"What a wonderful morning! It makes me think of the Far East," said the gypsy queen.
"Have you been there?" asked Cora politely.
"Yes, I have been many places," replied Helka, "and to-day I will have a chance to tell you some queer stories about myself. I have a lover."
"Then you are content here? You are not lonely?"
"But I dare not own him as a lover; he is not a gypsy."
"This is America. You should be free."
"Yes," and she sighed. "I wonder shall I ever be able to get away!"
"ShallI?"
How strange! Two such beautiful young women prisoners in the heart of the White Mountains!
Cora repeated her question.
"Perhaps," answered Helka. "You see, they might fear punishment if you escaped; with me it would be—my punishment."
"But what shall I do?" sighed Cora. "Do you really think they intend to keep me here?"
"Is this not a pleasant place?"
"It is indeed—with you. And I am glad that, bad as it is, I have had a chance to know you. I feel some day that I shall have a chance to help you."
"You are a cheerful girl. I was afraid you would put in all your time crying. Then they would take you away."
"No use to cry," replied Cora, as brightly as she could. "Of course, it is dreadful. But, at least, I am not being abused."
"Nor shall you be. The gypsies are not cruel; they are merely revengeful. I think I like them because they are my truest friends in all the whole, wide world."
A tap at the door stopped the conversation. Then a girl entered. She was the one who had been in the van with Cora!
She looked keenly at the captive and smiled.
"Do you wish anything?" she asked of the queen.
"Yes, breakfast to-day must be double. You see, Lena, I have a friend."
"Yes, I see. I am glad she is better."
"Thank you," said Cora, but, of course, she had no way of knowing how this girl had tried to befriend her in the gypsy wagon.
"We have some splendid berries. I picked them before the sun touched them," said Lena. "And fresh milk; also toast, and what else?"
"We will leave it to you, Lena. I know Sam went to market."
"Yes, and will the young lady like some of your robes? I thought that dress might not suit for daylight."
Cora was still wearing her handsome yellow gown that she had worn at the Tip-Top ball. It did look strange in the bright, early morning sunshine.
"Would you?" asked Helka of Cora. "I have a good bathroom, and there is plenty of water." She smiled and showed that wonderful set of teeth. Cora thought she had never before seen such human pearls.
"It is very kind of you," and Cora sighed. "If I must stay I suppose I may as well be practical about it."
"Oh, yes," Lena ventured. "They all like you, and it will be so much better not to give any trouble."
"You see, Lena knows," said the queen. "Yes, Lena, get out something pretty, and Miss——"
"Cora," supplied the prisoner.
"Cora? What an odd name! But it suits you. There is so much coral in your cheeks. Yes, Miss Cora must wear my English robe—the one with the silver crown."
To dress in the robes of a gypsy queen! If only this were a play, and not so tragically real!
But the thought was not comforting. It meant imprisonment. Cora had determined to be brave, but it was hard. Yet she must hope that something unexpected would happen to rescue her.
"Lena is my maid," explained Helka. "I tell her more than any of the others. And she fetches my letters secretly. Have you not one for me today, Lena?"
The girl slipped her hand in her blouse and produced a paper. The queen grasped it eagerly. "Oh, yes," she said, "I knew he would write. Good David!" and she tore open the envelope. Cora watched her face and guessed that the missive was from the lover. Lena went out to bring the breakfast things.
"If only I could go out and meet him!" said the queen, finishing the letter. "I would run away and marry him. He has been so good to wait so long. Just think! He has followed me from England!"
"And you never meet him?"
"Not since they suspect. It was then they bought the two fierce dogs. I would never dare pass them. Sometimes they ask me to take a ride in the big wagon, but I never could ride in that. You see, I am not all a gypsy. My father was a sort of Polish nobleman and my mother was part English. She became interested in the great question of the poor, and so left society for this—the free life. My father was also a reformer, and they were married twice—to make sure. It is my father's money that keeps me like this, and, of course, the tribe does not want to lose me."
"And this man David?"
"I met him when I rode like a queen in an open chariot in a procession. That is, he saw me, and, like the queens in the old stories, he managed to get a note to me. Then I had him come to the park we were quartered in. And since then—but it does seem so long!"
"Could not Lena take a letter for me?" asked Cora timidly.
"Oh, no! They would punish her very severely if she interfered in your case. You see, Salvo must be avenged and released from jail. I always hated Salvo!"
Cora was silent. Presently the girl returned and placed the linen tablecloth on the floor. Following her came the other girl, with a tray of things. It was strange to see them set the table on the floor, but Cora remembered that this was a custom of the wanderers. When the breakfast had been arranged, the queen slipped down beside her coffee like a creature devoid of bones.
