IN WHICH ERNEST RELEASES THE CAPTIVE MAIDEN FROM HER PRISON.
WHAT the precise signification was of the "whew!" which the gentlemanly
Tom had uttered, I did not know; but it seemed to indicate that he was
not particularly pleased to learn that I had been a visitor at the
house. I felt that there was work for me to do, which I could commence
at once by following out the clew afforded me by Mrs. Loraine's visitor.
My first business was to ascertain who this gentleman was. Doubtless any
one in the house could tell me. Probably Kate knew all about him, and I
was all the more eager to see her.
I walked down to the pier in a brown study. Mrs. Loraine had positively
refused to let me see Kate, at the present time or in the future. She
was again confined to her room, not to leave it, I judged, for weeks,
unless I put my plan of intervention into execution. Her oppressor was
away, and the present seemed to be the most favorable time for releasing
the captive.
"Come, Ernest, are you going home, or not?" called Bob, who was getting
impatient at my delay.
"Not yet, Bob; there is something for us to do before we go."
"What's that?"
"I don't intend to leave Miss Kate here."
"I don't see what we can do about it," said he.
"I haven't any idea of leaving her to the tender mercies of that
tigress. She shall be a passenger in the Splash," I added, as I stepped
into the boat, and sat down in the standing-room. "I want to see her for
my own sake as well as hers. I've had an idea since you left me."
"An idea?" queried he.
"Yes, a big idea. You know my story as well as I know it myself, and I
don't mean to keep anything from you."
"What's up, Ernest?"
"I want to know who and what I am; and I'm going to find out, if there
is any such thing. I told you about a well-dressed fellow who has been
to the cottage of my uncle several times."
"I remember all about him. He quarrelled with your uncle, you said."
"That's the man. Well, Bob, the fellow that drove up in that two-horse
buggy, as we came out of the house, was the very one who came to the
cottage."
"Is that so?"
"That's so."
"Does he live in Cannondale?"
"I don't know where he lives. I heard Mrs. Loraine call him Tom, and
that's all I know about him. I'm going to find out who he is."
"If you can."
"Kate must know who he is, for he seems to be a regular visitor at the
house of Mrs. Loraine."
"Well, what are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to get Kate out of the house."
"How, Ernest?"
"I don't exactly know yet, but I shall find a way."
"Don't you think that would be rather high-handed?"
"I can't help it if it is. I would just as lief raise a breeze over here
as not."
"We shall get into a scrape, Ernest."
"I won't drag you into it, Bob. You may stay on the boat--"
"No, I won't! I'm ready to take my share in the enterprise."
"I'm satisfied this girl is abused, and it would be mean in us to leave
her to her fate. It's nearly dark now, and there isn't any one in the
garden. I'm going up to take a look. Kate said her room was in the
attic."
"Yes; that's the one with the blinds closed."
I landed again, and Bob went with me up to the house. There was no one
in sight, and nothing to prevent our doing the work we had undertaken
immediately. After examining the premises, I concluded that we must
release the captive maiden by means of the window. It would not be
prudent to enter by the door, which was probably locked in the absence
of the lady.
I visited the stable on the grounds in search of a rope; but I found
there a ladder, which suited me better. With the assistance of Bob, I
carried this to the rear of the house, and raised it to the window. I
ascended to the window, and found that the blinds were nailed on the
outside, so that they could not be opened. This was some confirmation of
the truth of Kate's story. I descended again, and found a hammer in the
stable, with which I returned and removed the nails.
"Kate!" I called, as soon as I had opened the blinds.
"O, Ernest Thornton!" exclaimed she, opening the window. "I felt sure
that you had deserted me. I am so glad you have come!"
"We have no time to spare. Get your clothes as quick as possible; tie
them up in a bundle, and throw them out the window."
She did not occupy many minutes in this preparation for her departure.
The bundle was made up and thrown to the ground.
"How am I to get out?" asked she, glancing blankly at the ladder.
"Can you go down stairs and go out by the door?" I asked, willing to
spare her the descent by the ladder.
[Illustration: THE RESCUE OF THE CAPTIVE MAIDEN.--Page 49.]
"I cannot; the door is locked," she replied, in trembling tones, for she
was violently agitated by the situation.
"Then you must go down by the ladder," I added, ascending a few rounds
higher. "Now give me your hands, and don't be afraid, for I can hold you
so that you cannot fall."
I braced myself upon the ladder, which I directed Bob to hold firmly in
its place, and took her by both hands. It was a perilous feat to step
from the window to the ladder, and she was so terrified that I held her
whole weight; but the passage was safely effected. I held her by the
hands till she reached the ground, for she was so timid I dared not
trust her to her own energies. I went up again, closed the blinds, and
restored the nails, hoping that the escape of the prisoner would not be
discovered before the next day. The ladder was conveyed to the stable,
and placed where we had found it.
