Jimmy Knight felt his sister's desertion quite as keenly as did his
mother and father, for his schemes, though inchoate, were ambitious,
and his heart was set upon them. Lorelei's obstinacy was
exasperating--a woman's unaccountable freakishness.
He confided his disappointment to Max Melcher. "It's pretty tough,"
complained Jimmy. "I had Merkle going, but she crabbed it. Then just as
that boob Wharton was getting daffier over her every day she gets her
back up and the whole thing is cold."
"You mean it's cold so far as you're concerned," Melcher judicially
amended.
"Sure. She's sore on me, and the whole family."
"Then this is just the time to marry her off. New York is a mighty
lonesome place for a girl like her. Suppose I take a hand."
"All right."
"Will you declare me in?"
"Certainly."
Melcher eyed his associate coldly. "There's no 'certainly' about it.
You'd throw your own mother if you got a chance. But you can't throw
me, understand? You try a cross and--the cold-meat wagon for yours.
I'll have you slabbed at the morgue."
Jimmy's reply left no doubt of the genuineness of his fears, if not of
his intentions. Strange stories were told in the Tenderloin--tales of
treachery punished and ingratitude revenged. Jimmy knew several young
men who appeared out of the East Side at Melcher's signal. They were
inconspicuous fellows, who bore fanciful dime-novel names--Dago Red,
Izzy the Toad, Jew Mike, the Worm, and the rest--and no rustler's
stronghold of the old-time Western cattle country ever boasted more
formidable outlaws than they. New York is law-ridden, therefore
corruption reigns; vice is capitalized, and in consequence there are
men who live not only by roguery, but by violence. They hide in the
crannies of the underworld; politics is their protection. At election
times they do service for men high in authority; betweenwhiles they
thrive on the bickerings and feuds among the despoilers. Jim knew these
gunmen well; he had no wish to know them worse.
"I can't promise anything definite when she's sore on me," he declared.
"Oh yes, you can. She'll marry to please your mother and father, and
she'll fix them up the first thing. Get them to agree to split their
share, and I'll take a hand. If it doesn't go through there's no harm
done."
"I don't see how you're going to frame a marriage--and yet she won't
stand for anything else."
"You'll have to help, of course, and so will your mother. I've a hunch
that we can handle Wharton all right--through booze. A man can be made
to marry anybody if he's drunk enough."
"He's about ready to ask her--SHE'S the one to fix. She hates men,
though, and that Merkle story made her crazy."
"Sore, eh?"
"She talked the Dutch route--thinks her good name is gone, and regards
every man as a hyena."
Melcher pondered for several moments. "I think I know Lorelei better
than you do," he stated, deliberately, "and I believe we can pull this
off, provided Wharton really wants to marry her. Anyhow, he's so rich
it's worth the odds, and she's just the sort to fall for it."
"What's the idea?"
"If she's sore about that story in The Despatch we'll pull another
one--and keep pulling them."
"Humph! That'll queer Wharton."
"Not if you get inside his shirt and make him believe they're lies. You
and your mother will have to convince her that he's her only 'out.'"
"I don't think much of that program," Jim protested, nervously.
Melcher smiled. "A girl like her can be driven anywhere if she's
handled right. Between you and your mother and Lilas you can do it."
"Perhaps, but I doubt it. Ma's got her afraid of men. If we could scare
her good, if we could tip some John to rough it with her some night,
she might stampede to the altar."
"That's easy, but you can't put a stop-order on a thing like that.
There's no telling how far the guy might go."
"Oh, she'll take care of herself," said Jim, carelessly; "she's as
strong as a pony."
"If you'll take the chance I'll stake a shillaber to do it. I've got
half a dozen high-class fellows working the hotels, and Lilas knows
some of them."
Jim shrugged disgustedly. "I suppose I'll have to repent and be a good
boy," he snorted, "and let Lorelei weep on my shoulder. Gee! She makes
me sick."
"I'll take care of my part, and--maybe we can put it through. This is
out of my line, but they do it abroad, so why not here? The girl's no
more than human." Mr. Melcher seemed ingenuously pleading for
reasonableness. "If we make good I'll hang out a sign, 'Max Melcher,
Matrimonial Agent.' Meanwhile I want it understood with your mother
that I share in what comes her way."
"I'll fix that," promised Jim.
