CHAPTER XXXIV.
AT LAST.
Dunbar led Violet out of the room and the house, out through the tall iron gate, which closed with a loud clang behind them, and into the waiting carriage which stood there.
Violet had no hat, but the thoughtful detective had provided a cloak which he had left in the carriage, and this he now proceeded to wrap around the trembling form of the girl, drawing the hood over her head.
“Pardon me,” was all he said as he adjusted the garment about her slight form. “I fear that you will be cold; for even at this season the night air is chilly.”
Violet felt a thrill of gratitude for the man’s kindness.
“You are very good, Mr. Dunbar,” she returned, gratefully. “I can never thank you enough for all your kindness to me. What, in Heaven’s name, would have become of me but for you? But—where are you taking me?” she added, after a slight pause.
“To my own house,” he returned. “Ah! you did not know that I am a staid married man, with the best of wives and the sweetest of baby girls? Yes, I am a sober, settled Benedict, Miss Arleigh, and my wife will be more than pleased to receive you. Besides—you are going to meet Doctor Danton there.”
“I shall be very glad,” murmured Violet, faintly, her head drooping among the cushions of the carriage.
To tell the truth, the poor girl was beginning to feel the effects of her long fast; for she had not eaten anything since dinner at Yorke Towers, the evening before.
Dunbar understood the case at once.
“Try and keep up, Miss Arleigh,” he said, encouragingly. “We will soon be at my house, and there you will get refreshment. See! this is the street, and there is the house at last.”
For the carriage had stopped before a neat white cottage in whose windows a bright light burned cheerfully.
Dunbar alighted from the carriage and took Violet in his arms.
“Come, Miss Arleigh,” he said; “my wife will take care of you now.”
He carried the half-fainting girl into the house and deposited her upon a sofa in the cheery little parlor.
Mrs. Dunbar—a bright-faced, gentle-looking lady—came to Violet’s side and removed the cloak.
“Why, she is fainting!” cried the lady in a tone of alarm.
“And so would you, too, my dear,” observed her husband, bluntly, “if you had not eaten or drunk a mouthful for over twenty-four hours, besides being subjected to an intense strain of excitement and terror—actually in peril of your life. Ask no questions now, Bertha, but get some wine and crackers—something very light. She must be brought around by degrees.”
Mrs. Dunbar flew to obey his directions, and soon returned with wine and a little light refreshment.
After a time Violet revived and was able to sit up. She grew rapidly better, and when Mrs. Dunbar had assisted her to retire, and sat down at the bedside, watching the white lids flutter down over the beautiful dark eyes, Violet felt that her great peril was over, and she was safe in a very heaven of comfort and rest. A good night’s sleep restored her entirely, and when morning came and Mrs. Dunbar entered her room bearing a tempting breakfast in her own hands for her young charge, Violet could not repress her tears of gratitude for this kind care.
“Dear Mrs. Dunbar,” she said, starting up, “you are making too much of me. Let me wait upon myself.”
The lady smiled as she placed the waiter upon a table near.
“No; I prefer to take care of you myself,” she said. “Mr. Dunbar says that you must be very careful, and try to be as strong as possible. You will have to go with him this morning to the prison, for the charge against Warrington must be substantiated; also you must identify old Langley as the physician in charge of that horrible institution. The morning papers are full of his arrest and the exposé of the asylum. Just think of it! people who lived right there in the very neighborhood did not know the real character of the place! Eat your breakfast, my dear; but first let me help you bathe your face and hands. I will have the bath prepared for you later; then you will feel better.”
An hour afterward, feeling herself refreshed, Violet entered the cozy parlor, where Mrs. Dunbar with her golden-haired fairy of a child awaited her. A moment more and Mr. Dunbar appeared, accompanied by Doctor Danton.
At sight of his familiar face, Violet started to her feet. Jack Danton went swiftly forward and took the slender form in his arms, kissing her pale cheek.
“My child”—his voice was low and trembling—“thank God and Dunbar that you are safe! Now listen to me. With Mrs. Dunbar’s assistance I have procured you a change of clothing, so that you can make a respectable appearance in the street. Not a very gallant speech to make to a fair lady,” he added, his eyes twinkling with merriment; “but you are really quite dilapidated as you are. And you must go with me to the prison upon business connected with that villain Warrington, after which I have a little business for you to attend to.”
Violet obeyed in dazed silence. So many strange events had come into her life that the girl felt as though she had lost her own identity. In bewildered silence she went back to her room, where she found a neat street-dress of gray, with hat, gloves, and veil to match. Everything fitted her quite creditably, and she soon returned to the parlor looking more like her own sweet self than when she had last entered it.
Doctor Danton smiled in a fatherly way as his eyes rested upon the sweet, pale face.
“Well, my dear, are you ready? Then we will drive at once to the prison, and get this unpleasant business over with. Come, Dunbar!”
Violet was soon in the carriage which waited outside, and, accompanied by the two gentlemen, was driven rapidly to the parish prison.
To the day of her death Violet never forgot that morning and the scene which followed.
Gilbert Warrington’s scowling face, the ugly countenance of the oily old hypocrite Langley, and Mrs. Carter’s cringing ways as she pleaded with Violet to help her out of the trouble. But Violet’s heart was adamant to all appeals from such as she. She went bravely through what was required of her, and all was soon over. The result of the examination was that Gilbert Warrington was remanded to prison without the benefit of bail, while Langley and Mrs. Carter eventually went to the State penitentiary. The various charges against Warrington would consume time in their trial before justice could be done. As they were leaving the court-room, Violet caught his cruel eyes fixed upon her with a threatening expression and such bitter hatred, that the blood ran cold within her veins.
“He will find some way to be revenged!” she murmured, faintly, trembling with apprehension. “I can see it in his eyes. He means to be even with me yet, and somehow—although he is safe in prison—I can not help dreading him, and fearing that he may succeed in his designs. Heaven help me if I ever fall into his hands again!”
She re-entered the carriage, still with Doctor Danton and Mr. Dunbar, and they were driven rapidly uptown. Violet asked no questions as to their designation. She knew that she was safe with these two good friends. The drive was a very long one; the carriage turned down Henry Clay Avenue at last, and then for the first time Violet expressed surprise at the very lengthy drive. Doctor Danton took her hand in his.
“My dear,” he said, kindly, “trust to me; I am taking you to a person whom I wish you to identify. We are going to—to—the Louisiana Retreat.”
Violet had heard of this asylum, but she had never visited it. She felt a strange feeling of terror steal over her heart. Did they consider her insane, or that her brain was in any way affected, after all? But she restrained her emotions and kept quiet, feeling that soon all would be explained. The carriage halted before the retreat at last. She alighted and followed the two men into the building.
“My dear,” said Doctor Danton, “do not be afraid. I wish you to look at this lady and tell me if you have ever seen her before. This is very important.”
Violet followed him, with a strange feeling of awe creeping over her, into a small, neatly furnished room, where upon a bed a female form lay quietly sleeping. The room was in semi-darkness; but as they entered, the physician threw open the blinds and let a stream of sunlight into the room.
“Come here, Violet,” he said, gently.
She approached the bedside and stood with eyes riveted upon the face which lay upon the pillow, her heart overflowing with a wild delight which nearly suffocated her. For there before her—could it be true?—in an apparently sound slumber, her thin, white hands folded upon her breast, her beautiful face, like the face of a marble statue, lay her own dear mother—Rosamond Arleigh.
