Weary and footsore, she toiled on toward Esplanade Street, that was
still far away.
She was but little used to walking, for Mme. Lorraine had never
permitted her to leave the house, and her only excursions had been her
stolen rides on the back of Selim, Mme. Lorraine's petted Arab. Her
headlong pace at first began to tell on her now, and her steps grew
slower and slower, while her slight figure and fair face attracted much
attention from passers-by on the brightly lighted street, although
her shy, frightened air protected her from insult from even the evil
disposed. Her purity, so sweetly imaged on her young face, was a potent
shield.
At length she emerged into Esplanade Street. She had been several hours
making her way from the convent to this point.
It was nearing midnight, and the girl was vaguely frightened, although,
in her almost infantile innocence and ignorance, she knew nothing of
the "danger that walks forth with the night" in the streets of a great
city. She had been more fortunate than she knew in escaping molestation
and pursuit. Her chief fear had been of pursuit by the fanatical old
priest, but her hurried glances behind her, from time to time, failed
to discover any pursuer; and in a short while more she stood trembling
before the dark, silent front of the house where her young life had
been spent in semi-slavery as the plaything of giddy Mme. Lorraine.
A strange impulse seized her to turn and fly away; a stronger instinct
rooted her to the ground.
"He is here! he must be here!" she murmured; "and I can not desert him,
my good friend."
She stood there a few moments gazing at the closed door, then walked
rapidly to the garden gate by which she had let Van Zandt through that
memorable night. By a strange chance of fortune she had the key in her
pocket.
Unlocking it softly, she let herself into the garden, and sunk down
wearily on the rustic seat where she had fallen into such heavy sleep
the night of her attempted abduction. Against her will her eyelids
drooped, and slumber stole over her weary senses. The soft air coolly
fanned her hot face, and the April dew fell heavily on her floating
hair and thin summer dress; but, unconscious of the chill and dampness,
she dreamed on until the first faint gray streak of dawn appeared in
the east.
Then she woke suddenly, lifted her crouching figure, and looked about
her. Memory rushed over her in a bewildering flood.
"I have been asleep when I ought to have been planning how to
get into that house unperceived to search for him!" she thought,
self-reproachfully.
She knew that there would be no great difficulty about the matter,
because Mima was always very careless about fastening up the back part
of the house. Being slight and agile, she made an easy entrance into
the house by the united opportunities of a step-ladder and an unbolted
back window.
With a throbbing heart and shining eyes, she found herself inside the
house, and, as she believed, near to the kind Yankee friend in whom she
took such an earnest interest.
Every one was asleep at this uncanny hour of the dawn, she knew.
Lightly and fearlessly she went from room to room until she had
explored the whole house in a fruitless quest for Eliot Van Zandt.
To her dismay and disappointment, her careful search was utterly
unavailing, although from her knowledge of the house she was certain
that she had left not a room unvisited. She had even peeped, by the aid
of a hall-chair, into the transom over madame's door, and then into
Mima's, too; but the sight of the latter placidly snoring among her
pillows, and of madame slumbering sweetly, as if no unrepented sins lay
heavy on her conscience, was all that rewarded her for her pains.
Disappointed and dismayed, she crept into an unused closet in the hall,
and crouching in the cobwebby corner, gave herself up to such intense
cogitation that the tired young brain succumbed again to weariness, and
she drooped forward upon the hard floor fast asleep.
Day was far advanced when she roused herself, with a start, and again
realized her situation. She heard steps and voices, and knew that the
small family was awake and astir. Presently the hall clock chimed the
hour of noon.
"I have been very lazy," she said to herself, "and--oh, dear, I am very
hungry!"
She remembered then that the nuns had not given her any supper,
because she had flatly refused to beg Father Quentin's pardon for her
wilfulness.
"Never mind," she said valiantly to herself, "I must not remember that
I am tired and hungry until I find my friend."
But hot tears came into the dark eyes, all the same. It was not
pleasant to be tired and hungry and disappointed, and even in hiding
like a dreadful criminal fearing to be captured.
Suddenly the swish of a silken robe trailed through the hall met her
ears--Mme. Lorraine!
The fugitive could not resist the temptation to push the door ajar ever
so little, and peep through the tiny aperture at her fair enemy.
And then something very strange happened.
Little Nobody, or Marie, as the nuns had called her, saw Mme. Lorraine
stop abruptly at the end of the hall and press her white and jeweled
hand upon a curious little ornate knob that appeared to form the
center-piece of the carvings and panelings of the wainscoted wall.
Instantly a section of the broad paneling glided backward through the
solid wall, like a narrow door. Mme. Lorraine stepped lightly through
the opening, and disappeared as the concealed door sprung quickly back
into its place.
Like one stunned, the girl fell back into her place of hiding.
She had spent all her life in this strange house without a suspicion of
the hidden room and the secret door, and its sudden discovery almost
paralyzed her in the first moment.
But presently her reason returned to her, and she murmured with instant
conviction:
"He is down there."
Following a sudden reckless impulse, and thinking nothing of
consequences, she bounded from the closet and pressed her little hand
upon the knob in the wall. At first it remained stationary, but when
she pushed harder it yielded so suddenly as almost to precipitate
her down a short flight of steps on which it opened. Recovering her
balance, she stepped softly downward, and the narrow door slipped
soundlessly into its place again, and as if impelled by a ghostly hand.
But the fact was, that by some clever arrangement of springs beneath
the first step, the slight pressure of her foot on the boards was
sufficient to close it.
She found herself now on the narrow flight of steps, in thick darkness;
but the momentary light that had glimmered through the open door had
shown her a narrow passage and another door at the foot of the stairs.
Thrilling with curiosity, and without fear, the girl groped her way
softly downward to the passage, starting as the murmur of voices came
to her from the other side of the door.
"I was right. He is here!" she thought, and flung herself down on the
floor in the darkness and listened with her ear against the door.
It was Mme. Lorraine's clear, bell-like voice that was speaking. It
ceased its impassioned utterances at last, and a deep, rich, manly
voice replied to her--a familiar voice that made Marie's heart beat
tumultuously and a sweet, warm color glow in her cheeks.
"It is he," she whispered, forgetting hunger, weariness, everything
unpleasant in exquisite relief and joy.