IN WHICH ERNEST STARTS FOR MADISON PLACE WITH KATE.
I COULD not exactly understand how Mr. Loraine, being in Baltimore, or
on the way to New York, had sent a carriage for his niece. It was
possible that Kate's uncle had returned sooner than he had been
expected, or that Mr. McKim had seen his partner's family, and they had
sent for Kate. It did not occur to me that there was anything wrong; but
I desired to see Mr. Loraine, and tell him her story before his niece
went to his house.
"Who sent you for Miss Loraine?" I asked of the hackman.
"How should I know who sint me?" replied the driver, an ill-favored
Irishman, and a rough specimen even of New York hackmen, who are not
reputed to be saints. "A gintleman gave me this paper, and told me to
come here."
I took the paper, and read what was written upon it: "Call at the ----
Hotel for Miss Kate Loraine, and drive her to No. -- Madison Place.
Bring the young man who is with her also."
"Who gave you this?" I asked.
"I don't know who he was. It was a gintleman that came over to the
hack-stand by the Park."
"Was he an old man, or a young man?"
"Middling ould--not very ould, either; he wasn't what you'd call a young
man," replied the driver.
"Was he fifty?"
"He might be; and then again he might not be," answered the man.
This was very definite, and it was plain to me that I could not find out
from such a stupid fellow whether or not it was Mr. McKim who had sent
him. I decided that Kate should not go to Madison Place that day. It
would be much better for me to see her uncle first, for such a course
would save her from an unpleasant scene, if he decided not to receive
her. I told the hackman we should not go; and the fellow growled about
his fare, but finally drove off, declaring that the people in Madison
Place should pay him for his trouble.
I was annoyed by the incident, and was afraid it would prejudice Kate's
uncle--if he had returned--against her, or if he had not, that his wife
would be vexed. Before the hack was out of sight, I was sorry I had not
permitted Kate to go. I talked the matter over with her, and with her
kind friends, who thought I had been over-nice about the matter.
About seven o'clock, the same hackman came again. I was sent for, and
met him in the office. He was as surly and cross as before, though his
face wore something like an expression of triumph this time.
"It's a dale of throuble you're makin for your friends," said he,
handing me a note.
"You shall be paid for all the trouble I give you," I replied, offended
at the fellow's impudence.
I glanced at the note, and found it was directed to Kate. I carried it
up to her, and after she had read it, she handed it to me.
"My uncle has returned," said she. "He seems to be real good and
kind--don't he?"
I read the note, which was as follows:--
"MY DEAR NIECE: I learned from Mr. McKim, since I
returned from Baltimore this afternoon, that you
were in the city. I should call upon you myself,
but I am quite ill, and do not feel able to do so.
I desire to see you very much, and the bearer of
this note will drive you to my house. I think Mr.
McKim spoke of a young man with you, who called
upon him. Let him come with you, if you please.
FREEMAN LORAINE."
"Your uncle is good and kind, and I am sorry I gave him the trouble to
send twice," I added, when I had finished reading the note. "We will go
with the hackman as soon as you are ready."
"How far is it?" asked Mrs. Macombe.
"Mr. Loraine lives in Madison Place; but I haven't the least idea where
that is," I replied.
"Shall we see you again?" asked our kind friend.
"Why, yes, I hope so. I will come down and see you. But I don't know yet
whether I am to stay with my uncle or not," said Kate, as she put on
her shawl and bonnet. "I must see you again, and I shall tell my uncle
all about you."
"I shall depend upon seeing you again, and I hope you will find a good
and pleasant home," added the worthy old lady.
I escorted Kate down to the street, and handed her into the carriage.
The driver closed the door when I had taken my seat, mounted his box,
and drove off.
"I am quite sure, Kate, that you will remain with your uncle," said I,
as the hack rattled up Broadway.
"You can't be sure," replied she, somewhat excited by the prospect that
was opening before her.
"Not exactly sure; but the interest he manifests in you, and the trouble
he takes to have you come to his house, convince me that he is a man
worthy to be your father's brother."
"Perhaps he will scold me for running away from Mrs. Loraine," suggested
she, timidly.
