CHAPTER L.GOING HOME.
Three weeks after the events recorded in the last chapter, theCity of Berlincame slowly up the New York harbor, and of all the eager, expectant faces in the crowd of people upon the deck, none was happier or more eager than that of Beatrice, who, now that her work was accomplished, and Rossie safe in her possession, had given herself up to the pleasures of her honeymoon, and been the merriest, happiest, most loving of brides, during all the voyage, except when she looked at the white-faced girl who lay in her berth so quietly, or sat so still in her chair on deck, looking out upon the sea with eyes which did not seem to see anything or take note of what was passing.
The flight from Haelder-Strauchsen to the nearest railroad had been accomplished in safety, and there they waited a few hours for the arrival of the train, which was to take them away from the scene of so much danger. And here it was that Beatrice suggested to Yulah that she go with them to America, either as Rossie’s maid or her own.
“I mean to do it all the time, then I see what come to he,—the villain,—and I take much care my poor little one, who so tired and scared in her head, but who come right sure when the boy Everard is near,” Yulah said, as she stroked the thin, hot hands, folded so helplessly across Rossie’s breast.
Very rapidly she communicated her intention to Michel,telling him at the same time the full particulars of Rossie’s incarceration in theMaison de Sante, and bidding him repeat it in Haelder-Strauchsen, if there was a great stir on account of the abduction. Mr. Morton had paid his bills at the inn, and said that he should not return, as he was going to a point higher up the river, so no suspicions could be awakened there of anything wrong until the alarm was given at the house. And this, in all human probability, would not be till late the next morning, when, as Yulah failed to appear, inquiries might be made, and the door of No. — be forced open, and by that time the fugitives would be miles and miles away, speeding on toward the west, and Michel Fahen would be smoking his pipe very unconcernedly at the door of his kitchen, knowing nothing whatever of any escaped lunatic, or of Yulah Van Eisner’s whereabouts; knowing nothing, except that he carried some English-talking people to a railroad station, and was rewarded for it by many, manythalers. So, of whatever commotion or excitement there was, Mr. and Mrs. Morton were ignorant, and kept rapidly on their way until the continent was crossed, and they felt safe in the seclusion of crowded London. Here they rested in lodgings a few days, and called the best medical advice for Rossie, who, since recovering from the dead faint in which she had been more than an hour, had been just on the border land, where her reason seemed hesitating whether to go or stay. When it first came to her in the carriage who it was bending so lovingly over her, she had burst into a wild fit of weeping, which frightened them more than the faint had done. Her first words, when she did speak, were:
“Everard, where are you? hold my hand in yours and I shall not be afraid.”
At a sign from his wife, Mr. Morton took Rossie’s hand in his and held it, while Bee whispered to her, “Don’t talk now, darling. It is all right. We are going home.”
How much Rossie realized of that rapid journey, which was continued day and night, they could not guess, for she never spoke again or showed any sign that she understood what was passing around her, except to answer their questions in monosyllables and smile sosweetly and trustfully in their faces when they told her, as they often did, that she was safe, until London was reached, and they laid her in the clean, sweet bed in the large, airy room in quiet Kensington, where they had taken lodgings.
For several days they staid in London, and then took passage for home in theCity of Berlin, where everything was done to make the voyage comfortable and easy for Rossie, who talked but little, and who, when she did speak, always asked, “How long before I shall see Everard?”
It was only theMaison de Santeand the incidents connected with it which had any power to excite or even interest her. With regard to everything else, except Everard, she was silent and indifferent, asking no questions, and even taking Beatrice’s marriage as a matter of course, and never offering a comment upon it. But when at last America was in sight and they were coming up the harbor, she roused from her apathy and went up on deck with the others, and sat in her chair, with a bright flush on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes which made them as bright as stars. She was looking for Everard, and trying to make him out in the group of men waiting on the distant wharf for the boat.
“I must tell her,” Bee thought; and sitting down beside her, she said: “Darling, I know you expect Everard to meet you, but he is not here. He did not even know we were going for you, and we would not tell him for fear we might fail, and then he would feel worse than ever. But he is in Rothsay, and will be so glad to get his dear little girl once more. Don’t cry,” she added, as the great tears gathered in Rossie’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “We meant it for the best, and you shall see him soon, very soon. We will go on to-night, if you think you can bear it. Are you strong enough?”
“Yes, go on,—quick,—fast, just as we came through Europe. I want to see Everard,” Rossie whispered, and so they went on that night in the express which left for Pittsburg, from which city a telegram was forwarded to Lawyer Russell, to the effect that Mr. and Mrs. Morton would be in Rothsay on the late train.