence.”
“Yees needint call me ill names, Misther Bond,” said the woman, in a subdued voice, as she retired. “It doesn’t become a jentilman like you. I didn’t mane any harm. I only wanted my own, and sure I’ve a right to that.”
“Well, you’ve got your own, though not in a way that does either you or your house much credit,” returned the man. “The next time you are so fortunate as to get a lady in your hotel, I hope you’ll know better how to treat her.”
Mrs. McGinnis retired without further remark, and the man turned to Mrs. Lane, and said, in a kind, respectful manner,
“I am sorry to find you so unhappily situated, and will do any thing in my power to relieve you from your present embarrassment. Your landlady here is a perfect virago. How did you happen to fall into her hands?”
Encouraged by the kindness of the man’s address, as well as from the fact that he had rescued her from a violent woman, Mrs. Lane, after composing herself, said—
“I came in from New York last night, and, being a stranger, asked the cabman to take me to a good hotel. He brought me here. I happened to have but two dollars in my purse, he charged one for carriage hire.”
“The extortioner!”
“Finding into what a wretched place he had brought me, I wished to leave this morning, but have been prevented because I could not pay a dollar and a half when I had only a dollar. I told her to let me go, and I would send her the balance claimed; but she only met the proposition by insult.”
“The wretch!” exclaimed the man, indignantly. “I happened to be passing, and, hearing her loud voice, glanced in at the window. In an instant I comprehended, to some extent, the difficulty; and, knowing her of old, came in to see if something were not wrong. She is a bad woman, and her house is a snare for the innocent. It is fortunate for you that I came at the right moment!”
Mrs. Lane shuddered.
“And now, madam,” said the man, “what can I do for you? Have you friends in the city?”
“I am an entire stranger here,” replied Mrs. Lane.
“Were you going farther?
“Yes,” was answered after some hesitation.
“Where do your friends reside?”
“In New York.”
“Ah!”
“This is your child?” was said, after a pause.
“Yes.”
There was something in the man’s manner, and in the way he looked at her, that now made Mrs. Lane shrink from, as instinctively as she had at first leaned towards him. Beneath his steady eye her own drooped and rested for some moments on the floor.
“Is your husband in New York?” pursued the man.
This question caused the heart of Mrs. Lane to bound with a sudden throb. Her husband! She had deserted him, her natural and lawful protector, and already she was encompassed with difficulties and surrounded by dangers. What would she not at that moment have given to be safely back in the home she had left? To the last question she gave a simple affirmative.
“Where do you wish to go when you leave here?” inquired the man, who had perceived a change in her and understood its nature.
“I wish to be taken to a good hotel, where I can remain a day or two, until I have time to communicate with my friends. My being out of money is owing to an inadvertence. I will receive a supply immediately on writing home.”
The man drew his purse from his pocket, and, presenting it, said—
“This is at your service. Take whatever you need.”
Mrs. Lane thanked him, but drew back.