"If I put her down here on the ground she will freeze to death, poor girl, that's certain!" he murmured, uneasily. "I just can't do such a wicked thing—no, not even if she is bad, as Mrs. Carew said. Why, even if she was a murderess it wouldn't be right to leave her out here to die in the cold! But, land, what be I to do with her? That's what I want to know!"
The whinny and stamp of an impatient horse attracted his attention at that moment. He turned his head and saw a smart cab waiting at the next door. The driver, half asleep, sat on his box, his head sunk into the collar of his great-coat.
A sudden temptation came to the troubled Jones, and he did not fight against it, but rather welcomed it as an inspiration.
Walking noiselessly across the snow, Jones placed his burden inside the cab upon the cushions, and closed the door so softly that it did not attract the attention of the tired and sleepy driver on the box.
"God bless you and raise you up a friend this awful night, you poor little wretch!" apostrophized Jones, as he returned from the scene and re-entered the Carew mansion.
He had not been gone ten minutes before a servant came from the house before which the cab was waiting and roused the sleepy cabby.
"The lady as you brought here has decided to stay all night with her sick mother, so she told me to pay you and send you away," he said.
"All right, but I wish she had made up her mind afore she kep' me a-waitin' here all night! I be frozen with the cold, that's what I be!" grumbled the driver, accepting the double fee ungraciously, and driving away at a high rate of speed, all unconscious of the silent passenger inside.
He went rattling down to a large hotel, hoping he might get a fare for the theater.
A tall, handsome young man came down the steps and hailed him.