He found it, in fact, no very difficult task to regain at least a part
of his sister's lost esteem, though the process took time. He went
about it with the lazy, cat-like patience of his kind, behaved himself,
kept his mouth shut, and assumed just enough of an injured air to be
plausible. He enlisted the aid of his mother and of Lilas Lynn, and
meanwhile made himself as agreeable as possible to Robert Wharton.
Melcher was as good as his word, and there shortly appeared in The
Despatch an unpleasant rehash of the former story. It was published in
connection with the Hammon divorce proceedings, news of which was
exciting comment, and it further smirched Lorelei's reputation. Wharton
ignored it utterly, but Merkle was prompt in his indignation and
sympathy. This unshaken confidence in her afforded Lorelei far more
comfort than Bob's unconcerned attitude, which might be merely the
result of his own lax standards. Upon the other men she knew the effect
of the story was quickly noticeable, and she was forced to be on guard
at all times. Several whom she considered sincere admirers proved to be
quite the opposite; some whom she had counted as friends dropped her
entirely; others of a different sort undertook to press their
acquaintance beyond prudent bounds.
Jim was appropriately indignant, but helpless, and Mrs. Knight
unweariedly blamed everything upon her daughter's desertion of the
family circle, predicting more evil to follow unless Lorelei came home
at once. She also dwelt upon the fact that Peter was steadily failing
and was in immediate need of both medical and surgical attention. The
doctor had pronounced sentence, prescribing a total change of living
and a treatment by foreign specialists.
In some unaccountable way the story of Nobel Bergman's humiliation
became public and afforded the basis for a newspaper article that
brought him to Lorelei's dressing-room in a fine fury. Even after she
had convinced him of her innocence his resentment was so bitter that
she expected her dismissal at any time.
Other press stories followed; the girl suddenly found herself
notorious; scarcely a day passed without some disagreeable mention of
her. There was published a highly imaginative but circumstantial
account of a weak-minded youth whom she had driven to suicide--utterly
false, of course, but difficult to deal with. A Sunday "special"
appeared--one of those fantastic, colored-supplement nightmares--in
which she was pictured as a vampire with an angel's face. It was the
hackneyed "moth and flame" story. The page was luridly decorated with a
swarm of entomological curiosities--winged bipeds supposedly
representing her fatuous admirers. These fond victims of her
enticements appeared to be badly singed and crippled.
Adoree Demorest, as indignant as Lorelei herself, declared finally that
her friend must be the object of a premeditated attack directed by some
strong hand, and once this suspicion had entered Lorelei's mind it took
root in spite of its seeming extravagance. Her good sense argued that
she was of too little consequence to warrant such an assault, but her
relatives seized the suggestion so avidly as to more than half convince
her.
Mrs. Knight attributed this injustice first to Bergman, then to Merkle,
whom she hated bitterly since her unfortunate attempt at blackmail; Jim
was inclined to agree with her.
"Money can do anything," he stated, gloomily, "and these big guys amuse
themselves by hunting beautiful women. It's a game with them. When one
of 'em takes a fancy to a girl she's a goner. It may not be Merkle in
this case, but--you're the handsomest woman in New York, and I'll bet
some old spider is weaving his web for you. When he has spoiled your
good name and ruined your chances of marrying or of making an honest
living he'll creep out and show himself. They frame innocent men for
Sing Sing in this town, so why can't they frame a girl for something
else?"
Lorelei abhorred spiders; the picture of some evil-minded millionaire
enmeshing her in a web of intrigue brought a sickening feeling of
helplessness and apprehension. Of course she thought the idea utterly
fantastic, but Jim and her mother appeared to believe it, and her own
notions of the city's wickedness were so vivid that anything seemed
possible. Certainly some malign influence seemed to be deliberately at
work against her, and a thousand disagreeable incidents, once she took
time to reflect upon them, bore out her suspicions. She was half minded
to run away, but dared not.
Mrs. Knight, as always, ended her sympathetic reassurances by saying,
"If you were only married, my dear, that would end all our troubles."
The climax of these annoyances came one night after a party at which
Lorelei had been presented to an old friend of Miss Lynn's. Lilas had
introduced the man as one of her girlhood chums, and Lorelei had tried
to be nice to him; then in some way he arranged to take her home. The
memory of that ride was a horror.
