CHAPTER XXVII.
IN A TRAP.
All Gilbert Warrington’s speeches were apparently wasted upon Violet’s ears. She stood leaning against the trunk of the tree listening in stolid silence to his words. She knew that there was no hope of escape for her. All alone with him in the forest at that hour, how could she hope to get away from him? A little bird caught in a wire trap might just as reasonably expect to get free from its prison as this poor child, caught in the snare of the relentless villain before her, bent upon carrying out his own wicked designs.
All this flashed through Violet’s brain as she stood there pale and trembling, facing Gilbert Warrington, her girlish heart quailing from the thought of what might be before her.
“You had better come with me, Violet,” he said, persuasively, laying his hand upon her arm as he spoke. “I will take you to New Orleans to-night. Once there, we can be married, and you will then be at liberty to go where you wish. I swear that I only want your money. Give me the right to control it, and I will relinquish all claim upon you. Your mother’s will leaves you the sole heir to the Arleigh fortune when you reach your majority, or should you marry before that time. Now you understand me?”
“I do. You are the vilest villain unhung!” she answered, fearlessly.
“Ah-h! Well, that is as you like. Your opinion can not injure me, my dear. All I want is the money, and that I mean to have!”
“I will give it to you, every dollar of it, except what is necessary to provide for my own living, only let me go in peace.”
“Quite sensible, my dear Violet. Well, then, I propose that you go with me to New Orleans this very night. No time like the present. You shall be treated with the respect due a lady. I will take you to the St. Charles Hotel, and I will call for you in the morning with all necessary arrangements for our marriage completed, after which you will be at liberty to go where you like.”
“You need spare yourself the trouble,” intervened Violet, coldly. “I shall never marry you, rest assured of that. You must be mad if you imagine that you can intimidate me in such a way. But I am willing to make a deed of gift to you of all my fortune, save a sufficient sum to support me, the deed to come into effect when I am twenty-one—three years from now. Will that be satisfactory, you miserable blackmailer?”
He smiled at her ignorance. But he must not let her suspect his plan; he must get her to go to New Orleans, and that very night, if possible. He can see his way to success.
“Very well,” he returned, quietly, “I will consent. All I want is the money.”
But low under his breath he muttered savagely:
“But I will not wait three years to take possession of it. She is in my power completely now.”
“Will you go with me to-night, Violet?” he asked, aloud, in a pleading tone. “I must have this business settled immediately, for as soon as I am in possession of your deed, I can realize enough on it for present use, and will leave the country at once.”
Her face brightened at the prospect.
“Yes, I will go to-night—as well now as later; and if I return to Yorke Towers and let everybody know I am going, there will be sure to be some objection made, and probably Aunt Constance would put an end to the whole thing. But first I must write a line to Leonard—Mr. Yorke—and let him know that I am going away in this strange and abrupt fashion, but will return to-morrow.”
Down in her heart she was saying to herself:
“I will humor this wicked man and obey him outwardly; but once in the town, I will try and seek some one’s protection and escape him. I will write to Leonard, so that if I fail in making my escape from Gilbert Warrington, he will be able to save me.”
She went with outward willingness the rest of the way to the town and the railroad station. Here Warrington procured writing materials, and Violet wrote a hasty line to Leonard, telling him that she had been forced to go with an old acquaintance of her mother to the city on important private business which she would fully explain on her return the following day.
The letter written, she gave it to a porter to drop into the mail-box outside the station-house. He was just in the act of dropping the letter into the box, when a hand came down upon his arm, and a voice hissed in his ear:
“Hold, my man! Give me that letter. This will pay you,” slipping a five-dollar bill into the man’s hand.
A moment later poor Violet’s letter was in fragments upon the ground, and then Gilbert Warrington, his evil work done, went back to his victim.
The train was steaming in as fast as it could. Violet had seen no one whom she knew, even the agent had been too busy for her to get speech with him. There was no chance to appeal to any one. Everything seemed against her.
The tickets were purchased, and trying hard to feel that this was only an ordinary trip, Violet allowed Warrington to place her on board, and off they steamed for New Orleans.
She really felt little apprehension over her strange and late journey. Her mind was filled with the one thought that the sooner it was over with the sooner she would be free from Gilbert Warrington’s persecutions forever.
She intended to go to a lawyer in New Orleans and state the case, then see if nothing could be done to free her from this villain’s clutches without the sacrifice of her fortune.
The train reached New Orleans in the early dawn, and Gilbert Warrington assisted Violet to alight.
She wore a long cloak with the hood drawn over her head—a cloak which he had taken from the hall outside Mrs. Yorke’s room, and had used to envelop Violet in and smother her cries for help.
He led her to a cab, assisted her inside, then followed quickly, having first given the driver some low-toned instructions. The cab rattled away over the stony streets.
Violet began to feel a curious sensation of drowsiness stealing over her senses. She closed her eyes wearily. She began to realize vaguely that she had done a very imprudent thing in coming to New Orleans with this man, her bitter foe. A foolish step had she taken in her ignorance and her mad determination to rid herself of her tormentor forever at all hazards.
But while these doubts and fears strayed through her brain, sleep overtook her and she knew no more. She opened her eyes at last.
It was broad daylight now. But where was she?
All alone in a strange room. One window only, and that was shielded by iron bars. An iron bedstead, a stool, and a small pine table made up the furniture.
She was lying upon the hard bed. She lifted her head, and tried to rise, but she was faint, and giddy, and sick. She began to realize then that she had been under the influence of chloroform, and that was how Gilbert Warrington had brought her to this place without her knowledge.
To what a fool-hardy expedition had she lent herself! What a foolish act had she committed! what a senseless proceeding—to imagine that she, a simple, innocent young girl, could outwit and circumvent a hardened villain like Gilbert Warrington!
As these thoughts ran riot in her brain the key turned in the lock of the door—until then she did not know that she was a prisoner—and a woman entered—a coarse-featured, crafty-eyed old woman, with iron-gray hair and a forbidding aspect.
With a mighty effort Violet conquered the sick, giddy sensation and rose slowly to her feet.
“Where am I?” she demanded.
The woman’s grim features relaxed with a cruel smile.
“Where you are safe, young woman—where all of your kind ought to be. You are in Langley’s Private Asylum for the Insane.”
