CHAPTER XXIV
THE COLLAPSE
"We are to go out to-day!" Helka's face was beaming when she gave this news to Cora. The latter had longed so for the sunshine since shut up in the big upper room.
"Out where?"
"In the grounds, of course. They do not let us on the highway."
"And does that satisfy you? You could go—if you chose."
"Well, I could, and I could not. I would be afraid if I ran away that old Mother Hull's face would kill me in my sleep. She is a dreadful woman."
"But that is superstitious. No dream can kill. I wish that was all that held me here," and Cora sighed deeply.
"But you have promised not to try to escape while you are in my charge," Helka reminded her. "And surely you will keep that promise!" There was alarm in her voice. Helka had not told Cora all of her fears.
"Yes, I will not run away from you. I doubt if I could do so, at any rate."
"Indeed, you could not, but you might be foolish enough to try. I keep hoping for you all the time."
"You are very good to me, Helka, and I hope that whatever becomes of me I will not lose you entirely. But sometimes I have a fearful dread. I feel as if I will choke from actual fear."
"I don't blame you. The faces of some of our tribe are enough to strangle one. But I have promised to take care of you, and you need fear no violence, at any rate."
They were seated on the floor, as usual. Presently Lena appeared.
"Fetch the walking dresses—the brown and the black," said Helka. "We are going out in the woods."
"Sam did not go to town," ventured Lena.
"Why?" asked the queen sharply.
"I don't know. He asked if you were going out."
"Indeed! Perhaps he expects to walk with us. Well, don't hurry with the things. We have all day."
Cora was disappointed. The very thought of getting out of doors had brought her hope—hope that some one might see her, hope for something so vague she could not name it.
"Can't we go out this morning?" she asked. "The day is so delightful."
Helka gave her a meaning glance. "I wish Sam would bring me some fruit," she said to Lena. "Tell him I have not had any for days, and say that the last—from the farm was delicious."
"All right," assented Lena, "I think he—will go."
"I think he will," agreed Helka. "He never fails me when I ask for anything. Sam is ambitious."
She was bright and cheery again. Yes, they would take their walk, and
Cora would be out in the great, free, wide world once more.
"How do you manage to get such up-to-date clothes?" she asked Helka, as she inspected the tailor-made walking dress of really good cut and material.
"Why, I have a girl friend in New York who sends by express a new gown each season. You see, it would not do for me to attract attention when I am out in the grounds."
"But, if you did attract attention, would not that possibly help you to get away?"
"My dear, the situation is very complex. You see, I have a respectable lover, and I live every day in hopes of some time joining him. Should our band get into disrepute, which it surely would do if discovered here, I should feel disgraced. Besides"—and she looked very serious—"there are other reasons why I cannot make any desperate move for freedom."
Cora thought it wise not to press her further. It was a strange situation, but surely the woman was honest and kind, and had befriended Cora in her darkest hour. What more could she ask now?
Helka gave Cora a choice of the dresses, and she took the black costume. There was scarcely any perceptible difference in their sizes, and when gowned Helka declared Cora looked "chic." Helka herself looked quite the society lady, her tight-fitting brown costume suiting her admirably.
Cora was trembling with anticipation. She wondered if they would be allowed to roam about at will, or how they would be guarded. Finally Helka was ready.
"We will have Lena with us—that is, she will be supposed to be with us. Then—but you must wait and see. It is rather odd, but it is better than being indoors." Helka rang her bell and Lena appeared.
"We are ready," she said simply, and again the girl was gone.
It seemed ages, but really was but a short time before Lena returned.
"All right," she said, "the door is opened, and the dogs are gone."
It was the first time Cora had been out in the hall, and she looked around in wonderment. It was dark and dirty, so different from Helka's apartment. Lena led the way. There were three flights of stairs.
"You girls do not do too much sweeping," complained the queen, as she lifted her skirts. "I should think you would have had Christine brush down these steps."
"I told her to, but Mother Hull sent her for berries," explained Lena.
They passed along, and finally reached the outer door. The fresh air blew upon them.
"Oh!" exclaimed Cora. "Isn't it good to be in the open air?"
"Hush!" whispered Helka. "It is best that you make no remarks. I will tell you why later."
Mother Hull was crouched at the steps. She looked up first at Helka, then at Cora. My, what eyes! No wonder Helka said they might kill one in a dream.
Down the steps and at last on the ground! Cora's feet fairly tingled. Helka tripped along lightly ahead of her. Two ordinary-looking men were working on the grounds. The place seemed just like any other country house that might be old and somewhat neglected, but there was not the slightest evidence of it being an abode of crime or of gypsies.