She was very graceful and agile—like some animal of the forest. Cora took her place, with limbs crossed, and felt like a Turk. But the repast was not uninviting. The berries were fresh, and the milk was in a clean bowl; in fact, everything showed that the queen's money had bought the service.
They talked and ate. Helka was very gay, the letter must have contained cheering news, and Cora was reminded how much she would have loved to have had a single word from one of her dear ones. But she must hope and wait.
"Do take some water cress," pressed the strange hostess, possibly noting that Cora ate little. "I think this cress in America is one of your real luxuries. We have never before camped at a place where it could be gathered fresh from the spring." Daintily she laid some on the green salad on a thin slice of the fresh bread, and after offering the salt and pepper, placed the really "civilized" sandwich on the small plate beside Cora. "There is just one thing I should love to go into the world for," said the queen. "I would love to have my meals at a hotel. I am savagely fond of eating."
"We had such a splendid hotel," answered Cora with a sigh. "It seems a mockery that I cannot invite you there with me—that even I cannot go myself. I keep turning the matter over and over in my mind, and the more I think the more impossible it all seems."
"Nothing is impossible in Gypsy land," replied the queen, helping herself to some berries. "And it may even not be impossible to do as you suggest. But we must wait," and she smiled prettily. "You have a very great habit of haste; feverish haste, the books call it. I believe it is worse for one's complexion than are cigarettes. Let me begin making a Gypsy of you by teaching you to wait. You have a great deal to wait for."
Cora glanced around her to avoid the eyes of the speaker. Surely she did have a great deal to wait for. "Do you stay in doors all the time?" she asked, glad to think of some leading question. "I should think that would hurt your complexion."
"We often walk in the grounds. You see, we own almost all the woods, but I am afraid they will not trust you yet. You will have to promise me that you will not try to escape if I ask that you be allowed to walk with me soon," said Helka.
"I could not promise that," Cora replied sadly.
"Oh, I suppose not now. I will not ask you. We will just be good friends. And I will tell you about David. It is delightful to have some one whom I can trust to tell about him."
"And I will tell you about my friends! Perhaps I will not be so lonely if I talk of them."
Cora was now strong enough in nerve and will to observe her surroundings. The room was very large, and was undoubtedly used formerly as a billiard parlor, for it was situated in the top of the big house, and on all sides were windows, even a colored glass skylight in the roof. The floors were of hardwood and covered partially with foreign rugs. There were low divans, but no tables nor chairs. The whole scene was akin to that described as oriental. Lena returned with the robes for Cora, and laid them on a divan. Then she adjusted a screen, thus forming a dressing room in one corner. This corner was hung with an oblong mirror, framed in wonderful ebony. Helka saw that this attracted Cora's attention.
"You are wondering about my glass? It was a gift from my father to my mother, and is all I have left of her beautiful things. It has been very difficult to carry that about the world."
"It is very handsome and very massive," remarked Cora.
"Yes, I love black things; I like ebony. They called my mother Bonnie, for she had ebony eyes and hair."
"So have you," said Cora.
"I am glad you are dark; it will make it easier, and the tribe will think you are safer. I really would like to get you back to your friends, but then I should lose you. And I don't see, either, how it ever could be managed unless they want to let you go."
Cora sighed heavily. Then she prepared to don the garb of the gypsy queen!
"Mother Hull wants to talk with you, Helka."
"She must send her message by you," said Helka to Lena. "I never get along with Mother Hull."
Cora gasped, and then sighed the sigh of relief. Would that dreadful old woman enter the room and perhaps insult her?
"She is very—cross," ventured Lena.
"No more so than I am. Tell her to send her message."
"But if she will not?"
"Then I will not hear it."
"There may be trouble."
"I have my laws."
The girl left the room, evidently not satisfied.
Presently there was a shuffling of aged feet in the big, bare outside hall. Helka turned, and her eyes flashed angrily.
"Go behind the screen," she said to Cora. "If she wants to see you, she must have my permission."
At that the door opened, and the old gypsy woman entered.
"I told you not to come," said Helka.
"But I had to. It is——"
She stopped and looked over the room carefully.
"Oh, she is here," said the queen, "but you are not to see her."
"Why?"
"Because I have said so. You know my laws."
The old woman looked as if she would like to have struck down the daring young queen. But her clinched fist was hidden in her apron.
"Helka, if they take this house they take you."
"Who is going to take it now?"
"The new tribe. They have sent word. We must give in or they govern."
