her room, very ill; but she trusts that you will go up and see her—”
I assented, and then very timidly asked for William. She said he was about to sail for Botany Bay with the next party of convicts; that he was patient and resigned, and bore his fate better than could have been expected.
“Poor fellow!” she added, with real feeling, “he is very young, and was badly trained. I declare to you, Miss Morton, we never, either of us, knew what goodness was till we became acquainted with you.”
I looked, doubtless, as I was, astonished.
“No! our parents educated us without any principle,” she continued, “and though poor William so generously acquitted his family of all complicity in his guilt, they did not deserve it.”
At this minute the ill-looking man-servant opened the door and said Mrs. Deloraine would be glad to see me alone in the north parlour, an upper sitting-room in the gable end of the house. I did not know how to refuse, though Kate’s revelation had made me feel very uncomfortable. So I followed the man up-stairs into the little parlour where she and I had been wont to sit and talk and work during our brief intimacy. There was no one there; but James, muttering that Mrs. Deloraine would come directly, placed a chair for me and left the room, closing the door after him. I walked to the window, and looked out. The casement (it was nothing more) opened upon that part of the shrubbery in which the old oak, with its suspicious earth-hole, stood. As it caught my eye, the same misgiving I had felt just before, rushed on my mind. Was I looking at my own grave? . . . Very uneasy, I walked at once to the door, determined to go away immediately, but, on turning the handle, I found it was no longer possible for me to do so,—I was locked in! Obeying a first impulse I shook the door violently, and called loudly to be let out. No voice answered me.
I looked round the room; there was no other door, though, I remembered; and the window was too high up for me to jump out on the top of the verandah; yet even that I might be obliged to dare. I was evidently at the mercy of these people, whose aim in luring me thither, and making me a prisoner, must of course be to rob or murder me. With renewed fear I gazed out of the window on the gathering twilight. The wind moaned and sobbed round the old house, and shook the ill-fitting casement. I opened it and called for help as loudly as I could; but the breeze blowing full in my face nearly stifled my voice; and, save the old trees which creaked and bowed their huge heads towards me, I saw no living thing outside.
Twilight deepened into night, and I sank on my knees and prayed fervently for help in my hour of sore peril. I rose, strengthened with a new hope and fresh courage. I felt that I had enlisted a Mighty defender on my side.
At last, after a period of suspense which appeared years to me, I heard footsteps advancing to the door; the key turned in the lock, and Mrs. Deloraine—no cripple, but an agile, powerful woman—entered, followed by James, bearing a light and an inkstand.
“What is your meaning in thus making me a prisoner?” I asked firmly.
“I should think your own conscience would tell you, traitress!” was the reply. “Betrayer of my darling boy! The death he so narrowly escaped would be too good for you.”
“But he owes that escape to me, Mrs. Deloraine.”
“Yes! he is to live, that you may not suffer remorse. I understand it all. But what kind of life?—that of a felon!—my boy!—my pride!”
She clasped her hands passionately. The man whispered sullenly in her ear.
“You are right,” she said, “put down the ink, and get yonder writing-case. I suppose Miss Morton does not travel with a cheque-book in her pocket?”
“For once she does,” I answered steadily. “I feared poor Kate might need assistance, and put it in my pocket.”
And I drew it out.
“That is well!” she said, sternly. “Sit down and write a cheque for five hundred pounds.”
I complied readily. I had but fifty of my own allowance in my banker’s hands; for I had spent liberally of late, and had no present command of the large fortune I inherited. I felt convinced that her rapacity would defeat its object, for the banker would make inquiries before he cashed such a cheque. But the same thought had evidently occurred also to the man.
“It is too much!” he said, slowly, “fifty will be enough for our immediate wants. We dare not present a larger cheque.”
With a murmur, Mrs. Deloraine put the first cheque in her pocket, and desired me to write another—perhaps she kept the five hundred for some future opportunity.
“That will do,” said the man, taking the second; “now, come,”—to his mistress—“we have no time to lose.”
They turned to leave the room.
“You will allow me to go home now?” I asked.
“That is so probable!” said the woman, sarcastically. “That you may betray us again.”
“But I will pledge you my honour not to send after you, or give any clue to what has passed.”
“Oh! but you may be put upon your oath!” cried Mrs. Deloraine, mockingly.
“That is impossible, unless I gave information of my imprisonment; as for the money, it is a free gift—I intended to help you, as I told you.”
She sneered again.
“No doubt! Nevertheless as you might repent of it, we will not try you. Now listen! I hated you from the time you won my boy’s heart from me, and marred his young life for ever; and I swore, when I heard that you had betrayed him, to avenge him. I do so now! With the money you have given us, Kate and I will follow him to his place of exile. We shall have a success there, I fancy! For you,—you will remain in this room. It is not known in the town that we are here now; we were supposed to have left yesterday, therefore no trades people are likely to come near the house—in fact they have not troubled us with calls lately,—and as there is no food in the larder, and you might be starved, we shall lay a train