CHAPTER XLIX.
THE CHILD OF AN ESCAPED CONVICT.
In all her life Iris had never experienced such a feeling of horror as that which filled her heart on finding that she had been trapped to the house on Lexington Avenue by the man whom we know as Charley Broughton.
“Let me go away. What wrong have I ever done you that you should terrify me thus? What can you want of me?” she faltered, staggering like one under the influence of liquor, as she attempted to walk to the door.
But for all answer Broughton forced her back into the chair from which she had arisen, laughing sardonically at her childish betrayal of terror.
“My pretty one! I tell you I mean you no harm; why do you fear me so; do you know me?”
Iris shuddered, and covered her eyes with her hands to shut out the sight of his face.
“Do you know me, little Iris?” he repeated, fearing that she had not heard his question, and laying a particular stress on the name Iris.
“I will tell you all I know of you,” cried the girl at last, with a suddenness that startled Broughton more than he would have cared to confess. “One day, some three years ago, my mother, who is an invalid confined to her own chamber, sent me to her writing desk in search of some prescription—or the receipt of a remedy that would ease her pain. In my haste I overturned the desk, and shattered it, as the wood was old and dried. While I was gathering up the contents, which had been scattered upon the floor, I found among them a small gold locket which I had never seen my mother wear. It was set with pearls, and I admired it greatly. I remember that my mother cried out in alarm when she saw the locket in my hands, but I had already opened it, and saw within it the picture of a man’s face—your face. I questioned my mother concerning the original, and for the first time in my life saw her violently agitated. She told me then that the man whose face I gazed upon in a species of fascination was my enemy—my enemy and hers, and if ever I met him in life to beware of him, for he would leave no means untried to work my ruin. That time has come, and your conduct toward me proves that my mother’s fears were not without foundation. I am in your power, a weak and unprotected girl, while you are strong and powerful and pitiless; but although I was terrified at first by the means which you employed to lure me into your power, I am not afraid of you now, for I remember that there is a God who knoweth even the fall of the sparrow, and that the same God watches over me in this—my hour of peril.”
Iris had arisen from her chair while speaking, and stood before Charles Broughton in an attitude of defiance, her small hands folded on her breast, her pretty, bright-tressed head thrown back, and her eyes uplifted in childish faith and confidence to the God who seems so dear to such as her.
For one brief moment, Charles Broughton, sin-hardened, worldly, and unprincipled though he was, turned his eyes away from the sight of that pure, uplifted face, ashamed of his own vileness; but, alas! he did not listen long to the promptings of his better nature. The one aim and object of his life was to be revenged on one who had bitterly wronged him, and through this innocent child before him he saw the means of striking the first blow for the accomplishment of this revenge.