“Only get me into some safe place, until I can write to my friends,” said she, “and you would lay both them and me under the deepest obligations.”
The man arose at this, and stepping into the bar room, desired the bar-keeper to send for a carriage. From a stand near by one was called. When it came to the door, he informed Mrs. Lane of the fact, and asked if she were ready to go.
“Where will you take me?” she asked.
“To the United States Hotel,” replied the man. “You could not be in a safer or better place.”
On hearing this, Mrs. Lane arose without hesitation, and, going from the house, entered the carriage with the man, and was driven away. Drawing her veil over her face, she shrank into a corner of the vehicle, and remained in sad communion with her own thoughts for many minutes. From this state of abstraction, the stopping of the carriage aroused her. The driver left his seat and opened the door, when her companion stepped forth, saying as he did so—
“This is the place,” and offering at the same time his hand.
As Mrs. Lane descended to the street, she glanced with a look of anxious inquiry around her. Already a suspicion that all might not be right was disturbing her mind. Two years before she had been in Philadelphia, and had stayed several days at the United States Hotel. She remembered the appearance of the building and the street, but now she did not recognise a single object. All was strange.
“Is this the United States Hotel?” she asked eagerly.
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” was the smiling reply. “We are at the private entrance.”
Her bewildered mind was momentarily deceived by this answer, and she permitted herself to be led into a house, which she soon discovered not to be an hotel. The most dreadful suspicions instantly seized her. So soon as she was shown into a parlour, the man retired. A woman came in shortly afterwards, who, from her appearance, seemed to be the mistress of the house. She spoke kindly to Mrs. Lane, and asked if she would walk up into her room.
“There has been some mistake,” said the poor wanderer, her lips quivering in spite of her efforts to assume a firm exterior.
“Oh, no, none at all,” quickly replied the woman, smiling.
“Yes, yes there is. I am not in the hotel where I wished to go. Why have I been brought here? Where is the man with whom I came?”
“He has gone away; but will return again. In the mean time do not causelessly distress yourself. You are safe from all harm.”
“But I am not where I wished to go,” replied Mrs. Lane. “Will you be kind enough to give me the direction of the United States Hotel, and I will walk there with my child.”
The woman shook her head.
“I could not permit you to go until Mr. Bond returned,” said she. “He brought you here, and will expect to find you when he comes back.”
“I will not remain.” And as she said this in a firm voice, Mrs. Lane arose, and, taking her little girl in her arms, made an attempt to move through the door into the passage. But the woman stepped before her quickly, and in a mild, yet decided way, told her that she could not leave the house.
“Why not?” asked the trembling creature.
“Mr. Bond has placed you in my care, and will expect to find you on his return,” answered the woman.
“Who is Mr. Bond? What right has he to control my movements?”
“Did you not place yourself in his care?” inquired the woman. “I understood him to say that such was the case.”
“He offered to protect me from wrong and insult.”
“And, having undertaken to do so, he feels himself responsible to your friends for your safe return to their hands. I am responsible to him.”
“Deceived! deceived! deceived!” murmured Mrs. Lane, bursting into tears and sinking into a chair, while she hugged her child tightly in her arms, and laid its face against her own.
The woman seemed slightly moved at this exhibition of distress, and stood looking at the quivering frame of the unhappy fugitive, with a slight expression of regret on her face. After Mrs. Lane had grown calm, the woman said to her:
“Is your husband living?”
“He is,” was answered, in a steady voice.
“Where does he reside?” continued the woman.
“In New York,” replied Mrs. Lane.
“What is his name?”
Mrs. Lane reflected, hurriedly, for some moments, and then gave a correct answer, adding, at the same time, that for any attempted wrong, there would come a speedy and severe retribution. The next inquiry of the woman was as to her husband’s occupation, which was also answered correctly.
“And now,” added Mrs. Lane, with assumed firmness, “you had better let me retire from this place immediately, and thus avoid trouble, which, otherwise, you would be certain to have. My husband is a merchant of influence, and a man who will not stop at half measures in seeking to redress a wrong. This man, whoever he may be, who has so basely deceived me, will find, ere long, that he has done an act which will hot go unpunished, and that severely. As for yourself, be warned in time, and let me go from this place.”
Again Mrs. Lane sought to pass from the room, but was prevented. The woman was neither harsh, rude, nor insulting in her manner, but firmly refused to let her leave the house, saying—”I am responsible for your safe keeping, and cannot, therefore, let you go.”
She then urged her to go up-stairs and lay off her things, but Mrs. Lane refused, in the most positive manner, to leave the parlour.
“You will be more comfortable in the chamber we have prepared for you,” said the woman, coldly; “but you must do as you like. If you want any thing, you can ring for it.”
And saying this, she turned from the room, and locked the door through which she retired. The instant she was gone, Mrs. Lane sprang towards one of the front windows, threw it up and attempted to draw the bolt which fastened the shutter; but her effort was not successfuclass="underline" the bolt remained immovable. On a closer inspection, she found that it was locked. The back window was open, but a glance into the yard satisfied her that it would be useless to attempt escape in that way. Hopeless in mind and paralyzed in body, she again sank down inactive.
Little Mary, who had been left standing on the floor during this effort to escape, now came up to where she had thrown herself upon a sofa, and, laying her little face upon her breast, looked tearfully at her, and said, in a low, sorrowful voice—”Won’t papa come? I want my papa—my dear papa.”
Not a word could the mother reply to her unhappy child, who, in her folly, she had so wronged. Oh, what would she not have given at that moment to see the face of her husband!
Five or six hours had passed. In a small sitting room, near the parlour in which Mrs. Lane was still a prisoner, stood the man named Bond, and the woman who had received her.
“Mrs. Lane did you say she called herself?” said the man, with a sudden change of manner—”and from New York?”
“Yes.”
“Did you inquire her husband’s business?”
“She said he was a merchant of standing, and threatened both you and me with the severest consequences, if she were not instantly released.”
“Can it be possible!” remarked the man, and he stood in a musing attitude for some time. “I’m a little afraid this affair is not going to turn out quite so pleasantly as I at first supposed. I think I know her husband.”
“You do!”
“Yes. We have had several business transactions together, if he is the individual I suppose him to be.”
“Then you had better get her off of your hands as quickly as possible; and this will be no hard matter. Only open the cage-door, and the bird will fly.”
“Confound that Irish huzzy! She and her John Murphy have scared up a nice bit of adventure for me.”
“Both you and they ought to have known better than to expect any thing but trouble from a woman with a baby. As it is, the best thing for you is to get her off of your hands forthwith.”