The new tribe! That might mean more freedom for Helka. But she must be cautious—this old woman was the backbone of all the tribes, and every word she spoke might mean good or evil to all the American gypsies. She was all-powerful, in spite of Helka's pretended power.
"They cannot take my house," said Helka finally. "I have the oath of ownership."
The woman shook her head. All the while her eyes were searching for Cora, and she knew very well that the stolen girl was back of that screen. She wanted to see her, to know what she looked like in daylight; also to know how she was behaving.
"What did she say about Salvo?" hissed the woman.
"She says nothing of him. Why should she? Salvo did wrong. He should be sent to jail."
This was a daring remark, and Helka almost wished she had not made it.The eyes of the old woman fairly blazed with anger.
"You—you dare—to speak that way!"
Helka nodded her head with apparent unconcern.
"Why not?"
"There is always—revenge. I might take your girl friend farther into the mountains. That would leave you time to behave."
"Have we so many houses?" almost sneered the younger woman.
"There are holes, and caves and rivers," answered the woman, with the plain intention of frightening the disloyal one into submission.
"We left off that sort of thing when we came to America," replied Helka undaunted. "I will take care of this prisoner. I have agreed to."
The old woman shuffled up nearer to the screen. Cora felt as if she must cry out or faint, but Helka spoke quickly.
"Don't you dare to step one inch nearer," she said, assuming a voice of power. "I have told you to go!"
A dog was barking fiercely under the window.
"They will watch," said the old woman, meaning that the dogs would stay on guard if Cora should attempt escape.
"Oh, I know that," answered Helka. "But I have told you to go!"
Cora was trembling. She remembered the voice, although she was too deeply under the effects of the chloroform when in the wagon to recall more of this woman.
"I only came to warn you," said the woman.
"You are always warning," and Helka laughed. "I am afraid, Mother Hull, that we will begin to doubt your warnings. This young girl makes an admirable gypsy, yet you warned me so much before she came."
The woman stooped over and whispered into Helka's ear. "And I warn you now," she said, "that if she gets away I will not save you from Sam.Youwillmarryhim."
"Go away instantly," commanded the queen, springing up like an infuriated animal. "I have told you that before I will marry Sam I will—I will—— He sent you to threaten me! I——"
"Helka! Helka!" soothed the woman, "be careful—what you say."
"You leave me! I could throw myself from this window," and she went toward the open casement.
"There now, girl! Mother Hull was always good to you——-"
"Go!"
The hag shuffled to the door. Turning, she watched Helka and looked toward the screen. Helka never moved, but stood like a tragedy queen, her finger pointing to the door.
It was exactly like a scene in a play. Cora was very frightened, for she could see plainly through the hinge spaces of her hiding place.
When there was no longer a step to be heard in the hall, Helka sank down on the floor and laughed as merrily as if she had been playing some absurd game.
Cora was amazed to hear that girl laugh.
"Were you frightened?" Helka asked.
"A little," replied Cora, "she has such a dreadful face."
"Like a witch," admitted Helka. "That is why she is so powerful—she can frighten every one with her face."
"And the new tribe she spoke of?"
"Has, I believe, a beautiful queen, and they are always trying to make me jealous. But since I have seen you, I care less for my gypsy life."
"I am glad! I hope we may both soon go out in the beautiful, free world, and then you could meet David——"
"Hush! I heard a step! Lie down and pretend illness."
Again Cora did as she was commanded. It did seem as if all were commands in this strange world.
There was a tap at the door.
"Enter!" called Helka.
A very young girl stepped into the room timidly.
"Sam sent this," she said, then turned and ran away.
Helka opened the cigar box. "Cigarettes, I suppose," she said. Then she smiled. "Why, it's a present—a bracelet. I suppose Sam found this as he finds everything else he sends me—in other people's pockets. Well, it is pretty, and I shall keep it. I love bracelets."
She clasped the trinket on her white arm. It was pretty, and Cora had no doubt that it had been stolen, but as well for Helka to keep it as to try to do anything better with it.
"I should like to give it toyou," said the queen suddenly. She took off the bracelet and examined it closely.
"Oh, I really couldn't take it," objected Cora.
"I know what you think, but suppose you got out some time? This might lead to——"
"Oh, I see. You need not speak more plainly. Perhaps when I go I may ask you for it!"
"It has a name inside. Betty——"
"Betty!" exclaimed Cora.
"Do you know a Betty?"
"Indeed, I do! She was with us when——"
"Then that was when Sam found it. The name is Betty Rand!"
"Oh, do you think they have harmed Betty?" and Cora grew pale.