"I think not. He will not be willing that you should be shut up for a
whole week for taking long stitches, or for treading on a flower. There
may be some difficulty in the way, as your step-mother is legally your
guardian; but your uncle will find a way to release you from such odious
bondage. But we won't anticipate anything. If your uncle won't take care
of you, I will, for I like you, Kate, and I mean to stand by you just as
long as you need any help. Mrs. Macombe will be very glad to take you
home with her."
"I seem to have plenty of friends now. But, however many friends I may
have, Ernest Thornton, I shall always be grateful to you for what you
have done for me. I shall always consider you my first and best friend
on earth. But you are going off, over the ocean; and I shall not see you
again."
"I shall return soon."
"When shall you go?"
"I shall not go till I am sure you are safe and well provided for. If,
as I expect, your uncle takes you to his home, I shall start day after
to-morrow."
"So soon?"
"Yes; I cannot needlessly waste a single day. My poor mother, for aught
I know, is still in sorrow and suffering."
"How glad she will be to see you, if you find her!"
"I shall find her; I shall not give up the search until I do find her,
if it takes me all the rest of my lifetime. But I expect to be
successful without much trouble."
We were silent then for half an hour, I judged, in which I was thinking
of the great mission that was before me; and I have no doubt Kate was
anticipating the scene that awaited her at the house of her uncle. The
carriage still rattled along, and it was beginning to be dark, for we
had been riding nearly an hour. I thought it was about time for us to
reach Madison Place. We must have gone at least six miles, and I came
deliberately to the conclusion that New York was a bigger city than I
had ever supposed.
"Haven't you got almost to Madison Place?" I shouted to the driver, when
my patience began to be sorely tried.
"It's a good piece yet," replied the driver, in the same surly tones.
"I think we must be almost up to Albany," I said to Kate, as I glanced
out at the window.
"Not quite so far as that," laughed Kate.
"This don't look like a very aristocratic part of the city," I added.
"The houses are all of wood, and poor ones at that."
"You must be patient, Ernest Thornton. We must soon reach my uncle's
house."
"Your uncle's, or Albany, I should say."
We were silent again. It did not seem to me possible that Madison Place
could be so far off. While I was fretting about the distance, I heard a
whistle like that with which one calls his dog, three times repeated. I
should not have noticed it, if the carriage had not stopped in the
middle of the street immediately after I heard it. The halt was but for
an instant--long enough to permit a man to get on the box with the
driver.
"How much farther is it to Madison Place?" I demanded again.
"Only a little piece," answered the surly driver; but he seemed to be
more pliable now.
I looked out at the window again. The houses were meaner and more
scattered than before, and there were no signs of a mansion fit for the
residence of a wealthy merchant. I began to wonder who the man was on
the box with the driver, and why he had whistled. I changed my position
to the front seat, under the window, which I had opened to enable me to
speak to the driver.
I began to have a suspicion that something was wrong, and I determined
to investigate as far as it was possible to do so. I waited to hear if
anything was said by the two men on the box. I listened eagerly and
painfully, for my suspicions almost made me mad. I reviewed the
circumstances under which we had left the hotel. The letter was signed
by Mr. Loraine, and the driver told me he had brought it from Madison
Place.
My heart rose up into my throat, as the conviction flashed upon my mind
that Kate and I were the victims of some villanous scheme. The rascally
driver could not have gone to Madison Place in the time that intervened
between his two calls at the hotel, if Madison Place was farther off
than we had yet gone. I was so nervous and restless that Kate fathomed
my painful anxiety. She could not help believing by this time that
something was wrong.
"O, Ernest Thornton!" exclaimed she, when it was no longer possible for
her to keep still.
"Don't be alarmed, Kate," I replied; but I was fearfully alarmed myself.
"Where are we going?"
"I don't know; but it is plain enough now that we have been deceived."
"Tom Thornton has done this!" gasped she.
"I suppose so; but be calm, Kate. Heaven will protect us."
"I am frightened almost to death," said she, with chattering teeth.
"What shall we do?"
"I don't know yet. Keep as cool as you can, and leave it all to me. They
can't go a great ways farther with this team. We must stop soon."
I was strongly impressed with the opinion that it was time something was
done. Of course the wretches on the box had made their plans beforehand,
and everything seemed to be working well for them. Doubtless they would
have the means of securely disposing of their victims when they reached
their destination. It seemed to me to be necessary, therefore, to
derange their plans, if possible, and I waited for a favorable time to
make a demonstration.