Lorelei, as Jim had said, was strong, and she fought the ruffian's
attack with the desperation of utter terror; but her shame at the
indignity was so keen that she refrained as long as possible from
crying for help. Then, hearing her screams, the chauffeur stopped his
car and made an investigation. Fortunately for her, he was more of a
man than most night-hawk drivers, and he promptly summoned an officer.
Miss Lynn's girlhood friend waited for no test of the law; he beat a
hasty retreat, uttering threats that rang in Lorelei's ears and
redoubled her previous fears.
Her wrists and arms bore purple marks, her dress was torn, her limbs
shook from the effects of her struggle, and even when she had gained
the security of her rooms she was unable to shake off her fright.
Neither could she sleep, for menacing forms crouched in the darkness:
most of the night she walked the floor in a panic.
She knew now that she was hunted; the man had told her so. She felt
like a deer cowering in a brake with the hounds working close. Her
cover seemed pitifully insecure.
Thus far Max Melcher's campaign had worked even better than he had
expected; and meanwhile he had employed Jim in assiduously cultivating
Robert Wharton and arranging as many meetings as possible between Bob
and Lorelei. A short experience had taught Jim to avoid his victim in
daylight, for in Bob's sober hours the two did not agree; but once
mellowed by intoxication, Wharton became imbued with a carnival spirit
and welcomed Jim as freely as he welcomed every one. Incidentally the
latter managed to reap a considerable harvest from the association, for
Bob was a habitual gambler, and the courteous treatment he received at
Melcher's place seemed to reconcile him to the loss of any amount of
money.
When, on the morning after her distressing adventure, Lorelei sent for
her brother and demanded vengeance upon her assailant he decided that
it was time to test the issue. He pretended, of course, to be
ferociously enraged, but on learning over the telephone that the wretch
had left the city he declared that there was nothing to be done except
perhaps exact an explanation from Lilas.
Miss Lynn, however, could offer no excuse. She was heartbroken at the
occurrence, but she was too full of her own troubles to give way to her
sympathy for others. Jarvis Hammon, it seemed, had heard about the
party, and was furious with her.
"You must expect to meet some muckers in this business," she remarked,
philosophically, "and you've had so much notoriety, my dear, that the
fellow probably wouldn't believe you were all right."
Jim agreed. "I guess you'll have to forget it, Sis. Just don't think
about it. I'll bring Wharton around to-night, and we four will have
supper, eh?"
Lilas's hesitation in accepting this invitation seemed genuine, but she
acquiesced finally, saying with a short laugh: "All right. Maybe a
little jealousy won't hurt my lord and master. He's getting too bossy,
anyhow."
When the four set out that night Robert Wharton was in exceptional
spirits and, as always, devoted himself to Lorelei. For him life was a
joyous adventure; he took things as they came, and now that he knew the
girl for what she was he did not allow himself the slightest liberty.
He was a fervent suitor, to be sure, yet he courted her with jests and
concealed his ardor behind a playful raillery.
Jim had ordered supper at a popular Washington Heights inn, and thither
the quartette were driven in an open car which he hired in the square
beside the theater.
As the glassy expanse of upper Broadway unrolled before them Bob
explained: "My chauffeur quit to invest his savings in real estate, so
I sold my machine. If he'd only listened to my advice and bought stocks
with my money I might have made a good commission and afforded to keep
a car. But nobody deals with the brokers nowadays." He sighed gloomily.
"We live lonely lives. We are objects of suspicion--even the newsboys
bite the pennies we give them."
Jim scoffed. "I suppose you Pittsburg plunderers don't know where your
next meal is coming from."
"Mine is coming from you, I hope, otherwise I'll be a public charge
until banking-hours."
"You've been gambling again," Lorelei accused.
Bob nodded carelessly.
At their destination they found seats on a balcony overlooking the
Hudson; and Jim, being in funds, played host with a prodigality that
mimicked Wharton.
It was a charming place for a supper; the wooded bluffs fell away
abruptly and a cool breath from the river refreshed the diners; the inn
itself was just comfortably filled with merry-makers whom the heat had
driven from the asphalt canons farther down-town; in the distance the
Jersey lights winked like glittering brilliants sewed into the night;
other illuminations swam through the mysterious void separating the
shores; an orchestra played, not too loudly, and several couples were
dancing. It had been a stifling week; people complained that they could
not dine in comfort, yet they tangoed and trotted bravely wherever
there was music and an open floor.
