THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.
(Continued from page [275].)
Thomas advanced towards Estelle cautiously, an artful smile on his face. Before the little girl was aware of his presence, he was close to her.
'Hush!' he muttered, fearing she would cry out; 'you come along with me, and I will take you home, my lady. It is not true friends that keep you here. I know my lady is dying to see you.'
He caught her suddenly in his arms, and bore her back into the tent. The curtains dropped heavily behind him, just as Estelle, the spell of her terror broken, uttered the cry Jack had heard.
Jack turned at the sound; so did Julien; so did Mrs. Wright. But Estelle was nowhere to be seen. No further sound betrayed her whereabouts.
But Jack was not a man to be easily disconcerted. Mrs. Wright and Julien stood still in consternation, but Jack made up his mind at once. He was naturally impetuous and hasty in thought and action. Only the sore troubles through which he had passed, and the knowledge that he had brought so much unhappiness on his mother as well as on himself by his quick temper, had had power to make him as calm and gentle as he had shown himself to Estelle. It was as if a fire smouldered within him always, but was held in restraint by a strong will.
Now, however, calmness was cast to the winds. The child was in danger. She had no helper but himself. Till her parents were found she was his child—his by right of being her protector, her preserver. On him she depended for everything; on him and his mother. Who had dared to touch her? His face flushed, then turned white. His keen eye searched every corner. There was one place only in which the child could have been concealed—the tent. She had been standing near it when he turned to give the coppers to the children.
Without an instant's hesitation he sprang forward, the curtains were thrust aside, and he was among the tawdry, excited crowd of play-actors. They had been resting between the performances. Suddenly they were startled by one of their number rushing through the tent with a child in his arms, whose cries he was stifling with a large cloak. None understood what the noise was about, nor had any of the men and women seen the face of the little girl; therefore none were interested, and none stirred themselves to ask what had happened. Only one spoke—she whose cloak had been snatched up to enfold the child. She called out a rough remonstrance, but Thomas answered her hurriedly, as he tried to wind the garment closely about Estelle, with small regard as to whether she could breathe or not.