A NIGHTMARE DREAM.
"Once all was sunshine and brightness,
Life had no sorrow or care;
Love filled my soul with its brightness,
As flowers perfume the air.
Where now is Pleasure, the beauty?
Where now is Hope's cheering beam?
Where are those friends once all duty?
All vanished, all gone, like a dream!"
We must follow the fortunes of Geraldine after being placed in the
sleigh by her cowardly abductor.
Tucking the sleeping girl warmly under the heavy robes, he took the
reins from the man he had employed to hold them, and drove off at a
spanking pace for his destination, the old country-house of which Miss
Erroll had told the detective.
As the night was propitious to his purpose, and the road remarkably
fine, he reached the place in a short while, and without any
misadventure.
The old woman, Jane Crabtree, in expectation of his coming, had muzzled
the savage bull-dog, and came down the lane to the gate to meet him, as
they had agreed upon.
The woman was a giant in stature, as the detective had said, and looked
strong enough to floor John L. Sullivan with one hand.
In the light of the bull's-eye lantern that Standish flared into her
eyes, her coarse face, with its straggling black locks blown about by
the swirling snow, looked capable of committing any evil deed.
He dropped some twenty-dollar gold pieces into her hand, gave her some
instructions, and drove his team toward the city. A few hours later
he boarded a train for Cincinnati at daylight, and remained away five
days, in order to throw the searchers for Geraldine off guard.
But as we have seen, the forged note, representing that she had gone of
her own free will to marry her betrothed, had effectually prevented any
hue and cry over Geraldine's disappearance.
So the villainous abductor had it all his own way, and for two long
weeks, until Hawthorne's return, he was free to come and go as he chose
in the prosecution of his designs against the poor girl.
As for the poor victim, who can judge of her surprise and terror on
awaking the next morning from her drugged sleep, in a strange room, and
guarded by an old giant of a woman, with the most villainous face she
had ever beheld.
The night before she had fallen asleep in her own lovely, luxurious
room, and the last sight her eyes had rested on was the handsome,
smiling face of Miss Erroll, the governess.
But her sleep had been haunted by terrible nightmare dreams, and when
she waked at last in that shabby room in the presence of her horrible
old jailer, she thought that she was dreaming still.
Recoiling from the woman, she threw out her arms, groaning helplessly:
"Oh, those dreadful nightmare dreams! How they haunt me! Will not some
one wake me, please? Martha, where are you? Come to me at once. Oh,
Cissy! oh, mamma!"
Old Jane Crabtree came and stood over her scowlingly, snapping out:
"You an't dreamin', gal; you is wide awake!"
But it took her some little time to assure her captive that this was
not a continuation of her terrible nightmare dreams.
When she at last convinced her that this was an awful reality, and
boldly told her that Clifford Standish had brought her here in a
drugged sleep, the terrible truth rushed over her mind.
"That wine Miss Erroll gave me was drugged! She was in the plot!" she
cried, wildly.
The hag nodded sullenly, and Geraldine continued, passionately:
"He will never get my consent to marry him, never!"
And then she fell to pleading with the old woman for her liberty,
promising to make her rich if she would only restore her to her friends.
But Jane Crabtree laughed her to scorn, sneering at the idea of
Geraldine being able to reward her for her liberty.
Standish had cleverly prepared her for all that the girl might threaten
or promise, by telling her not to listen to anything, as the girl was
only a poor salesgirl from Siegel & Cooper's, on a salary of three
dollars a week.
So the old witch grunted scornfully at her pleadings, threats, and
promises, and presently went out, locking the door after her until she
returned with a coarse breakfast of badly served food, from which the
girl turned with loathing.
While she was absent, Geraldine rose and looked from the window to see
if there was any chance of escape.
What she saw made her turn shudderingly back to the bright coal-fire,
the only cheerful object in the poor room.
The window was very small, and the grimy panes were guarded by heavy
iron bars.
Beyond these bars Geraldine saw a level stretch of country covered with
a mantle of snow. A wild snow-storm was raging, and the wind drove
against the shutters with terrible violence, banging them to and fro
until the old house shook in the terrible gale.
She realized that she was in a farm-house, far removed from any other
habitation, and that if she could have walked out of the house at
that moment she must have perished in the deep drifts of snow while
struggling to escape.
That terrible first day passed in alternate weeping and praying.
Standish did not make his appearance, and Jane Crabtree remained down
stairs, attending to her household tasks, except when she came up to
replenish the fire and minister to the wants of her captive.
That first day Geraldine ate nothing. At night she sobbed herself to
sleep.
The next day hunger drove her to partake of a little of the coarse food.
For three days the monotonous blizzard raged, and the snow grew deeper
and deeper. Geraldine felt as if she should go mad.
She wondered despairingly if she should ever get free from the power
of her cruel jailer, or if she should die here, as old Jane had boldly
threatened.
The woman had become very impatient over Geraldine's continued weeping,
and one day she said, roughly:
"You might as well hush that snivelin' an' make your mind up ter marry
that man, for if you don't he'll kill you!"
"Kill me! He dare not!"
"He'll dare anything, and if he don't, I will. Sho! I don't mind
killin' anybody. I beat a poor-house chile to death last year, and only
three months ago I p'isened my husband with arsenic. An' that isn't all
I done, neither, for----" She paused in the recital of her crimes, for
the listener had dropped limply in a swoon, overcome by the horror of
the story.
Oh, the weary days, and the terror-haunted nights! How did the poor
captive drag through them? The wonder to her ever afterward was that
she did not go mad.
At last Clifford Standish came.
It was a full week since he had brought her there and the storm had
somewhat abated in violence, but the snow still lay deep upon the
ground, and the wailing of the winter wind was like the knell of hope
in her ears.
The door opened, and her cowardly abductor stood within the room,
gazing at his cruel work.
Pretty Geraldine had wept till her brown eyes were dim and heavy, with
purple shadows beneath them, and her cheeks all wan and sunken. She had
not taken the trouble to exchange her blanket wrapper for the cloth
gown Miss Erroll had put in the hand-bag. She had not given a thought
to her appearance.
But even her disheveled locks and haggard looks could not quench the
fire of passion in the villain's heart. He looked at her gloatingly,
exclaiming:
"Good-morning, pretty Geraldine. I suppose that after your week with
Jane Crabtree, you are glad to see even me!"