Neva Wynde was not one to waste her strength in useless repining, nor
to give way to weakness and tears at a time when she needed all her
keenness of wit and vigor of body, in the contest begun by her enemies.
She was a brave, resolute young girl, and she did not lose her bravery
and resolution even after matters had been so singularly precipitated
to a crisis, and she knew her enemies as they were. She retired into
her own room, as we have said, and was locked in. As the bolt shot
home and Neva comprehended that she was an actual prisoner, her cheeks
flamed with her indignation at the indignity practised upon her, but
she did not weep or moan.
She quietly laid aside her fur jacket and hat and went to her window,
essaying to look out. The baying of the dogs in the yard below reached
her ears, and she went back to her fire, smiling bitterly.
“I see no way of escape,” she murmured. “The night is cold, and I might
die on the mountains in my wanderings, should I get out. I am in lonely
Scottish wilds, but I am in the hands of Providence, and I will fear no
evil. Surely Arthur will find me out. Craven Black may be keen-witted,
but Arthur is keener. He will find me.”
She stirred the logs on the hearth to a brighter blaze, and sat before
her fire, until long after she heard the French woman go to her bed
in the ante-room. At last she arose and barricaded the door with her
trunks, and undressed, said her prayers, and went to bed, but not to
sleep.
At the usual hour of the morning she arose and dressed herself, making
her own toilet. When she had completed it, the door opened and the
French woman entered her presence.
“What, dressed, Mademoiselle?” said Celeste. “I am come to dress
you, but of course I had to dress Madame and Mrs. Artress first.
Mademoiselle is no longer the first person to be considered and waited
upon, you see. Mademoiselle was first at Hawkhurst; she is last at the
Wilderness.”
“Leave the room, Celeste,” said Neva haughtily. “After your base
treachery to me last night, I must decline your attendance.”
“Madame the step-mamma is to be obeyed, not the refractory
Mademoiselle,” said the French woman insolently. “If Mademoiselle
is not satisfied, the remedy lies in Mademoiselle’s own hands. The
breakfast waits, and foreseeing that Mademoiselle would be ready for
it, Monsieur and Madam are already in the dining-room. I will show you
the way.”
Neva had not expected to be allowed to leave her room, and descended at
once to the dining-room, closely attended by Celeste, who gave her not
the slightest chance of escape. The Blacks and Mrs. Artress were in the
dining-room, and addressed Neva courteously; she responded coldly, and
took her seat at the table. Not a word was spoken on either side during
the progress of the meal, after which Celeste appeared to conduct Neva
back to her room, and the captive was again locked in.
During Neva’s brief absence her room had been put in order, and her
fire had been freshly made. She sat down with a book, but she could not
read. She took out her drawing materials, but she could not work. Her
thoughts were with her young lover, and she indulged in speculations as
to what he was doing at that moment, and when he would find her.
At noon, Celeste came in bearing a tray on which was a plate of bread
and a jug of water. She went out without speaking.
At night, Celeste appeared again with similar refreshments, and made
up the fire afresh, and went out without speaking. The prison fare
and prison treatment on the silent system was intended to subdue the
haughty young captive, whom her enemies expected to see a suppliant
for mercy in the course of a few hours. They did not know Neva Wynde.
Her proud lip curled, and her soul rebelled against the meanness and
wickedness of her oppressors, but she ate her dry bread composedly, and
drank the clear water as if it had been wine.
That night, after barricading her door, she went to bed and to sleep.
The next morning, when she was dressed and standing by her window,
looking out into the gloom of the firs and mountain pines that grew
near to the house, and shut out nearly all light and brightness from
her room, her door was unlocked, and Mrs. Craven Black swept into the
apartment.
Mrs. Black was attired in a Parisian morning robe of white cashmere
faced with ermine, and lined throughout with quilted cherry-colored
silk. A band of ermine confined her robe at the waist, and was fastened
with a jewel clasp. Her countenance was supercilious and domineering,
and her eyes gleamed with prospective triumph.
Neva did not turn from her window after the first glance at her
visitor, but continued to look out into the gloom, as if unconscious of
her visitor’s presence.
“Still rebellious, eh?” said Octavia, pausing near the door, and
regarding Neva with smiling insolence. “Are you not ready to become the
obedient step-daughter, Neva, and to comply with my commands?”
“I shall never be ready to comply with your commands, madam,” said Neva
haughtily.
“Never! Ah, that’s a word with a long meaning,” said Mrs. Black
superciliously. “I think you’ll change your mind after a little longer
imprisonment. How do you like your Lenten fare? Bread and water is
what they give to contumacious prisoners, and it is found effective in
subduing obstinate tempers. Don’t you think such meagre diet affects
your resolution, Neva?”
The young girl did not answer.
“Sulky? Yes, I see. You are but a child, Neva, rebelling against
rightful authority. Your father enjoined you to yield me a daughter’s
obedience. I have not been unreasonable, and you should respect my
superior knowledge of the world and my superior wisdom, and give way to
them. You are not yet prepared to do this?”
“As much now as I ever shall be,” said Neva, her eyes flashing. “Are
you really so foolish, Mrs. Black, that you believe you will force me
into perjuring myself? Do you really think me a child, whom you can
coerce or frighten into obedience to an unjust will? You are mistaken
in me. You will find me at the end of a year as firm in my refusal to
obey you in this same thing, as you find me now.”
Mrs. Black looked incredulous.
“My dear Neva,” she said caressingly, “I have just been down to the
dining-room, and have discovered that we are to have broiled birds on
toast, hot rolls and coffee, for breakfast, with the most delicious
Scotch marmalade made of Seville oranges. It’s a bitter cold morning,
just like January. I can feel the cold wind coming in through your
windows. Think of going down to the breakfast that is prepared for us
below. There is a cover laid for you. Come down with me, Neva, and
after breakfast we will go down to the sloop and start on our return
home. Is not the picture pleasant? Will you come?”
