Glancing through the window he saw that they were in front of a
railroad track upon which a long freight train was rushing madly along
at a giddy pace for a mere freight. The driver had evidently hoped to
pass this point before the train got there, but had failed. The train
had an exultant sound as if it knew and had outwitted the driver.
On one side of the street were high buildings and on the other a great
lumber yard, between which and their carriage there stood a team of
horses hitched to a covered wagon, from the back of which some boards
protruded, and this was on the side next to Celia where the door would
open! Gordon’s heart leaped up with hope and wonder over the miracle
of their opportunity. The best thing about their situation was that
their driver had stopped just a little back of the covered wagon, so
that their door would open to the street directly behind the covered
wagon. It made it possible for the carriage door to swing wide and for
them to slip across behind the wagon without getting too near to the
driver. Nothing could have been better arranged for their escape and
the clatter of the empty freight cars drowned all sounds.
Without delay Gordon softly unlatched the door and swung it open
whispering to Celia:
“Go! Quick! Over there by the fence in the shadow. Don’t look around
nor speak! Quick! I’ll come!”
Trembling in every limb yet with brave starry eyes Celia slipped like
a wraith from the carriage, stole behind the boards and melted into
the shadow of the great fence of the lumber yard, her purple plumes
mere depths of shadow against the smoky planks. Gordon, grasping the
suit-cases, moved instantly after her, deftly and silently closing
the carriage door and dropping into the shadows behind the big wagon,
scarcely able to believe as yet that they had really escaped.
Ten feet back along the sidewalk was a gateway, the posts being tall
and thick. The gate itself was closed but it hung a few inches inside
the line of the fence, and into this depression the two stepped softly
and stood, flattening themselves back against the gate as closely as
possible, scarcely daring to breathe, while the long freight clattered
and rambled its way by like a lot of jolly washerwomen running and
laughing in a line and spatting their tired noisy feet as they went;
then the vehicles impatiently took up their onward course. Gordon
saw the driver look down at the window below him and glance back
hastily over his shoulder, and the man on the other side of the box,
looked down on his side. The glitter of something in his hand shone
for an instant in the glare of the signal light over the track. Then
the horse lurched forward and the cab began its crazy gait over the
track and up the cobbled street. They had started onward without
getting down to look in the carriage and see if all were safe with
their prisoners, and they had not even looked back to see if they had
escaped. They evidently trusted in the means they had used to lock
the carriage doors, and had heard no sounds of their escaping. It was
incredible, but it was true. Gordon drew a long breath of relief and
relaxed from his strained position. The next thing was to get out of
that neighborhood as swiftly as possible before those men had time to
discover that their birds had flown. They would of course know at once
where their departure had taken place and come back swiftly to search
for them, with perhaps more men to help; and a second time escape would
be impossible.
Gordon snatched up the suit-cases with one hand, and with the other
drew Celia’s arm within his.
“Now, we must hurry with all our might,” he said softly. “Are you all
right?”
“Yes.” Her breath was coming in a sob, but her eyes were shining
bravely.
“Poor child!” his voice was very tender. “Were you much frightened?”
“A little,” she answered more bravely now.
“I shall have hard work to forgive myself for all this,” he said
tenderly. “But we mustn’t talk. We have to get out of this quickly or
they may come back after us. Lean on me and walk as fast as you can.”
Celia bent her efforts to take long springing strides, and together
they fairly skimmed the pavements, turning first this corner, then
that, in the general direction from which Gordon thought they had
come, until at last, three blocks away they caught the welcome whirr
of a trolley, and breathless, flew onward, just catching a car. They
cared not where it went so that they were safe in a bright light with
other people. No diamonds on any gentleman’s neckscarf ever shone to
Celia’s eyes with so friendly a welcome as the dull brass buttons on
that trolley conductor’s coat as he rang up their fares and answered
Gordon’s questions about how to get to East Liberty station; and their
pleasant homely gleam almost were her undoing, for now that they were
safe at last the tears would come to her eyes.
Gordon watched her lovingly, tenderly, glad that she did not know how
terrible had been her danger. His heart was still beating wildly
with the thought of their marvellous escape, and his own present
responsibility. He must run no further risks. They would keep to
crowded trolleys, and trust to hiding in the open. The main thing was
to get out of the city on the first train they could manage to board.
When they reached East Liberty station a long train was just coming in,
all sleepers, and they could hear the echo of a stentorian voice:
“Special for Harrisburg, Baltimore and Washington! All aboard!” and
up at the further end of the platform Gordon saw the lank form of
the detective whom he had tried to avoid an hour before at the other
station.
Without taking time for thought he hurried Celia forward and they
sprang breathlessly aboard. Not until they were fairly in the cars and
the wheels moving under them did it occur to him that his companion had
had nothing to eat since about twelve o’clock. She must be famished,
and in a fair way to be ill again. What a fool he was not to have
thought! They could have stopped in some obscure restaurant along the
way as well as not, and taken a later train, and yet it was safer to
get away at once. Without doubt there were watchers at East Liberty,
too, and he was lucky to have got on the train without a challenge. He
was sure that detective’s face lighted strangely as he looked his way.
