“Oh, Heaven,” cried Frederic, pressing his hands to his head, as if to crush the horrid fear. “God save her from that fate. Is this all you know? Can’t you tell me any more? I’ll give you half my fortune if you’ll bring back my poor, lost Marian, just as she was when she left me.”
The offer was a generous one, and Sal was tempted for a moment to tell him some big lie, and thus receive a companion to the bill she clutched so greedily, but the agonizing expression of his white face kindled a spark of pity within her bosom, and she replied, “I did not finish tellin’ you that while Joe was talking and had seemingly persuaded her to go with him, a tall chap that I never seen before knocked him flat, and took the girl with him, and that’s why I remember it so well.”
“Who was he, this tall man? Where did he go?” and Frederic wiped from his forehead the great drops of sweat forced out by terrible fear.
“I told you I never seen him before,” was Sally’s answer, “but he had a good face—a milk and water face—as if he never plotted no mischief in his life. She’s safe with him, I’m sure. I’d trust my daughter with him, if I had one, and know he wouldn’t harm her. He spoke to her tender-like, and she looked glad, I thought.”
Frederic felt that this information was better than none, for it was certain it was Marian whom the woman had seen, and, in a measure comforted by her assurance of Ben Burt’s honesty, he bade her good morning, and walked away.
At last, worn out and discouraged, he returned to his hotel, where he lay now burning with fever, and, in his delirium, calling sometimes for Isabel, sometimes for Alice, and again for faithful Dinah, but never asking why Marian did not come. She was dead, and he only begged of those around him to take her away from Joe Black, or show him where her grave was made, so he could go home and tell the blind girl he had seen it. Every ray of light which it was possible to shut out had been excluded from the room, for he had complained much of his eyes, and when Mrs. Burt entered, she could discover only the outline of a ghastly face resting upon the pillows, scarcely whiter than itself. It was a serious case, the attending physician said, and so she thought when she looked into his wild, bright eyes, and felt his rapid pulse. To her he put the same question he had asked nearly of every one:
“Do you know where Marian is?”
“Marian!” she repeated, feeling a little uncertain how to answer.
“Humor him! say you do!” whispered the physician, who was just taking his leave. And very truthfully Mrs. Burt replied:
“Yes, I know where she is! She will come to you to-morrow.”