"This way, Cora," said Helka. "There is a splendid path through the woods this way. I love to gather the tinted leaves there."
As they turned the men also turned and made their work fit in exactly to the way the girls were going.
"Our guard," whispered Helka. "They will not speak to us, but they never take their eyes off us. I don't mind them, but I hate the dogs. They never call them unless they fear I might speak with a stranger."
"What sort of dogs are they?" asked Cora eagerly.
"I don't know; not thoroughbreds, I can tell you that. I could make friends with any decent dog, but these—must be regular tramps. I hate them."
Cora, too, thought she might have made friends with any "decent" dogs, but she had the same fear that Helka spoke of regarding mongrels.
A roadway was not too distant to be seen. If only some one would come along, thought Cora, some one who might hear her voice! But if she should shout! They might both be attacked by those savage dogs.
"Oh, see those gentian," exclaimed Helka. "I always think of David's eyes when I find gentian. They are as blue and as sweet and——"
"Why, Helka! You leave me nothing to say for my fair-eyed friends. They have eyes, every one of them. Here are Betty's," and she grasped a sprig of a wonderful blue blossom. "And here are dear, darling Belle's," picking up a spray of myrtle in bloom, "and here are the brown eyes of Bess," at which remark the eyes of Cora Kimball could hardly look at the late, brown daisy, because of a mist of tears.
"All girls!" exclaimed Helka wonderingly.
"Oh, I know some boys," replied Cora, running along and noting that the men with the dogs were close by. "Jack is dark. I really could not tell the color of his eyes!"
"And he is your brother!"
"The very reason," said Cora with something like a laugh. "Now I know that Walter has eyes like his hair, and his hair is not like anything else."
"But Ed's?" and at this Helka smiled prettily. "I had an idea that Ed's eyes were sort of composite. A bit of love, that would be blue," and she picked up a late violet, "a bit of faith, gray for that," and she found a spray of wild geranium, "and a bit of black for steadfast honor. There! I must find a black-eyed Susan," and at this she actually ran away from Cora, and left the frightened girl with the men and dogs too close to her heels for comfort.
For a moment Cora wanted to scream. She was too nervous to remember that she had been promised security by Helka: all she knew, and all she felt, was danger, and danger to her was now a thing unbearable.
"Helka! Helka!" she called wildly.
The other girl, running nymph-like through the woods, turned at the call, and putting her hands in trumpet shape to her lips, answered as do school girls and boys when out of reach of the more conventional forms of conversation.
"Here I am," came the reply. "What is it, Cora?"
"Wait for me," screamed the frightened girl, while those dreadful dogs actually sniffed at her heels.
Cora felt just then that the strain of being so near freedom, and yet so far from it, was even worse than being in the big room.
"I know where there are some beautiful fall wild flowers," said Helka. "We may walk along for a good distance yet. These grounds are mine, you know."
"If they were only mine!" Cora could not help expressing.
"You see, my dear, I owe something to my dear, dead mother. She loved this life."
"But your father. Did he?"
"I can't say. I wish I might find him. He is not really dead."
"Not dead!"
"No. I say so at times because we call certain conditions death, but I do believe my father lives—abroad."
"And he is a nobleman?"
"You folks would call him that, but he is not one of us."
"How strange that you should be so bound by traditions! And you know your lover—is not one of you."
"Oh, yes, he is. That is what makes him love me. He is called a socialist. He is not a gypsy, but he will not be bound by conventionalities."
"But suppose he knew of this crime?"
"We do not admit it is a crime to hold you for the release of Salvo. They cannot convict him of the robbery if you do not appear against him. It is a sort of justice."
It was very vague justice to Cora, and she knew perfectly well the argument would have little weight with her friends, should she ever meet them again.
But she must meet them! She must induce this girl—for she really was nothing more than a misinformed girl—she must induce her to escape!
If only she could get a letter to David!
If only Lena would take one for her!
My, how her heart beat! Helka was picking flowers, but Cora was looking out on that roadway.
An automobile dashed by.
"Oh!" exclaimed Cora, clutching Helka's arm. "I cannot stand it! I must call or go mad!"
The dead leaves tried to move! Something stirred them to unnatural life. There was a shuffling of feet! A riot of fear! Chipmunks scampered off! But the girl lay there!
"Cora! Cora, dear!" wailed Helka. "Try to live! I cannot lose you!
Oh, Cora, I must make you live!"
But the form on the dead grass was lifeless. The automobile had dashed by. A cloud of dust was all that was left to mark its path.
"Cora! Cora!" almost screamed Helka. "Wake up! They are coming!"
The prostrate girl seemed to moan.
Then they did come.
Cora was apparently dead!