Perhaps there was a buffet attached to the train. At least, he would
investigate. If there wasn’t, they must get off at the next stop--there
must be another stop surely somewhere near the city--he could not
remember, but there surely must be.
They had to wait some time to get the attention of the conductor. He
was having much trouble with some disgruntled passengers who each
claimed to have the same berth. Gordon finally got his ear, and showing
his stateroom tickets inquired if they could be used on this train.
“No,” growled the worried conductor. “You’re on the wrong train. This
is a special, and every berth in the train is taken now but one upper.”
“Then, we’ll have to get off at the next stop, I suppose, and take the
other train,” said Gordon dismally.
“There isn’t any other stop till somewhere in the middle of the night.
I tell you this is a special, and we’re scheduled to go straight
through. East Liberty’s the last stop.”
“Then what shall we do?” asked Gordon inanely.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” snapped the conductor. “I’ve enough to do
without mending other people’s mistakes. Stay aboard, I suppose,
unless you want to jump off and commit suicide.”
“But I have a lady with me who isn’t at all well,” said Gordon, with
dignity.
“So much the worse for the lady,” replied the conductor inhumanly.
“There’s one upper berth, I told you.”
“An upper berth wouldn’t do for her,” said Gordon decidedly. “She isn’t
well, I tell you.”
“Suit yourself!” snapped the harassed official. “I reckon it’s better
than nothing. You may not have it long. I’m likely to be asked for it
the next half minute.”
“Is that so? And is there absolutely nothing else?”
“Young man, I can’t waste words on you. I haven’t time. Take it or let
it alone. It’s all one to me. There’s some standing room left in the
day-coach, perhaps.”
“I’ll take it,” said Gordon meekly, wishing he could go back and undo
the last half-hour. How in the world was he to go and tell Celia that
he could provide her nothing better than an upper berth?
She was sitting with her back to him, her face resting wearily on her
hand against the window. Two men with largely checked suits, big seal
rings, and diamond scarf-pins sat in the opposite seat. He knew it
was most unpleasant for her. A nondescript woman with a very large hat
and thick powder on her face shared Celia’s seat. He reflected that
“specials” did not always bear a select company.
“Is there nothing you can do?” he pleaded with the conductor, as he
took the bit of pasteboard entitling him to the last vacant berth.
“Don’t you suppose you could get some man to change and give her a
lower berth? It’ll be very hard for her. She isn’t used to upper
berths.”
His eyes rested wistfully on the bowed head. Celia had taken off her
plumed hat, and the fitful light of the car played with the gold of her
hair. The conductor’s grim eye softened as he looked.
“That the lady? I’ll see what I can do,” he said briefly, and stumped
off to the next car. The miracle of her presence had worked its change
upon him.
Gordon went over to Celia and told her in a low tone that he hoped to
have arrangements made for her soon, so that she could be comfortable.
She must be fearfully tired with the excitement and fright and hurry.
He added that he had made a great blunder in getting on this train,
and now there was no chance to get off for several hours, perhaps, and
probably no supper to be had.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter in the least,” said Celia wearily. “I’m not at
all hungry.” She almost smiled when she said it. He knew that what she
wanted was to have her mind relieved about the letters. But she readily
saw that there was no opportunity now.
She even seemed sorry at his troubled look, and tried to smile again
through the settled sadness in her eyes. He could see she was very
weary, and he felt like a great brute in care of a child, and mentally
berated himself for his own thoughtlessness.
Gordon started off to search for something to eat for her, and was
more successful than he had dared hope. The newsboy had two chicken
sandwiches left, and these, with the addition of a fine orange, a box
of chocolates, and a glass of ice-water, he presently brought to her,
and was rewarded by a smile this time, almost as warm and intimate as
those she had given him during their beautiful day.
But he could not sit beside her, for the places were all taken, and he
could not stand in the aisle and talk, for the porter was constantly
running back and forth making up the berths. There seemed to be a
congested state of things in the whole train, every seat being full and
men standing in the aisles. He noticed now that they all wore badges
of some fraternal order. It was doubtless a delegation to some great
convention, upon which they had intruded. They were a good-natured,
noisy, happy crowd, but not anywhere among them was to be found
a quiet spot where he and Celia could go on with their suddenly
interrupted conversation. Presently the conductor came to him and said
he had found a gentleman who would give the lady his lower berth and
take her upper one. It was already made up, and the lady might take
possession at once.
Gordon made the exchange of tickets, and immediately escorted Celia to
it. He found her most glad to go for she was now unutterably weary, and
was longing to get away from the light and noise about her.
He led the way with the suit-cases, hoping that in the other car there
would be some spot where they could talk for a few minutes. But he was
disappointed. It was even fuller than in the first car. He arranged
everything for her comfort as far as possible, disposed of her hat and
fixed her suit-case so that she could open it, but even while he was
doing it there were people crowding by, and no private conversation
could be had. He stepped back when all was arranged and held the
curtain aside that she might sit on the edge of her berth. Then
stooping over he whispered:
“Try to trust me until morning. I’ll explain it all to you then, so
that you will understand how I have had nothing to do with those
letters. Forget it, and try to rest. Will you?”
