His wife concluded from this that he had kept some of his money in one of those western rooms. The seed-room perhaps, that mysterious padlocked chamber, where she had heard the footstep. And yet she had heard him say again and again that he never kept an unnecessary shilling in the house, and that every pound he had was out at interest. But such falsehoods and contradictions are common enough amongst men of miserly habits; and Stephen Whitelaw would hardly be so anxious about those western rooms unless something of value were hidden away there. He closed his eyes again, and lay groaning faintly for some time; then opened them suddenly with a frightened look and asked, in the same tone,
"The west wing—is the west wing afire yet?"
"The wind blows that way, Stephen, and the flames are spreading. I don't think they could save it—not if the engine was to come this minute."
"But I tell you they must!" cried Stephen Whitelaw. "If they don't, it'll be murder—cold-blooded murder. O, my God, I never thought there was much harm in the business—and it paid me well—but it's weighed me down like a load of lead, and made me drink more to drown thought. But if it should come to this—don't you understand? Don't sit staring at me like that. If the fire gets to the west wing, it will be murder. There's some one there—some one locked up—that won't be able to stir unless they get her out."
"Some one locked up in the west wing! Are you mad, Stephen?"
"It's the truth. I wouldn't do it again—no, not for twice the money. Let them get her out somehow. They can do it, if they look sharp."
That unforgotten footstep and equally unforgotten scream flashed into Mrs. Whitelaw's mind with these words of her husband's. Some one shut up there; yes, that was the solution of the mystery that had puzzled and tormented her so long. That cry of anguish was no supernatural echo of past suffering, but the despairing shriek of some victim of modern cruelty. A poor relation of Stephen's perhaps—a helpless, mindless creature, whose infirmities had been thus hidden from the world. Such things have been too cruelly common in our fair free country.
Ellen laid her husband's head gently down upon the grass and sprang to her feet.
"In which room?" she cried. But there was no answer. The man lay with closed eyes—dying perhaps—but she could do nothing for him till medical help came. The rescue of that unknown captive was a more urgent duty.
She was running towards the burning house, when she heard a horse galloping on the road leading from the gate. She stopped, hoping that this was the arrival of the doctor; but a familiar voice called to her, and in another minute her father had dismounted and was close at her side.