A week elapsed, and there seemed but little prospect of the little
prisoner's release from the haunted chambers of the ruined wing.
The Glenalvans' guest lingered on, fascinated, it appeared, by the
attractions of the beautiful Elinor. At least Elinor stoutly maintained
this fact in the privacy of the family circle, while Clare as
obstinately persisted that Mr. Chesleigh was perfectly impartial in his
attentions to both.
But however doubtful was Elinor's impression, the fact remained that he
was pleased with his visit.
He consented by their urgent invitation to prolong his stay another
week. The girls were jubilant over his decision.
Meanwhile, old Dinah watched her secluded nursling with unremitting
vigilance. She could not remain with her all day, because her
housekeeping duties took her constantly into the lower part of the
house, but she visited her intermittently, and at night rolled herself
in a thick counterpane and slept on the floor by the side of Golden's
couch.
She took the added precaution to turn the rusty key in the lock at
night.
Old Dinah had never heard the familiar adage that "love laughs at
locksmiths."
She was ordinarily a very sound and healthy sleeper. The mere accident
of a rheumatic attack, and consequent sleeplessness, had caused her
appearance the night Mr. Chesleigh had entered the room.
Usually she might have been lifted, counterpane and all, and carried
away bodily without being aware of it.
Nearly two weeks after the night of her rencontre with Mr. Chesleigh,
old Dinah awoke suddenly "in the dead waste and middle of the night,"
seized in the relentless grip of her old enemy, the rheumatism.
She rolled herself out of her quilt and sat upright, groaning
dolorously, and rubbing her knees in which the pain had settled.
"Oh, Lordy! oh, Lordy!" she groaned, "how my ole bones does ache! Miss
Golden! Miss Golden! my precious lam', wake up, and bid your ole brack
mammy a las' far'well. I'm a-dyin', sartin, shuah!"
But Golden, usually a very light sleeper, made no reply. Dinah reared
her woolly head upward and looked into the bed.
The bed was _empty_.
Then Dinah looked around her in amazement to see if Golden was not
in the room, laughing at her lugubrious groans as she had often done
before. But she saw no trace of her young mistress.
"Miss Golden! Miss Golden!" she called, "is you in de udder room? Ef
you is, come in here! I'se berry sick, honey, almos' a-dyin'."
But her repeated calls elicited no reply. It appeared that pretty
Golden was out of sight and hearing.
Suddenly old Dinah saw the dainty, white, ruffled night-dress, in
which Golden had retired that night, lying in a snowy heap upon the
floor.
Dinah seized upon the garment and shook it vigorously, as if she
expected to see the slight form of her young mistress drop from its
folds to the floor.
"Um--me-e-e," she groaned, "has de sperets carried de chile off?"
She glanced up at the row of pegs where she had hung Golden's few
articles of apparel. Her best dress--a dark-blue cashmere--was gone,
also her hat and a summer jacket.
"She hab runned away from us," old Dinah exclaimed, with almost a howl
of despair.
The thought inspired her with such grief and terror that she forgot
her ailment entirely. She hobbled out from the room and made her way
down stairs to her master's apartment and burst into his presence--a
ludicrous object indeed in her striped cotton bed-gown.
Old Hugh Glenalvan, late as it was, had not retired to bed. Wrapped
in an old wadded dressing-gown he sat in an easy-chair before an old,
carved oaken cabinet.
One quaint little drawer was open, and the white-haired old man
was poring over some simple treasures he had taken from it--simple
treasures, yet dearer to his heart than gold or precious stones--a few
old photographs, an old-fashioned ambrotype in an ebony case, a thin,
gold ring and some locks of hair.
Upon this sad and touching picture of memory and tenderness old Dinah's
grotesque figure broke startlingly.
"Ole massa! ole massa!" she cried, wildly, "has you seen little missie?
Is she here with you?"
The old man swept his treasures off his knees into the quaint cabinet
and looked at his old servant in amazement.
"Dinah, what does this startling intrusion mean?" he inquired, pushing
his spectacles off his brow and regarding her with a mild frown.
"Little Golden is missing. She hab runned away from us, ole massa!"
shouted Dinah, desperately.
"Dinah, you must be crazy," repeated Mr. Glenalvan, blankly.
"It's de Lard's truth, ole massa. She hab done followed in her mudder's
footsteps! Dat han'some man ober at John Glenalvan's has been and gone
and 'ticed our Golden from us," wailed the old negress, in despair.