to the house and put a slow match to it, in order that by the time we are safe off, the flames may bring you deliverers, or put you out of your misery.”
And she laughed a horrible, mocking laugh.
“You will not surely be so cruel,” I cried in an agony of fear. “You are but frightening me.”
“You will see! Good-bye, Miss Morton; thus I return our obligations to you.”
And forcibly releasing her arm from the clasp with which I sought to detain her, she left the room. I strove to get out of it at the same time; but the man pushed me in again with an oath, and I heard them lock and bolt the door after them.
Thus I was left to the anticipation of a lingering, horrible death. I opened the window and called for help again and again in vain. No one could hear me save those monsters. At last, I sank on a seat, and grew calm from exhaustion.
Very slowly the hours passed. I sate watching the wide space between the ill-fitting door and the floor, expecting every moment to see the red, dull glare of fire through it; but the grey dawn stole into the room, and still I saw no sign of the threatened conflagration. I was unharmed; only exhausted by want of rest, want of food, and that most horrible expectation.
The light grew, and there was still no perceptible fire. I began to hope that the match had gone out;—that I was safe. Alas! I was deceived. The house had ignited long ago, but the old damp wood smouldered slowly. By-and-by, when it was again near evening, I saw the red gleam I had so feared on the threshold, and I heard the rush and the hiss of the flames. A few moments, and the door would catch, and I must perish. Once more I rushed to the still open casement, and looked out.
Should I spring at the peril of my life to the verandah? There was nothing else left for me, and I was preparing to take a leap that might have been fatal, when a voice called to me from below.
“Stop, stop, Jane! Wait, I will save you!”
And I saw Kate Deloraine mounting a garden ladder placed against the verandah.
I watched her breathlessly. She ascended with ease, drew it up after her, and raised it to the window. I was out and on it, in a moment; I can scarcely tell how the descent was achieved, but I stood in safety at the bottom, clasping Kate’s hand.
“We have not a moment to lose,” she gasped. “I escaped them at our last stage, but when they find I am gone, they will guess why and where, and will follow me.”
At that moment we heard a sound of approaching wheels in the lane. I was so weak I could scarcely move; and she had to pull me and lead me to a fly standing near, in which she placed me. I observed that there was a crowd of people round the burning cottage, endeavouring to extinguish the flames—but we drove off apparently unnoticed.
“I am so sorry,” said poor Kate, “that I should have been made the instrument of placing you in such peril, Miss Morton. When my mother told me I might write to bid you farewell, and ask you here, if I pleased, I had no notion she intended so awful a crime,—nor did I know that they had left you in the cottage when we left it. But when they thought we were safe, my mother boasted of the revenge she had taken on you. Then I seized the first opportunity to escape from them, and returned in the same fly we are now in; leaving it in the lane while I sought for you. I feared they would have pursued me, but I was mistaken. Probably they thought if I returned to you it would be too late,—or James feared to venture back. The wheels we heard were those of the approaching fire engine.”
I shuddered—these people had been my friends! I would never blame English caution and reserve in future.
But by this time we reached my home. We found the servants in a great state of alarm at my disappearance; they had sent off for my father, though he was not yet arrived—and every search was making for me.
I was so exhausted that Kate, who placed me with great tenderness on a sofa, had to feed me; and to give me wine slowly; and before my father returned, I had sunk into a profound sleep from which I did not awake for hours.
When I did, I found him sitting beside me. He embraced me with joy and gratitude, and was eager to know where I had been, and what had befallen me—as all that the servants could tell him was, that Miss Deloraine had brought me back, very faint and ill.
I related my adventure, and he grew pale with horror and indignation as he listened. He vowed he would have the monsters traced, and as severely punished as their crimes deserved.
“But where is poor Kate?” I asked.
“She was gone when I arrived,” he answered. “Sarah says she left directly you fell asleep, telling the servants not to wake you, as you had had great fatigue and excitement. She left this note for you.”
And he gave me a little twisted paper written in pencil.
“Adieu, Miss Morton,” she wrote, “forgive me. You will never see me again. I go to the Continent to earn my living, as I was wont to do before I knew you, by riding in a circus. That woman’s crime has separated me from her for ever. Pray sometimes for poor Kate.”
“Poor thing!” we said. “And what became of her?”
“We never knew,” replied Mrs. Denison. “My father advertised for her, offering in the advertisement to provide for her if she would let us know where she was; but, probably, she never saw the paper containing it.”
“And that horrible Mrs. Deloraine and the man-servant? Were they ever found and punished?”
She shook her head.
“No. We had no railways, no electric telegraphs in those days. They escaped. Probably they went to Australia. We never heard of them again. By degrees we forgot the whole affair, or rather never thought about it. But you will allow I had a very narrow escape.”