The woman advanced into the room and deposited her tea-tray on the
table. A tempting little lunch was arranged upon it in a pretty china
service.
"Come, Mrs. Noble, and drink your tea while it is still warm," she
said, coaxingly. "I know you are tired and hungry. Will you take a bit
of this chicken salad and cold sliced ham? 'Twill do you good."
"I have no appetite, thank you," Vera answers, turning her head aside.
"Well, I'll leave the tray with you while I go and bind up master's
wounded arm. Mayhap you'll eat by-and-bye," the woman answers kindly as
she goes out, carefully locking the door behind her.
Left to herself, Lady Vera draws a long breath of relief, and turning
to a window, draws aside the heavy velvet curtain, glancing anxiously
out for any possible prospect of release.
Alas! her captor's words proved all too true. The first faint beams
of dawn rising palely in the east, show her the wide, dense belt of
woodland surrounding the ruined mansion in which she is imprisoned.
The wild, tangled garden beneath the window sends up gusts of rainy
perfume to her eager senses. She pushes up the sash and leans out,
inhaling the fresh, sweet air, and wondering if it would not be
possible to escape through the window from this horrible trap into
which her credulity had led her.
Alas! her eager, downward glance shows her that she is in the third
story of the house.
She drops the heavy curtain and sinks shivering to a seat, worn and
trembling with the terrible experiences of the night. Her thoughts fly
to the home from whence she has been so rudely torn.
"Are they frightened? Are they seeking for me, I wonder?" she thinks.
"Oh, may God guide them in their search!"
And then she thinks of her lost lover, handsome, manly Philip Lockhart.
She knows how heavily the blow will fall on that true, manly, loving
heart.
She leans her head wearily down on her arm, and gives herself up to the
sad, sweet pleasure of thinking of Philip Lockhart. Gradually a weary
sleep steals over her, from which she is awakened by the entrance of
her keeper.
"Asleep, dear? I'm sorry I awakened ye," she says, blandly. "Do you
feel better of your little fit of temper?"
Lady Vera makes no answer to this kind query.
"Mr. Noble has gone up to London," pursues the maid, glibly. "He left
his love and good-bye for you. You gave him quite an ugly cut, so you
did, my pretty lady. Won't you let poor old Betsy Robson see the pretty
little knife you did it with?" she continues, coaxingly.
Lady Vera lifts her eyes and regards her calmly.
"Betsy Robson, if that is your name," she said, "listen to me a moment.
I have a dagger concealed on my person, and Leslie Noble has set you on
to take it from me. I warn you that if you make the slightest attempt
to do so, it will be at the peril of your life. It is my only weapon of
defense against Leslie Noble, and I will never part with it while I am
in that villain's power."
"Oh, fie, my lady, why should you be so set against your loving
husband?" remonstrates Mrs. Robson.
Lady Vera regards her keenly.
"Are you acting a part, or do you really believe what that man tells
you?" she asks, wonderingly. "I tell you Leslie Noble has no claim on
me at all. He is a villain who has stolen me away from my home and
friends to try to force me to be his wife. I am Lady Fairvale, of
Fairvale Park, and if you will restore me to my liberty, Mrs. Robson, I
will reward you generously."
The dark eyes, full of bitter tears now, are lifted pleadingly to the
woman's stolid face, but the wild appeal only elicits some words under
Betsy Robson's breath:
"Poor soul! He told me she fancied she was some great, rich lady. A
pity she is so wild-like. So lovely as she is, too, and might be such a
pride to her handsome husband."
Countess Vera turns away her head with a heart-wrung cry.
"Oh, may God forgive you, woman, for lending yourself to this wicked
conspiracy against a wronged girl! Surely He who reigns above will send
me safe deliverance from my prison-house."
"Poor, pretty creature, raving mad, that she is," comments stupid, yet
kind-hearted Betsy Robson.