"Tell her the truth and provide for her! Why, you blessed innocent, do you suppose Cherrie, wherever she is, has been constant to me all this time? I tell you I know nothing of her, and care nothing! Make your mind easy, old fellow! the girl is off with somebody else long before this! What's that?"
Captain Cavendish looked toward the buttoned door of the closet. There had been a strange sound, between a gasp and a cry, but Mr. Blake took no notice.
"It's only the rats! So you will leave Speckport, and do nothing for Cherrie? Cavendish, I am sorry I ever had a hand in that night's work!"
"Too late now, my dear boy!" laughed the Englishman. "Make your mind easy about Cherrie! She's just the girl can take care of herself! If ever she comes back to Speckport, give her my regards!"
He pulled out his watch, still laughing, and arose to go.
"Half-past eleven—I have an engagement at twelve, and must be off. By-by, Blake! don't fret about Cherrie!"
Mr. Blake did not reply, and his face was very grave as he shut and locked the door after his visitor.
"You're a greater villain, Captain Cavendish," he said to himself, "than even I took you to be! Come out, Cherrie—have you heard enough?"
Yes, she had heard enough! She was crouching on the door, her hands clenched, her eyes flashing. She leaped up like a little tigress as he opened the door.
"Take me to a magistrate!" she cried. "Let me tell all I know! I'll hang him! I'll hang him, if I can!"