Contrary to her custom, Lilas Lynn allowed herself free rein, and for
once drank more than was good for her, rejoicing openly in the liberty
she had snatched.
It is a peculiar experience to sit soberly through a meal and see one's
companions become intoxicated. Lorelei had often done so, carelessly
enough, but now her recent worries had not only depressed her, but made
her pensive, and it was in no approving mood that she watched Lilas and
Bob respond to the effect of the wine. The whole procedure struck her,
like her present life as a whole, as both inane and wicked, and she
longed desperately to lay hold of something really decent, true, and
permanent.
Jimmy Knight's admirable hospitality continued; he devoted his entire
attention to his guests, he made conversation and he led it into the
channels he desired it to follow. Then, when the psychological moment
had come, he acted with the skill of a Talleyrand. No one but he knew
precisely how Bob's proposal was couched, whence it originated, or by
what subtlety the victim had been induced to make it. As a matter of
fact, it was no proposal, and not even Bob himself suspected how his
words had been twisted. He was just dimly aware of some turn in the
conversation, when he heard Jim exclaim:
"By Jove, Sis, Bob asks you to marry him!"
In prize-ring parlance, Jimmy had "feinted" his opponent into a lead,
then taken prompt advantage to "counter."
Lorelei awoke to her surroundings with a start, sensing the sudden
gravity that had fallen upon her three companions.
"What--?"
Lilas nodded and smiled at the bewildered lover. "That's the way to put
it over, Bob--before witnesses."
"Don't joke about such things," cried Lorelei, sharply.
"Joke? Who's joking?" Jim was indignant and glanced appealingly at Bob.
"You meant it, didn't you?"
"Sure. No joking matter," Bob declared, vaguely.
"I was just saying that this is no life for a fellow to lead--batting
'round the way I do; then Jim said--I mean _I_ said--I needed a wife, a
beautiful wife. I never saw a girl beautiful enough to suit me before,
and he said--"
Jim's relief came as an explosion.
"There! That's English. You spoke a mouthful that time, Bob, for she
certainly is a beauty bright. But I didn't think you had the nerve to
ask her. If she says yes, you'll be the luckiest man in New York--the
whole town's crazy about her."
"We'll make her say yes," Lilas added, with drunken decision. "Come,
dear, say it." She bent a flushed face toward Lorelei and laid a loose
hand upon her arm. "Well? What's your answer?"
Bob fixed heavy eyes upon his heart's desire and echoed: "Yes. What d'
you say?" More than once in his sober moments he had pondered such a
query, and now that it appeared to have taken shape without conscious
effort, he was not displeased with himself.
"I say, YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING," Lorelei responded, curtly.
Now Bob, like all men in his condition, was quite certain that he was
in perfect possession of his faculties, and therefore he very naturally
resented such an absurd assertion. "Don't you b'lieve it," he
protested. "I know what I'm doing, all right, all right."
"A man never speaks his mind until he's ginned," Lilas giggled.
"Righto! I'm not half drunk yet."
Jim urged the suitor on with a nervous laugh, at the same time avoiding
his sister's eyes. "She's stalling, Bob. Make her answer."
"Yes or no?" forcefully insisted the wooer, determined, now, to show
his complete sobriety.
"No."
Jim seized Wharton's hand and shook it lustily. "Congratulations, old
man; that means yes. I'm her brother, and I know. Why, she told father
that you were her ideal, and pa said he'd die happy if you two were
married. He meant it, too; he's a mighty sick man."
Lorelei stirred uncomfortably, and the faint color in her cheeks faded
slowly. "We'll talk about it some other time--to-morrow. Please don't
tease the poor man any more. He didn't know what he was saying,
and--now, for Heaven's sake, talk about something else."
Jim leaped to his feet with a grin and a chuckle, then drew Lilas from
her chair, saying: "The lovers are embarrassed, and they're dying to be
alone. Let's leave 'em to talk it over."
"She's a dear, Bob, and I wish you both joy. But don't kiss her here,"
said Lilas, warningly; then with a wave of her hand she turned toward
the dancing-room with Jim.
"Call us when you've fixed the date," laughed the latter, over his
shoulder.
When he and Lilas had danced the encore and returned to the table Bob
rose unsteadily, glass in hand, and nodded at them.
