CHAPTER XXXI.
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.
