LIZETTE A PRISONER.
Donald Kayne had told Nita the simple truth when he said that Lizette's
sprained ankle was so severe that she had been obliged to remain for
long months at Fortune's Bay. But, to do him justice, he had made every
possible arrangement for her comfort and happiness during her long stay
at the Rhodus house.
He had provided liberally for every luxury she might desire, sent her a
stock of books to read, and of materials for fancy-work, and, having
thus provided for her comfort, he made one private stipulation with
Fisherman Rhodus and his wife. This condition was that any letters
Lizette might write should not be posted, although when she became well
enough no embargo was to be placed on her liberty. She was to be
permitted to leave the island and return home.
But long and weary were the months before the poor maid could walk, or
even stand, upon her foot again. And harrowing was her anxiety over the
fate of her young mistress, whom she had last seen borne away in the
arms of the sailor. She loaded herself with reproaches for her own
credulity that had betrayed Nita into the power of her enemy.
But soon there came to her a letter from Pirate Beach that set her mind
at rest. Donald Kayne, after meeting Nita, had thought kindly of poor
Lizette's anxiety, and himself wrote her a short letter informing her
that the dreaded sailor had indeed kept his promise of returning her
mistress to her friends, and that Nita had now gone abroad with the
Courtneys, to be absent for an indefinite period.
Lizette's mind thus happily set at rest, she became more cheerful under
her great affliction, and within the next three months Jack Dineheart
made his appearance at the Rhodus house and humbly begged her pardon for
the accident he had caused.
Jack was a good-looking specimen of a sailor, and could be very
ingratiating when he chose. He was an intimate friend of the Rhodus
family, and it pleased him to make a friend of the pretty, plaintive
maid in the lonely old prisonlike house.
He swore to her solemnly that the fall of the ladder had been an
accident, but fearing it had made enough noise to awaken the family, he
had decided not to risk returning for her lest he should imperil the
safety of her mistress. His story was so plausible that Lizette could
not refuse to believe it, especially as Donald Kayne corroborated Jack's
story that Nita had been returned to her friends.
So pretty Lizette readily forgave the smooth-tongued sailor who, in
common with his craft, had the knack of winning his way to a woman's
heart.
Jack was often at the island that winter, and when he could overcome the
gruffness he often affected, and leave liquor alone, he was always a
welcome guest at the Rhodus house.
He even tried to make love in a rough way to the pretty creature who sat
so helplessly in the great arm-chair with her wool-knitting in her lap,
and had to be waited on by everybody.
Lizette was not averse to his attentions. They lent a little spiciness
to the dull days, and so she let a little coquetry creep into her looks
and words, just a little kittenish mischief that amused them both, and
made old Rhodus and his wife wag their gray heads knowingly, as if to
say:
"That will be a match."
In the spring days, when Lizette's sprain began to mend, she promised
Jack that on his next trip she would go home with him to Pirate Beach.
"For I took your mistress safely back there, and I sha'n't feel right
until I deliver you safe, too," he said.
So it happened that Lizette sailed with him in that golden June time
back to Pirate Beach, her heart full of joy at the thought of a reunion
with her beloved Miss Nita.
"But somehow, Lizette, I feel like you may be disappointed. I don't
believe she has ever come home from Europe yet," Jack said to her, as
they sat together on deck that twilight hour of the tenth of June, as
they were nearing the familiar shores of New Jersey. "Tell you what, old
girl, suppose we don't land at home unless she is up at Gray Gables.
We'll drop anchor near the beach and I'll go over to mom and see if the
folks are back. If they are not we can go on up to New York and have a
lark. You said there was some one there you wanted to see, didn't you?"
"Yes, if they're not dead, for I've written and written and got no
answer," returned Lizette, with an anxious look in her soft-blue eyes.
So it happened that Jack's bark came to anchor near the shore, and Jack
rowed over alone in the twilight to seek his mother.
Lizette waited a while on deck, but as the wind freshened and the waves
began to put on white-caps, she grew nervous and went into the tiny
cabin to talk to the woman who did the cooking and mending for the very
small crew.
Presently the woman went off to attend to some small duty, and then the
maid sat down by the light with a book and began to read to pass the
time away.
She had just reached a very thrilling point in her novel when a
stumbling step made her look up, and--Jack Dineheart was by her side.
"Oh, Jack, what is it?" cried the young woman, in dismay, for as he sank
into a seat by her side she saw that his face was ashy white, his eyes
wild, his frame trembling.
"It is nothing, you foolish girl, nothing. Go get me a drink of whisky,"
he answered hoarsely, and put up his hand to shield his face from her
inquisitive gaze.
Then, indeed, a shudder ran through all her frame, and she cried in
sickening terror:
"Oh, Jack, what have you been doing? There is blood on your hand--wet
blood--and blood on your sleeve!"
With a frightened oath the man looked, and found her words were true.
His hand was red with blood, and so was his light coat-sleeve.
For a minute they gazed at each other in startled silence. His eyes were
wolfish--hers frightened, questioning. A moment, and he broke through
the spell that held him, with an uneasy laugh.
"Good Lud! don't look so scared," he cried roughly. "I'll tell you the
truth, Lizette. My arm's hurt--a shark bit at me in the little boat, and
I had a tussle to get away. I didn't mean to tell, only you saw the
blood. Now don't tell any one, will you? See here, Lizette, I won't
allow any tattling"--roughly. "I'll go wash the blood off and get a
drink; and you'll hold your tongue, you hear?"
"Very well, Jack," Lizette answered, with dignity, offended by his
rough, menacing manner; then she caught at his coat as he was turning to
go, and asked eagerly:
"But, Miss Nita, Jack? Is she up there at Gray Gables, or not?"
"No, she has never come back from Europe, so we will go on to New York,
as we planned, and have a jolly good time; but, mind, Lizette, not a
word about the shark and the blood, or I'll cut off the end of your
tongue!" and Jack wrenched himself free, and disappeared.
Lizette wept with disappointment because she should not see her mistress
yet.
"But I'll spend a few hours in New York, then go back to Pirate Beach
and see Mrs. Hill, and find out all about Miss Nita," she thought, as
she threw herself on her bunk, and sobbed herself to sleep.
When she awoke again she found herself a prisoner in a low den by the
river-side in New York, guarded by a fiendish-looking old woman, who
thrust some coarse food inside the door, and disappeared without
answering a word to her imploring questions. Jack Dineheart was nowhere
to be seen, but in a few days Lizette was horrified to find that his
mother had taken the place of the mute attendant.
"Meg Dineheart, what does this mean?" she demanded angrily, but with a
jeering laugh Meg vanished, and she heard the key grate harshly in the
lock of the door.
"Oh, what is the mystery of this strange persecution?" wondered the
half-maddened prisoner, forebodingly, but all her fears for the future
did not approach the reality of the awful fate that hung suspended over
her head ready to fall and destroy her very life.