"Thanks, noble comrades," he proclaimed; "she's mine!"
"Hurrah!" Lilas kissed Lorelei effusively. Jim seized Bob's hand,
crying:
"Brother!" He waved to a waiter and ordered a magnum of champagne.
"Bring me a wreath of orange blossoms and a wedding-cake, too." His
jubilation attracted the attention of the other diners; the occupants
of a near-by table began to applaud, whereupon Bob beamed with delight.
Lorelei was very white now, but she was given no chance to speak. Nor
was there anything for her to say, torn as she was by conflicting
emotions and uncertain of what feeling most strongly possessed her.
Foremost in her thoughts was the realization that she had won the fight
she had been reared and trained for, that the climax of her worldly
hopes had come; but with this she also experienced a sickly loathing
for herself. During Bob's protestations of love she had fought a brief
but disastrous battle. That moral perfidy which had been her teaching
since childhood had influenced her decision no more perhaps than her
terror at the plight in which her mysterious persecution had left her.
Weighing on the same side with these considerations were also the needs
of her family, her own bitter distaste for her present life, and her
desire for peace and outward respectability even at the cost of secret
degradation. She had decided swiftly, recklessly, reasoning that this
proffered marriage was merely a bargain by which she got more than she
gave. She had accepted without allowing her better self an opportunity
to marshal its protests, and, having closed her eyes and leaped into
the dark, it now seemed easier to meet new consequences than to heed
those higher feelings that were tardily struggling for expression. She
did pity Wharton, however, for it seemed to her that he was the injured
party. When he was himself he was a very decent fellow, and it was a
contemptible trick thus to cheat him. It would have been less ignoble
to sell herself outright to a man she detested--for the transaction
would then have been one of dollars and cents, purely, a sacrifice
prompted by necessity, so she reasoned--whereas to impose upon the
weakness of one she rather liked was not only dishonest, but vile.
But she was in a wanton mood to-night, and of late a voice had been
desperately urging her to grasp at what she could, that she might, as
long as possible, delay her descent into worse conditions.
She heard Lilas inquiring: "When does the marriage come off? Right
away?"
Bob, who appeared somewhat dazed by the suddenness and the completeness
of his good fortune, smiled vacantly. "Any time suits me," he said.
"I'm a happy man--little Joys are capering all over the place and old
Dr. Gloom has packed his grip."
Jim startled them all by saying, crisply: "Let's make it to-night. I
know Bob--he's not the sort to wait."
"Fine! Never thought of that." Bob welcomed the suggestion with a
delight that drowned Lorelei's frightened protest; then, as the idea
grew in his mind, he joyously appropriated it as his own. A mere
proposal of marriage and an acceptance were more or less hackneyed; the
event contained no elements of the spectacular; but to follow it
promptly with a midnight ceremony impressed him as a grandiose
achievement and one calculated to shed luster upon his adventurous
career. "That's my idea of romance--that's the way I like to do
things," he declared. "We'll be married soon's I pay this check."
Fumbling through his pockets, he remembered that his last dollar had
gone across Melcher's gaming-table earlier in the evening, and cried in
dismay, "Hold on! Nothing doing in the marriage line, after all. I'm
bust. Isn't that a burglar's luck? And right on the altar steps, too."
"I'll settle everything--all the way through," Jim offered, eagerly.
Bob feebly demurred, asserting that his temporary financial condition
ruined the whole joke, and that he never married without a pocket full
of money; but as Jim insisted, and seeing that Miss Lynn was becoming
tearful at the thought of a disappointment, he yielded grudgingly.
"But--I say--where do they keep these weddings?" he inquired.
"Everything's closed now, and there's nobody dancing at the City Hall,
is there?" He appealed helplessly to Jim.
Jim rose to the occasion with the same promptitude he had displayed
throughout. "Leave it to Jimmy the Fixer," he cried, reassuringly.
"Marriages aren't made in heaven any more--that's old stuff. They're
made in Hoboken, while the cab waits. Get your things on, everybody,
while I telephone." He allowed no loitering; he waved the girls away,
sent the waiter scurrying with his bill, helped Robert secure hat and
stick, and then dove into a telephone-booth as a woodchuck enters its
hole. When he had disposed his three charges inside a taxi-cab he
disappeared briefly, to return with a basket of champagne upon his arm.
It is a wise general who provides himself in advance with ammunition.
