A RAY OF HOPE.
For a moment Violet could scarcely believe the evidence of her own
senses. Could it be Dunbar, or was it only a fancy, a freak of the
imagination conjured up from the depths of her half-distraught brain?
She had become accustomed to the detective, after her mother’s supposed
death, and had become familiar with his personal appearance; so she
gazed from the iron-barred window now with eager, anxious eyes, to make
sure that she had not deceived herself.
Yes, it was Dunbar; there could be no doubt upon that score. He was
gazing up at the buildings with furtive eyes, as though seeking for
some one.
A negro girl lounged indolently out of the high, iron-barred gate of
the institution, and moved lazily on down the street. Dunbar moved
rapidly on after her. Could he be seeking some one within the grim,
forbidding walls, and was the negro girl his accomplice? Perhaps she
had even been sent inside the grounds as a spy in his service. And now
that she had emerged from the dreary confines of the asylum, had Dunbar
waited to receive her report, and was he following her now for that
purpose?
Strange as it may seem, Violet had hit upon the real truth, the true
state of affairs. She stood there gazing forth upon the now deserted
street with eager, devouring eyes, a faint hope stirring feebly within
her heart. Somehow the glimpse she had had of Dunbar made her hope
in spite of her dreary surroundings and gloomy prospects. There was
something in the sturdy, cheery aspect of the man which was conducive
to hope and confidence. And as Violet stood there vaguely turning over
in her brain the fact of his presence near her, the wild idea crossed
her mind, _was he seeking her_?
Improbable as the idea appeared at first sight, it lingered within the
girl’s heart and would not be expelled.
Her eyes followed the tall, straight figure of the detective until he
halted in the rear of an out-building. The negro girl halted also.
Violet, watching with her very heart in her eyes, saw that Dunbar was
engaged in earnest conversation with the girl; and the way in which he
occasionally glanced up at the house made Violet hope that his business
with the girl had reference to some one within the building; and if
some one, why not herself?
It seemed absurd, but Violet Arleigh’s confidence and faith in the
detective’s powers were almost unlimited. She knew that he had sworn
never to give up his search for Rosamond Arleigh, her poor, unfortunate
mother; then why should he not seek Violet also? She knew that as
soon as she would be missed from Yorke Towers there would be great
excitement throughout the country; so Dunbar would know the truth at
once, and perhaps he had tracked her down to the dismal prison-house
in which she was confined.
A swift impulse darted into her brain. If she could only write a line
and convey it to him in some way, surely he would help her, even though
his business at the asylum should have no connection with herself.
Attached to her watch-chain was a tiny gold pencil. She had no paper;
but such obstacles are sometimes overcome when one is in dead earnest,
as Violet was now. Smoothing out her pocket-handkerchief upon the
table, she managed to write upon it with the pencil:
“Mr. Dunbar--I am a prisoner in this place. If you do not get me
out before night, I shall be forced to marry Gilbert Warrington, my
mother’s hated foe.
“Violet Arleigh.”
Rolling the handkerchief up into a ball, she mounted the table once
more and peered eagerly forth, her heart contracting with a sickening
fear lest he should be gone. No, thank Heaven, he is still in sight!
The sash had been removed from the window to admit the air; it was an
easy matter for Violet to carry out her hastily formed plan. She drew
close to the iron bars, and called aloud, at the top of her voice, “Mr.
Dunbar!”
The detective glanced upward. With an inward prayer for help, Violet
pushed the handkerchief, rolled into a ball, through the bars; it fell
at Dunbar’s feet. He stooped and picked it up, his eyes seeking the
window with a swift, glad glance. He saw her and recognized her. Thank
Heaven! He lifted his hat with a little, expressive gesture, which
somehow made Violet’s heart glad, and filled her with confidence as he
walked away, the handkerchief still clasped in his hand. She felt that
she was in safe keeping, and that there was hope for her at last.
She watched the detective out of sight; then she descended from her
perch upon the table, and pushed it back into its place; then she
sat down to wait, she hardly knew for what. But it was wonderful how
that tiny hope, and her confidence in the detective’s ability and
willingness to help her, had power to buoy up the girl’s sinking heart,
and make her strong in mind and body.
As she sat buried in thought the door of the cell opened and old Mrs.
Carter made her appearance. Her ugly face wore a smile of triumph.
“So, my honey, ye seen the doctor, didn’t ye? And great good it done
you, eh, honey?”
Violet shrunk away from the coarse old creature, sick with horror at
being forced to endure her presence; and even Violet’s inexperienced
eyes could see that the old woman was half intoxicated. And she was in
the power of a creature like this!
“I saw Doctor Langley--yes,” returned Violet, quietly. “And what do you
want here?” she added, abruptly.
Mrs. Carter laughed.
“Oh, I thought I’d just ask if you ain’t ready for your breakfast!”
she responded. “Anything you want, jest you order it, and then sit down
and wait until it comes.”
It occurred to Violet then that she had better eat something and try to
keep up her strength; for that Dunbar would find some way to help her
before night, she was almost certain.
“I will take a cup of coffee and some toast,” she said.
The old woman nodded her head like an automatic figure.
“Oh! ye will, eh? Very well; you shall have it,” she said.
She was leering at Violet out of the depths of her crafty eyes, with an
expression which made the girl’s blood run cold.
“Go and bring my breakfast,” she commanded, coldly. “That is all I want
of you.”
“Oh! it is, is it? Humph! Well, you shall have more of me than you
want, afore you’re through here, I reckon. Your breakfast you shall
have, miss, at once.” And with a mocking obeisance she left the cell,
not forgetting to lock its door behind her.
Trembling like a leaf, Violet stood gazing after the retreating figure,
until the closing door cut off her view; then she turned dejectedly
away.
Tap! tap! Surely that was something tapping at the iron-barred window.
Even as she gazed, a folded paper, attached to a long pole, appeared at
the bars.
How did it come there? For the room was in the third story.
She climbed upon the table once more, and secured the note, for such it
proved to be.
Then she saw that it had come from a neighboring balcony, where the
same negro girl whom she had seen with Dunbar was busily employed in
washing windows. Violet’s quick brain grasped the situation. Dunbar was
helping her, even as she knew he would.
Hurriedly descending from the table, she opened the note with trembling
fingers.
* * * * *
“Dear Miss Arleigh,” it said, “don’t eat or drink _anything_ in this
place, even though you perish of starvation. But you shall not do
that; for I shall have you out of there this very night. Do all that
you are told to do. Go with Gilbert Warrington to your marriage. Be
quiet and obedient, and I will do the rest. _Trust me!_ I will not
fail you.
“Dunbar.”
With a glad thrill in her heart, Violet hid the precious letter away in
her bosom, and just in time; for at that moment the old woman appeared
with quite a tempting breakfast arranged upon a waiter. She placed it
upon the table, and after a quick, suspicious glance around the narrow
room, disappeared once more.
When Violet heard the key turn in the lock, she went over to the table,
and taking the cup of coffee from the waiter, emptied its contents into
the empty grate which occupied a corner of the room. The food she hid
away under the fender, where it would not be seen; and having disposed
of the contents of the waiter, she went over to the iron cot, and lay
down as though to sleep.
Hours passed. The day slowly declined; the sun set and night came down;
still Violet lay there quite silent. Several times during the day she
had heard the door open softly, and some one glanced into the room. She
understood. They were watching to see if the drug which had been placed
in her food had taken effect. They meant to stupefy her so that she
would be pliant as wax in the hands of Warrington.
The hours rolled slowly by. Eight o’clock struck. Then the door of the
cell opened once more, and Gilbert Warrington entered.
[Illustration]