When Royal Ainsley shook himself free from old Joe's detaining grasp,
his first impulse was to get as far away from the place as possible.
With second thoughts, however, came another decision. No; he must learn
all that was taking place.
Quickly circling the grounds, he soon gained a vantage-place behind a
group of bushes not far from the house. There he could easily see and
hear all that transpired without being seen himself.
He saw Eugene Mallard as he drew the girl beneath the swinging lamp in
the hall, and heard the conversation that passed between them.
"So!" he muttered, grinding his white teeth savagely, "the girl is my
lady's maid, eh? I dare say, she sent her with some message to me when
she was intercepted by Eugene Mallard. But Ida will find that this will
not work with me. See her I shall, if I have to stay in these grounds
till broad daylight."
He watched and waited until he saw even old Joe relax his vigilance and
go into the house.
Royal Ainsley waited there until the old mansion was wrapped in gloom
and darkness, then he slipped from his hiding-place, passed noiselessly
over the graveled walk, and stood beneath Ida's window.
Stooping, he caught up a handful of pebbles. One by one he flung them
up against the window-pane. Just as he had expected, he saw a white,
terrified face appear at the window, and two white hands threw up the
sash.
He saw at once that it was Ida. He moved out from the shadow of the
trees. She saw him at once, and recognized him.
"Is it _you_?" she cried, in the greatest alarm. "What in Heaven's name
are you doing there, pray?"
"Your common sense ought to tell you _that_;" he retorted, harshly.
"Come down here at once, I tell you, and be sure to bring that money
with you!"
"Oh, no! no! I can not!" she answered him, piteously.
"Why?" he demanded, with something very much like an imprecation upon
his lips.
"I dropped the money in the dining-room as I was passing through it to
get out into the grounds. The room is locked; I can not get it until
to-morrow morning. Old Joe always carries the key with him."
"It is a lie!" he cried, fiercely.
"No! no! On my life, it is true!" she answered, with a piteous quiver
in her voice; adding: "I was hurrying through the room, and there I
must have dropped it. I searched for it in every other place."
"Then hear what I say," he retorted, with an oath, "in these very
grounds I shall stay until you come to me. I know well that old Joe is
astir at dawn. You must be up then, find the money which you say you
dropped, and bring it out to me. I will be waiting for you at the same
place."
Before she could utter a word of protest, he had turned and disappeared
in the darkness.
All night long Ida Mallard paced the floor of her room, scarcely
heeding the hours that dragged their slow lengths by. Dawn came before
she realized it. She was startled from her reverie by hearing old Joe
throwing open the shutters about the house. That recalled her to a
realization of passing events.
Joe had unlocked the door of the dining-room at last, but his sight was
so poor that he could not espy a small roll of bills lying on the floor.
Ida, gliding into the room as soon as his footsteps echoed down the
corridor, found the package.
She stole to the door as soon as it was unlocked.
Ah! how sweet and fragrant was the early morning. How cool and green
the grass looked, wet with the morning dew! Little she dreamed that ere
the day waned that same grass would be dyed with a human being's blood.
She shivered as she stepped forth into the grounds. With hurried steps
she crossed the lawn, and went into the rose-garden beyond. There she
saw Royal Ainsley. He was pacing the little path by the brook, his face
white, his eyes angry-looking, downcast and sullen.
"So you have come at last, eh?" he exclaimed, angrily.
"I am here," she responded, tremulously.
"I was just about to go and wake up the household," he cried, his rage
increasing.
"Now, that I am here, you will not have to do that," she answered,
wearily.
"Where is the money?" he asked, abruptly.
She held it in her hand, but clutched it more tightly.
"I have it with me," she responded; "but it is not yours until you
carry out your promises!"
He looked at her with a cunning gleam in his eyes.
"To be sure I will carry out my agreement," he said.
"But I must have proof that you will do so before I part with so much
money," she said. "You must give me your written word that you will
never trouble me again. You must also tell me where I can find my
child, for I see that you have not kept your word about bringing her
with you!"
He laughed aloud--a harsh, mocking laugh.
"I am not surprised at hearing a remark like that from your lips. A
woman who could abandon her child as easily as _you_ did, without so
much as knowing its fate, and who is content to live here as Eugene
Mallard's wife, whenever he is ready to take you to his heart, is
capable of doing anything. I do not wonder that you supposed the little
one was here in the grounds all night long awaiting your fancy to
appear!"
She recoiled at the words as though he had struck her a blow.
"Let me tell you where your child is," he said, hoarsely. "You shall
know its fate!"
As he spoke, he seized the hand that held the money, and tore the bills
from her grasp.