It was not late, as late hours are computed, but the streets were empty
of traffic; hence the driver made good time, and a waiting ferry at the
foot of Forty-second Street helped to shorten the journey. The
wine-basket was lighter as the machine rushed up the cobbled incline to
the crest of the Weehawken bluffs; Bob and Lilas were singing as it
tore down the Boulevard.
The smooth celerity with which this whole adventure ran its course
argued a thorough preparation on James's part, but Lorelei was in no
condition to analyze. On the contrary, she was tossed in the vortex of
warring impulses. More than once she laid her hand upon the cab door,
feeling that she could not go on with this damnable travesty. But
necessity urged; she was tired, disgusted, reckless. Her former
arguments continued to prove potent.
Even at the journey's end there was a suspicious lack of delay. The
vehicle stopped in a narrow business street, now dark and dismal; its
occupants were hurried up a stairway and into a room filled with
law-books, where a sleepy Justice of the Peace was nodding in a cloud
of cigar smoke. There followed a noisy shuffling of chairs, some
mumbled questions and answers, the crackle of papers, a deal of
unintelligible rigamarole, then a man's heavy seal-ring was slipped
upon Lorelei's finger, and she knew herself to be Mrs. Robert Wharton.
It was all confused, unimpressive, unreal. She was never able fully to
recall the picture of that room or the events that occurred there. They
formed but a part of the kaleidoscopic jumble of the night's
occurrences.
The wedding party was in the cab once more, and it was under way. Lilas
was singing maudlinly, lying back in Jim's arms with her feet
projecting through a window; the groom was laughing foolishly and
pawing at his bride. The street lights reeled by in drunken procession.
Now that his work was done, Jim flung aside his caution and, popping
the cork of a wine-bottle, drank deeply, in disregard of Lilas's
attempts to share the contents. He was fiercely elated; he imbibed with
the eager thirst of a dipsomaniac. It was all so like a nightmare that
Lorelei began to doubt her own sanity.
Once at rest in the dim-lit tunnel of the ferry-boat, however, she was
brought sharply to herself by hearing her brother exclaim: "Say! He
hasn't kissed her yet."
Lilas shrieked, and Bob stiffened himself, then slipped an arm around
his bride. As she shrank away he mumbled angrily: "Here! I won't stand
for that," and crushed her to him. He tipped her head back, then
pressed his lips to hers, and she yielded, her whole body a-quiver with
repugnance. But it was part of the price, she told herself; therefore
she paid, although she was like to faint with the effort. She became
conscious of a sudden savagery that swept over Bob at her first
surrender, and in revulsion fought herself free from his embrace. He
followed her, his eyes fierce, his hot breath heavy with the fumes of
wine; his clutch hurt her, "By God!" he mumbled, thickly, "You are
beautiful--beautiful. And you're mine. She's mine, eh? No foolishness
about that, is there?" he appealed to Jim.
As they drew in toward the New York side the chauffeur inquired, "Where
to, now?"'
"Why, drive us--" Jim hesitated. There was a silence which Lilas broke
with a titter. The bridegroom joined her in an awkward laugh.
"Never thought of that."
"Drive to the Charlevoix," Lorelei said, sharply.
"No women allowed there; it's a stag place," objected Bob.
"Of course! We'll take you home. It's all over now," she told him,
faintly.
"You can't get into no hotel without baggage," explained the driver.
"That's right. No baggage, no money. Deuce of a way to get married."
Bob turned again to Jim, who solved the difficulty with a word.
"Why, you're both going to Lorelei's place, of course; then you can
make your plans to-morrow."
The bride's half-strangled protest was lost in a burst of enthusiasm
from Lilas.
"Surest thing you know," she cried; "and we'll stop in my flat for a
farewell bottle; I've got a whole case. We'll end the night with
another party at Jarvis's expense. He's crazy about marriages, anyhow.
Ha! But you needn't tell him I was--full, understand?" She fell silent
suddenly, then burst into a loud laugh. "Bah! I should worry!" Jim
struggled with her as for a second time she endeavored to thrust her
silken ankles through the taxi window.
The ferry drew into its slip, the cab motor shivered, the metallic
rattle of windlass and chain proclaimed the return to Manhattan. Up the
deserted avenues the vehicle sped, while inside the white-faced bride
cowered with fingers locked and heart sick with dread.