She went with outward willingness the rest of the way to the town and the railroad station. Here Warrington procured writing materials, and Violet wrote a hasty line to Leonard, telling him that she had been forced to go with an old acquaintance of her mother to the city on important private business which she would fully explain on her return the following day.
The letter written, she gave it to a porter to drop into the mail-box outside the station-house. He was just in the act of dropping the letter into the box, when a hand came down upon his arm, and a voice hissed in his ear:
“Hold, my man! Give me that letter. This will pay you,” slipping a five-dollar bill into the man’s hand.
A moment later poor Violet’s letter was in fragments upon the ground, and then Gilbert Warrington, his evil work done, went back to his victim.
The train was steaming in as fast as it could. Violet had seen no one whom she knew, even the agent had been too busy for her to get speech with him. There was no chance to appeal to any one. Everything seemed against her.
The tickets were purchased, and trying hard to feel that this was only an ordinary trip, Violet allowed Warrington to place her on board, and off they steamed for New Orleans.
She really felt little apprehension over her strange and late journey. Her mind was filled with the one thought that the sooner it was over with the sooner she would be free from Gilbert Warrington’s persecutions forever.
She intended to go to a lawyer in New Orleans and state the case, then see if nothing could be done to free her from this villain’s clutches without the sacrifice of her fortune.
The train reached New Orleans in the early dawn, and Gilbert Warrington assisted Violet to alight.
She wore a long cloak with the hood drawn over her head—a cloak which he had taken from the hall outside Mrs. Yorke’s room, and had used to envelop Violet in and smother her cries for help.