CHAPTER IX.
THE CONSUMMATION OF THE CRIME.
Dark night settled around the dwelling of the widow Vale. The clouds of an approaching storm obscured the moon, Only a chance ray would beam out, like a beautiful face from behind the black of a mourning veil. The summer breeze blowing strongly would softly lift the plain while curtain that hung at the open window of Catherine’s room; and then, as if ashamed of the thought of entering the chamber, would drop it with a sigh of regret. The heat, for the season of the year, was by no means oppressive, and the inmates of the house were buried in deep slumber, for the hour was late.
Good eyes might have failed to detect the three men stealing up to the house; moving, with noiseless steps, through the darkness.
The horses had been left by the road-side, where there was little danger of their being discovered—the darkness was too thick, the road too little frequented. The three men were, Turner, Blanchard, and another; one proposed as an assistant, by Tom, and for whose faithfulness that gentleman expressed his willingness to go bail.
Wake! lady, wake! A viper has drawn his loathsome form over the window sill, and now gloats over his prey!
To call now were in vain. With a hand of iron, the man places a bandage over the maiden’s mouth, while he tightly grasps her throat, choking back her scream of terror. Tom Blanchard was now at his side; and, together, they quickly but silently secured their victim. Carefully wrapping the bedclothes about the form of the half-strangled girl, they bore her away to where the horses were waiting.
The inmates of the house—Mrs. Vale and a couple of black servants—remained buried in a profound slumber; Catherine could give no outcry, and even faithful old Lion was strangely inclined to somnolency. The daring deed was consummated with every success. Catherine was indeed in the power of monsters.
The ride that night was a long and a gloomy one, but an hour before the sun arose, a valuable bundle entered the door of the cottage of Jim Fagan. Catherine had long since become insensible from her fright and harsh usage.
The sun was high up when Catherine came to her senses, and realized her situation.
She did not scream, but on the contrary arose, and by the light of the lamp which sat upon the table, proceeded to dress. Then, she sat quietly down to consider her circumstances.