Miriam Monfort / A Novel

by Catherine A. Warfield

It was still calm and unconscious. Ernie, too, slumbered peacefully. Every thing seemed propitious to my purpose. I threw on hastily the famous, flimsy black silk and mantle that had been prepared for me on shipboard, tied a dark veil over my head, and, with no other precaution, went forth, as I hoped, to freedom.

My heart seemed to suspend its action as, cautiously unlocking and opening the door, I stepped forth on the platform. It will be remembered that I knew the topography of the lower part of the house of old thoroughly.

I had been entertained there with my father more than once, when, as heiress of my mother's great estate, I had commanded the reverence of my hosts, and the situation of parlors, study, and dining-room, was perfectly familiar to me.

It was what in those days was called a single house, though a spacious-enough mansion; that is, all the rooms, with one exception, were placed either on the same side of the wide hall of entrance, or behind it in the ell. The study alone formed a small lateral projection on the other hand. The door of this apartment opened at the foot of that-stair, on the upper platform of which I now stood trembling, weighing my fate by a hair. I had left the door ajar through which I had crept quietly, so that, in case of failure, I might have a chance of retreat before discovery should be made. It was well, perhaps, that I did so on this occasion, for otherwise I should scarcely have had nerve enough to avoid the sure and speedy detection which must have followed the slightest delay or noise made in returning.

I lingered to reconnoitre some minutes on the platform before I ventured to commence the wary descent of the broad, carpeted stairway. I had convinced myself that the second story was empty, though a lighted lamp swung in the upper entry, as well as in that below, throwing a flood of radiance on the scene with which I would fain have dispensed.

I heard the sound of voices from the closed parlors, and saw reposing on the rack before me several hats and canes, indicative of visitors. From the study, however, there fortunately came no murmur, and I found that it was dark. The front-door stood invitingly open; I could see the opposite lamp-post without, and I had made up my mind to dart on and downward, and reach at a bound the pavement, when the door of the first parlor was suddenly thrown back, and left so, by a servant coming out with a tray of wines and fruits which he had been evidently handing, and I had just time to shrink into shadow, favored in my wish for concealment by the black dress and veil I wore, when a once familiar form appeared in the door-way of the front hall, which I recognized at a glance as that of Gregory. Closing the door firmly after him, he prepared to divest himself of hat and cape in the hall, without a look in my direction. After the completion of which process he entered the parlor by the nearest door, setting that also wide open as he did so, with some exclamation about the heat of the apartment, which seemed to meet with acquiescence from the powers within.

I caught a panoramic view of that interior before I fled swiftly, noiselessly, hopelessly, back to my cage again, having lost my only chance of escape by that fatal delay of five minutes on the platform. I should have been out and away on the wings of the wind ere Gregory entered the inclosure before the house, had I not hesitated. Yet, after all, perhaps, I miscalculated. What if I had met him face to face—been seized and dragged back again to captivity! Perchance it was better as it was. Time would develop and determine this; but, in the interval, how woful was my disappointment!

I had time to get to bed again, and in some degree recover my composure; indeed, I had been in bed an hour when the clock in the dining-room beneath me, which, since the evident occupancy of that long-deserted hall, had been wound and put in running order, struck twelve, with its deep-mouthed, melodramatic tones, and at the very moment I heard sounds indicative of the resurrection of the mesmeric sleeper.

She was evidently startled in some way on finding herself awake again, or perhaps from having fallen so soundly asleep in hands like mine, for she called aloud first for "Dinah," then, repeatedly, on "Miriam," both without effect. In a few moments after these appeals had died away she came in person, as I knew she would, to reconnoitre.

The bedstead had been pushed carefully and noiselessly back again on its grooved castors against the door, from the lock of which the wooden key had been removed, rewashed in oil, and hidden away in that hollow aperture in the bedstead, which formed a perfect box, by the skillful readjustment of one loosened compartment of the veneering of the massive post.