“Mamma,” said Odalite, “I seem to have been in a trance, or a dream, ever since you gave me that composing draught! What was it—opium, hasheesh, amyle—what? And, mother, how much was real and how much was dream that I have passed through? It seems like the phantasmagoria of a midnight orgie—through which only one thing seems to stand out clearly—that I have had ‘some outlet through thunder and lightning’ into freedom! Mother, is it true? Am I free?”
“Yes, dearest dear, you are free!” replied the lady, in deep emotion.
“Oh, thank Heaven! Thank Heaven! Oh, I feel as if I could never thank Heaven enough!” exclaimed Odalite, convulsively clasping her hands.
There was silence between them for a few moments, and then Odalite, looking all around the room, and finding herself alone with her mother, dropped her voice to the tenderest murmur, and asked:
“But, mamma, sweet mamma, are you free? Are you free from that man’s threats and persecutions?”
“Ah, my dear, I do not know! I do not know!” sighed the lady.
“Then, darling mother, if you are not free, I am not. I am your bondsmaid, and I am your hostage to that man for your deliverance from him. I wish to be nothing else, mamma. I do wish to give my whole life, if it be necessary, to secure your peace of mind.”
“My own, own heavenly angel, the sacrifice will not be required. You have been once offered, and you have been wonderfully delivered. It is final, my darling. No victim was ever laid a second time upon the fire!”
“But yet you are not free, mamma?”
“I do not know. I cannot even conjecture what the monster’s next move may be. But I do know this—that, whatever he does, or attempts to do, he will not be permitted to touch you, or even to see or to speak to you again!”