He led her to a cab, assisted her inside, then followed quickly, having first given the driver some low-toned instructions. The cab rattled away over the stony streets.
Violet began to feel a curious sensation of drowsiness stealing over her senses. She closed her eyes wearily. She began to realize vaguely that she had done a very imprudent thing in coming to New Orleans with this man, her bitter foe. A foolish step had she taken in her ignorance and her mad determination to rid herself of her tormentor forever at all hazards.
But while these doubts and fears strayed through her brain, sleep overtook her and she knew no more. She opened her eyes at last.
It was broad daylight now. But where was she?
All alone in a strange room. One window only, and that was shielded by iron bars. An iron bedstead, a stool, and a small pine table made up the furniture.
She was lying upon the hard bed. She lifted her head, and tried to rise, but she was faint, and giddy, and sick. She began to realize then that she had been under the influence of chloroform, and that was how Gilbert Warrington had brought her to this place without her knowledge.
To what a fool-hardy expedition had she lent herself! What a foolish act had she committed! what a senseless proceeding—to imagine that she, a simple, innocent young girl, could outwit and circumvent a hardened villain like Gilbert Warrington!
As these thoughts ran riot in her brain the key turned in the lock of the door—until then she did not know that she was a prisoner—and a woman entered—a coarse-featured, crafty-eyed old woman, with iron-gray hair and a forbidding aspect.
With a mighty effort Violet conquered the sick, giddy sensation and rose slowly to her feet.
“Where am I?” she demanded.