He then led her out, down the broad stairway, through the lower hall, to the outer door.
In a moment more they were in the street, and he hurried her from the place as fast as she was able to walk.
Reaching a corner several blocks away, he stopped by a carriage which seemed to be waiting there.
This he bade Editha enter, then following her, gathered up the reins and drove rapidly away.
Very early the next morning a very respectable appearing lady and her invalid daughter, the latter much wrapped to shield her from the weather, arrived at the quiet hotel before mentioned.
They had come from a distant part of the State—had been traveling all night, madam said, in order that the sick girl might avail herself of the skill of a noted physician residing in the city.
They took rooms in the upper story of the hotel; it was not so full usually, and more quiet; besides, madam hinted, her daughter was sometimes not quite herself, and they preferred being where they could not disturb others.
She took a whole suite, as her son would occasionally visit them, and be obliged to remain over night.
And thus Editha Dalton was spirited away from her home and hidden away in the very heart of her own city, and there she remained for several weeks until found so strangely by Earle.
Once established there, paying regularly for their accommodations, and giving no trouble, they were regarded as very quiet and respectable boarders, seldom going out except when the young lady was able to ride, closely wrapped, and vailed, and magnetized, and always in a closed carriage, always taking their meals in their own room, as the invalid was “unable to go to the public table,” and madam was “unwilling to leave her poor, dear child.”