AN APPEAL TO JINNIE'S HEART
One afternoon she was on her way home from her lesson when she heard a
voice call, "Miss Grandoken!" She glanced up swiftly, recognizing the
speaker immediately. He had been present that first night she had
played for Theodore's guests, and she remembered vividly her intuitive
dislike of him; but because he was a friend of Theodore's she went
forward eagerly. The man drove his car to the side of the pavement and
bowed.
"Would you care to be of service to Mr. King?" he asked, smiling.
Jinnie noticed his dazzling teeth and scarlet lips.
"Oh, yes, indeed! I wish I might."
"Then come with me," replied the man. "Will you?"
Without fear she entered the open car door and sat down, placing her
violin on the seat beside her. She sank back with a sigh. The time had
come she had so longed for; she was going to do something for
Theodore. She was glad now she had consented to take two lessons that
day, or she would have missed this blessed opportunity to show her
gratitude to her dear one, in acts, as well as words. The car turned
and sped up the hill.
If Jinnie wondered where the man was taking her, she did not allude to
it. They were driving in the same direction she took every day to
visit the master, and the very familiarity of it turned aside any
question that arose in her mind. As he helped her from the machine,
she looked up at the sombre building in front of them. In passing it
daily she had often wondered what it was and if any one lived within
its vast stone walls. One hasty glance, as she was being ushered in,
showed paint pails, brushes, and long ropes fastened from the roof to
broad planks below.
"Miss Merriweather will be here very soon," the man explained
good-naturedly. "She wants you to go with her to the hospital."
Jinnie's mind flew to that one time she had visited Theodore's sick
bed. She would be glad to see Molly the Merry.
She had forgiven all the woman's cruelty.
The long flights of stairs they mounted were dark and uncarpeted.
Their footsteps made a hollow sound through the wide corridors, and
there was no other sign of human life about the place. But still
Jinnie followed the man in front of her, up and up, until she had
counted five floors. Then he took a key from his pocket and put it in
the lock, turning it with a click.
Jinnie waited until, stepping inside, he turned and smilingly bade her
enter. There was so little natural suspicion in the girl's heart that
she never questioned the propriety, much less the safety, of coming
into a strange place with an unknown man. Her dear one was ill. She
was anxious to see him again, to help him if possible. She felt a
little shy at the thought of seeing Miss Merriweather once more. The
man led her to an inner room and suavely waved to a chair, asking her
to be seated. Casting anxious eyes about the place, she obeyed.
"I'm going after Miss Merriweather now, if you'll wait a few moments,"
explained the stranger. "She wasn't ready and asked me to bring you
first. I think she's preparing a surprise for Mr. King."
Jinnie's tender little heart warmed toward Molly the Merry. Just then
she had untold gratitude for the woman who was allowing her to take
Theodore something with her own hands. Oh, what joy!
She smiled back at the speaker as he moved toward the door. Then he
left her, asking her politely to make herself at home until he
returned.
Jinnie waited and waited until she thought she couldn't possibly wait
any longer. Peg would be worried, terribly worried, and little Bobbie
wouldn't eat his supper without her. But because of Miss
Merriweather's kindness and her own great desire to see her
sweetheart, she must stay until the last moment. She grew tired, stiff
with sitting, and the little clock on the mantel told her she'd been
there over two hours. She got up and went to the window. The building
stood high on a large wooded bluff overlooking a deep gorge. The
landscape before her interested her exceedingly, and took her in fancy
to the wilderness of Mottville. The busy birds fluttered to and fro,
twittering sleepily to each other, and for a short time the watcher
forgot her anxiety in the majesty of the scene.
Miles of hills and miles and miles of water stretched northward as far
as her eyes could discern anything. The same water passed and repassed
the old farmhouse, and for some time Jinnie tried to locate some
familiar spot, off where the sky dipped to the lake. It wasn't until
she noticed the hands of the clock pointed to half past six that she
became terribly nervous.
She wanted to go to the hospital and get back to Peg. Mrs. Grandoken
couldn't leave the baby with Blind Bobbie, and there was supper to
buy. Once more she paced the rooms, then back to the window. She
shivered for some unknown reason, and a sharp consciousness of evil
suddenly grew out of the lengthening hours. With the gathering dusk
the hills and gorge had fallen into voiceless silence, and because her
nerves tingled with vague fear, Jinnie drew the curtains to shut out
the yawning dark, and lighted a lamp on the table.
The room was arranged simply with a small divan, at the head of which
was a pillow. Jinnie sat down and leaned back. Her face held a look of
serious attention. She wondered if anything had happened to Molly the
Merry. Then abruptly she decided to go downstairs. If they weren't
coming, she'd _have_ to go home. She went to the door and, turning the
knob, pulled hard. The door was locked, and the key was gone! Her
discovery seemed to unmake her life in a twinkling. She was like one
stricken with death--pale, cold and shivering. She did not know what
she was going to do, but she must act--she must do something! A round
of inspection showed her she could not open one of the doors. The
windows, too, had several nails driven into their tops and along the
sides, and the doors were securely fastened with keys. She went back
to the window, raised the curtains, and looked out into the gloom.
There was not another light to be seen.
The clock on the mantel had struck nine, and Jinnie had grown so
horrified she dared not sit down. Many a time she went to the door and
pressed her ear to it, but no sound came through the deep silence.
It was after eleven when she dropped on the divan and drew the
coverlet over her. The next she knew, daylight was streaming in upon
her face.