His tone was wistful. He had never wanted to do anything so much in all
his life as to stoop and kiss those sweet lips, and the lovely eyes
that looked up at him out of the dusky shadows of the berth, filled
with fear and longing. They looked more than ever like the blue tired
flowers that drooped from her gown wearily. But he held himself with a
firm hand. She was not his to kiss. When she knew how he had deceived
her, she would probably never give him the right to kiss her.
“I will try,” she murmured in answer to his question, and then added:
“But where will you be? Is your berth nearby?”
“Not far away--that is, I had to take a place in another car, they are
so crowded.”
“Oh!” she said a little anxiously. “Are you sure you have a good
comfortable place?”
“Oh, yes, I shall be all right,” he answered joyously. It was so
wonderful to have her care whether he was comfortable or not.
The porter was making up the opposite berth, and there was no room to
stand longer, so he bade her good night, she putting out her hand for a
farewell. For an instant he held it close, with gentle pressure, as if
to reassure her, then he went away to the day-coach, and settled down
into a hard corner at the very back of the car, drawing his travelling
cap over his eyes, and letting his heart beat out wild joy over that
little touch of her dear hand. Wave after wave of sweetness went over
him, thrilling his very soul with a joy he had never known before.
And this was love! And what kind of a wretch was he, presuming to love
like this a woman who was the promised bride of another man! Ah, but
such a man! A villain! A brute, who had used his power over her to make
her suffer tortures! Had a man like that a right to claim her? His
whole being answered “no.”
Then the memory of the look in her eyes, the turn of her head, the
soft touch of her fingers as they lay for that instant in his, the
inflection of her voice, would send that wave of sweetness over his
senses, his heart would thrill anew, and he would forget the wretch who
stood between him and this lovely girl whom he knew now he loved as he
had never dreamed a man could love.
Gradually his mind steadied itself under the sweet intoxication, and he
began to wonder just what he should say to her in the morning. It was
a good thing he had not had further opportunity to talk with her that
night, for he could not have told her everything; and now if all went
well they would be in Washington in the morning, and he might make some
excuse till after he had delivered his message. Then he would be free
to tell the whole story, and lay his case before her for decision. His
heart throbbed with ecstasy as he thought of the possibility of her
forgiving him, and yet it seemed most unlikely. Sometimes he would let
his wild longings fancy for just an instant what joy it would be if she
could be induced to let the marriage stand. But he told himself at the
same time that that could never be. It was very likely that there was
some one else in New York to whom her heart would turn if she were free
from the scoundrel who had threatened her into a compulsory marriage.
He would promise to help her, protect her, defend her from the man
who was evidently using blackmail to get her into his power for some
purpose; most likely for the sake of having control of her property.
At least it would be some comfort to be able to help her out of her
trouble. And yet, would she ever trust a man who had even unwittingly
allowed her to be bound by the sacred tie of marriage to an utter
stranger?
And thus, amid hope and fear, the night whirled itself away. Forward
in the sleeper the girl lay wide awake for a long time. In the middle
of the night a thought suddenly evolved itself out of the blackness
of her curtained couch. She sat upright alertly and stared into the
darkness, as if it were a thing that she could catch and handle and
examine. The thought was born out of a dreamy vision of the crisp
brown waves, almost curls if they had not been so short and thick,
that covered the head of the man who had lain sleeping outside her
curtains in the early morning. It came to her with sudden force that
not so had been the hair of the boy George Hayne, who used to trouble
her girlish days. His was thin and black and oily, collecting naturally
into little isolated strings with the least warmth, and giving him the
appearance of a kitten who had been out in the rain. One lock, how well
she remembered that lock!--one lock on the very crown of his head had
always refused to lie down, no matter how much persuasion was brought
to bear upon it. It had been the one point on which the self-satisfied
George had been pregnable, his hair, that scalp lock that would always
arise stiffly, oilily, from the top of his head. The hair she had
looked at admiringly that morning in the dawning crimson of the rising
sun had not been that way. It had curved clingingly to the shape of the
fine head as if it loved to go that way. It was beautiful and fine and
burnished with a sense of life and vigor in its every wave. Could hair
change in ten years? Could it grow brown where it had been black? Could
it become glossy instead of dull and oily? Could it take on the signs
of natural wave where it had been as straight as a die? Could it grow
like fur where it had been so thin?
The girl could not solve the problem, but the thought was most
startling and brought with it many suggestive possibilities that were
most disturbing. Yet gradually out of the darkness she drew a sort of
comfort in her dawning enlightenment. Two things she had to go on in
her strange premises, he had said he did not write the letters, and his
hair was not the same. Who then was he? Her husband now undoubtedly,
but who? And if deeds and hair could change so materially, why not
spirits? At least he was not the same as she had feared and dreaded.
There was so much comfort.
And at last she lay down and slept.