“It’s half past seven,” replied the woman. “But you need not get so impatient, for yer not a leavin’ this here house today!”
“What do you mean?” asked Marjorie, in amazement. A quick, sudden pang of fear seized her: were they in a prison again?
“I mean jest what I said! There was a man here to say that you are a runaway, and your father’s offered a thousand dollars to whoever finds you, and the man’s over to Beasley’s tryin’ to get your father on the telephone. So, if my brother and I kin keep you here, the old man’s goin’ fifty-fifty on the reward!”
Marjorie sank into a chair, overcome by the sense of the relentless fate that seemed to be pursuing and overtaking her. It was like a hideous dream: they were caught in a queer, unreal sort of net, from which there was no escape. She wondered whether the old man who had first announced the idea were not crazy; indeed, she felt that this must be the explanation of the matter. And yet he seemed to be very sane in all other respects.
She remembered reading of other demented persons—rational on all but one subject, and obsessed by a certain idea. Evidently old Higgins had gone crazy on the subject of gold, and his diseased, avaricious mind had imagined this contingency. But why, oh, why, should she—poor, innocent Marjorie Wilkinson—be the victim? Especially when it meant so much to her to get to Silvertown by Wednesday, and to be in time to take part in the races!
In vain she protested that the facts were not true; that her father and mother knew exactly where she was and had given their full consent to the trip; but the woman only shook her head.
“It will not be for long. The old man promised me he’d be back tonight, no matter what happened. So it means only one more day. You can start early t’morrer mornin’.”
“But that will be too late!” cried Marjorie, bursting into tears. “Oh, you are too cruel! You’re not human beings; you’re beasts! And I hope——”
“Marj, come upstairs,” interrupted Frieda. She did not wish her companion to say anything for which she might later be sorry.
“I’ll bring your breakfast up,” said Mrs. Brown, calmly. “And you’d better stay upstairs, it’s cooler. You can have the windows open there—there’s no danger of you gettin’ out so high up.”