“I suppose there is a condition attached to partaking of this
breakfast,” said Neva. “You have not relented?”
“Ah, I hoped you had relented,” said Octavia Black, smiling. “Are you
sure I have not tempted you? You have only to speak one little word,
Yes, and you shall share our breakfast, and we will start for home
to-day.”
“You must have a high opinion of me,” said Neva bitterly. “I will not
sell my birthright, madam, for a mess of pottage. I prefer bread and
water to the end of my days, rather than to become a party in your vile
schemes, or to marry a man I do not love.”
“Then I will send your breakfast up to you,” said Mrs. Black. “I had
hoped that you would go down with us. But to-morrow morning may not
find you so obstinate.”
She retired, and Celeste brought up a tray with bread and water. The
French woman put the room in order and made up the fire anew, bringing
in a huge back-log herself, which she dragged along upon a reversed
chair. She went out without speaking.
The next day was like this one. Mrs. Black came in in the morning with
her proposals, and retired discomfited. Then Celeste brought bread and
water and put the room in order, and went out, to return at noon and
evening with more bread and water.
Still Neva did not yield. Her imprisonment was telling on her strength,
but her courage did not lessen. Her red-brown eyes glowed with courage
and resolution from out a pale face, and her lips wore a smile of
patience and cheerfulness which angered her enemies.
Upon the fourth morning Neva arose with a determination to make a bold
attempt at escape. She could not render her condition worse in any
event, and perhaps she might gain her freedom. While she was dressing
she formed a plan, upon the success of which she felt that her fate
depended.
“I begin to believe that Arthur will never find me here,” she thought.
“I must help myself.”
She dressed herself warmly, secured her pocket-book in her bosom and
her jewels on her person, and put on her fur jacket and round hat. Thus
equipped, she waited at her window with keen nervous anxiety, her ears
live to every sound, and her heart beating like a drum.
At the usual hour Mrs. Black came in alone, as she usually came.
There was no one in the ante-room, as Neva knew, Celeste being in
attendance upon Mrs. Artress, who grew more and more exacting of the
French woman’s services with each day.
Mrs. Black started as she beheld Neva in out-door costume, and halted
near the door, looking suspiciously at her captive.
“What! Dressed to go out?” she exclaimed.
“Yes, madam,” answered Neva wearily, yet with every nerve in her
slender frame quivering. “I am tired of this forced inaction. I long
for exercise, for the fresh air, and the songs of birds.”
“You know on what terms you can have these blessings,” said Octavia
Black, still suspiciously.
“Yes, madam, I know.”
Mrs. Black’s face brightened. In the girl’s dejected tone and drooping
attitude she believed that she read her own victory. She came toward
Neva, her hard black eyes shining, her cheeks burning redly, her lips
parted in an exultant smile.
“My dear child,” she cried, stretching out her hands. “I was sure the
close confinement and prison diet would bring you to a sense of your
duty. I have no reproaches to offer; I am too happy in the victory I
have won. You have now only to take a solemn oath to marry Rufus Black
on our return to Hawkhurst, and never to betray this affair at the
Wilderness, and we will set out in the yacht this very morning on our
return to Hawkhurst. You shall--”
Neva did not wait for the sentence to be finished.
With a furtive glance she had seen that the door was ajar, and that no
one was yet in the ante-chamber; and so, suddenly, with a dart like
that of a lapwing, she flew past Mrs. Black, sprang into the outer
room, and locked the door upon her utterly amazed and stupefied enemy.
Then she sped across the floor of the ante-room and peeped into the
hall.
The upper and lower halls and the stair-way were alike deserted. By
some strange fatality, or providence, not one of the household was
within sight.
Neva fled down the stair-way with the speed and lightness of an
antelope. The front door was ajar. She pulled it open and darted out
upon the lawn, and sped away amid the gloom of the trees. And as she
thus fled, the loud shrieks of Mrs. Black rang through the house,
rousing Mr. Black in the dining-room, Mrs. Artress and Celeste, and
even the women in the kitchen.
In seemed less than a minute to Neva, when she heard shouts and cries
at the house, the barking of dogs, and the sounds of pursuit.
Neva dared not venture down to the loch, nor dared she risk an appeal
to the sailors on board the yacht. Her safety lay in avoiding every one
in the vicinity of the Wilderness, and she turned up the wild mountain
side, with the idea of skirting the mountain and descending to the
valley upon the opposite side.
The low-growing mountain shrubbery screened her from view, but it also
impeded her flight. She bounded on and on, panting and breathless, but
a horrible pain in her side compelled her to slacken her speed, and
finally she proceeded onward at a walk. Her heart seemed bursting with
the thronging life-blood, her head and body were one great throbbing
pulse, and her feet grew heavy as if clogged with leaden weights.
Unable to proceed further without rest, she sat down upon a huge
boulder under a protecting cliff to rest. The gray morning scarcely
penetrated to the gloomy spot in which she had halted. The trees were
all around her, and the winds made wild moaning among their branches.
She could see nothing of the Wilderness, nor of any house. She was lost
in the pathless wild, in the chill gray morning, with a drizzling mist,
as she now for the first time noticed, falling all around her like a
heavy mourning vail.
“At any rate, I am free,” she thought, lifting her pale wild face to
the frowning sky in rapture. “Free! O God, I thank thee!”
And then, with that prayer of gratitude upon her lips, with her head
raised to ecstacy of joy, there was borne to her ears the barking of
dogs and the loud yells of men--the sounds of an active and terrible
pursuit! The enemy was close at hand!