"Now run down to the pier and get into the boat as fast as you can,"
said I to Kate. "Crawl into the cuddy, and keep out of sight."
"Do you think any one will catch me?" asked she, quivering with terror.
"No; there is no person near to catch you," I replied, as I picked up
her bundle of clothes.
We reached the boat without meeting any person, though Mrs. Loraine's
man drove the cow into the yard just as we were pushing off from the
pier. I had only lowered the jib of the Splash, so that she was ready to
start without any delay; and in a few moments we were standing up the
lake, the breeze still fresh from the north-west.
"You may come out now, Kate," I called to our passenger, when we were
half a mile from the pier.
"Am I perfectly safe?" she asked, timidly, as she crawled out of the
cuddy.
"Yes; no one can see you now. Sit down on this seat, and don't be
alarmed."
"What shall we do with Miss Loraine now we have released her?" asked
Bob, as she sat down by his side in the standing-room.
"I don't know," I replied. "We will settle that question before we go on
shore. What did Mrs. Loraine do to you when you went into the house,
Kate?"
"She spoke to me very severely, and sent me to my room. She told me I
should not come out again for a month."
"She was mistaken this time, if she never was before," said Bob, with a
congratulatory smile.
"She was, indeed; and O, I'm so thankful to you!"
"Do you know where Mrs. Loraine has gone now?" I asked, approaching the
subject which was so near my own heart.
"I don't; I heard a carriage drive up the yard. I suppose she has gone
out to ride," replied Kate.
"A gentleman drove up to the door in a two-horse buggy. Do you know who
the gentleman was?" I asked, anxiously. "Mrs. Loraine called him Tom."
"O, that was Mr. Thornton," she answered.
"Mr. Thornton!" I exclaimed.
"Yes; is he any relation to you!"
"Not that I am aware of," I replied, musing upon the fact that he bore
my name.
"He often comes to see Mrs. Loraine, and people say they are engaged to
be married," continued Kate.
"Where does he live?"
"I'm not very sure, but I think it is in Philadelphia. He stays at the
Cannondale Hotel about a week at a time, and comes to Mrs. Loraine's
every day."
"How often does he come to Cannondale?"
"Every two or three months, I should think. But I don't see much of him.
I have been kept in my chamber most of the time," she added, sadly.
"Did you ever hear him speak about Amos Thornton, my uncle?"
"Never."
"You say he is going to be Mrs. Loraine's husband."
"That's what people say; I don't know anything about it, only that he is
very often at the house."
"Do you know anything about Mr. Thornton?" I continued. "Is he rich?"
"I don't know whether he is or not. I think he must be. He always takes
her out to ride with a span of fine horses."
"Is Mrs. Loraine very rich herself?"
"She is not very rich herself. She has what my father left her by his
will."
"Of course your father left something to you," added Bob Hale.
"Mr. Windleton called me a little heiress two years ago, and said I
should have forty thousand dollars when I was old enough to receive it."
"Who is Mr. Windleton?"
"He was a great friend of my father. He keeps the money that belongs to
me. I forget what they call him."
"A trustee," suggested Bob, who was somewhat earned in the law.
"Yes; that's what he said he was. My father gave his wife only half as
much as he gave me; but I wish he had given her all of his property,"
said Kate, looking over into the water.
"Why do you wish so?" I asked.
"I think she would have been kinder to me. Mr. Windleton's daughter
Ellen told me, if I should die, that my money would go to Mrs. Loraine.
I don't know whether it is true or not;" and without any apparent
reason, Kate burst into tears.
Bob and I comforted her as well as we could.
"I'm afraid," she continued, when she had wiped away her tears, "she
hopes I shall die."
"I guess not," I added. "That would be horrible."
"Why does she treat me so then--not even let me look out the window?"
sobbed she. "I think she wants my money. I have tried to think it was
not so, but I can't, ever since Ellen Windleton told me that."
"Why don't you tell Mr. Windleton how your step-mother treats you?"
asked Bob.
"He and his whole family are in Europe. They have been there more than a
year. I shall tell him when he comes back; but Mrs. Loraine is my
guardian."
"Ernest, we are almost over to Parkville, and it is time to know what we
are to do with Miss Loraine. It won't do to take her to Parkville," said
Bob.
"I will stay in the boat all night. That's a nice little place in
there," interposed Kate, pointing to the cuddy.
"You may go in there now, if you please," I added. "I will land you,
Bob, and take care of Kate myself. It is quite dark now, and I can take
her up to the cottage. No one will find her there."
"What will your uncle say?"
"He will not see her; if he does, he won't say anything; he never says
anything."
My friend was entirely willing to take his share of the responsibility,
but I was satisfied that I could dispose of my fair passenger without
any assistance. I landed him at the steamboat pier, and then stood over
towards the cottage.