"Bless you, no! I heard that the girls had been searching the woods for you. She may have dropped it——"
"Oh, I hope so. Dear Betty!" and Cora's eyes welled up. "What would I not give to see them all!"
"Well, now, dear, you must not be impatient. See, I am reforming. I have not smoked today. And that is something that has not occurred in years. If you should make a lady out of a savage, would you think your time ill spent?"
Cora gathered up the robe she wore. It did seem as if she had been in gypsy land so long! She was almost familiar now with its strange ways and customs.
"You are not a savage, and I love your music. If you come out into the world, I am going to take you among my friends. We all have some musical education, but you have musical talent."
"Do you really think so? David loves music. Shall I sing?"
"Are you not afraid of that old woman?" asked Cora.
"Not in the least. Besides, if I sing she will think all is well." She took up her guitar. But after running her fingers across the strings she laid it down again.
"Tell me," she spoke suddenly, "about your mother. I hope she will not worry too much. If ever I knew my sweet mother I should be willing to live in a cave all my life."
Cora had always heard girls speak this way of lost mothers. Yes, it was sweet to have one—to know one.
"My mother is a brave woman," said Cora. "She will never give up until all hope is gone."
"I know she is brave, for you must be like her. And your brother?"
"He will miss me," answered Cora brokenly, for she could not even speak of Jack without being affected.
The great, dark eyes of the gypsy looked out into the forest. Cora wondered of what she could be thinking.
"Jack," she repeated, "Jack what?"
"Jack Kimball," replied Cora, still wondering.
"That sounds like a brave name," remarked the queen. "I am getting spoiled, I'm afraid. I cannot help being interested in the outside world."
"Why should you not be?" asked Cora.
"Because I do not belong to it. To be content one must not be too curious. That, I believe, is philosophy, and——"
"There is some one coming," interrupted Cora.
"It is Lena. I am like the blind. I know every one's step."
And she was not mistaken, for a moment later Lena entered the room.
"I am afraid she is dead."
"Jack, you must not give up so easily. The detectives have faith in the steamship story." Ed was speaking.
"No, Cora would not be induced, under any circumstance, to take aPortland boat, and she could not have been taken away unconscious."
"Girls before this have been led away with fake tales of a sick mother, and all that," said Ed feebly, "but I must agree with you—Cora was too level-headed."
"And Belle is really very ill."
"Mr. Rand has sent for a nurse. Belle feels as if she must die if Cora is not found soon. She is extremely sensitive."
"Yes, the girls loved Cora."
His voice broke and he turned his head away. The two young men were seated on the big piazza of the Tip-Top. It was just a week since the disappearance of Cora, and, of course, Mrs. Kimball had been notified by cable. She would return to America by the first steamer, but would not reach New York for some days yet. In the meantime Mr. Rand, who had turned out to be such a good friend in need, had advised Mrs. Kimball to wait a few days more before starting. He hoped and felt sure that some news of the girl would have been discovered by that time.
"Walter 'phoned from Lenox," went on Ed, after a pause. "He had no real information, and the young girl at the sanitarium is not Cora."
"I was afraid it was a useless journey. Well, let us see if we can do anything for the girls," and Jack arose languidly from the bench. "Misery likes company."
They went up to the suite of rooms occupied by the young ladies. Hazel met them in the hall.
"Whom do you think is coming to nurse Belle? Miss Robbins!"
"What?" exclaimed both in one breath.
"Yes, Mr. Rand insisted that she is the proper person, and it seems there is some reasonable explanation for her conduct. At any rate, it is well we will have some one we know. Oh, dear, Belle is so hysterical!" and Hazel herself was almost in tears.
"When is Miss Robbins coming?" asked Jack.
"Mr. Rand 'phoned, and she said she would come up at once. Then he sent his car out from his own garage for her."
"What would we have done without Mr. Rand?"
"Come in and speak to Belle," said Hazel. "She feels better when she has talked with you, Jack. Of course, you come also, Ed," she hurried to add, seeing him draw back.
The young men entered the room, where Belle, pale as a drooping white rose, lay on a couch under the window. She smiled and extended her hand.
"I am so glad you have come! Is there any news?"
"Walter is running down a sanitarium clew," said Jack evasively. "I feel certain Cora is ill somewhere."
"Where has he gone?"
"To Lenox. We had a description from a sanitarium there. But, Belle, you must brace up. We can't afford to lose two girls."
She smiled, and did try to look brighter, but the shock to her nerves had been very severe. "Did you hear that Miss Robbins is coming?" she asked.
"Yes, and I think she is the very one we need," replied Ed. "She may even be able to help us in our search."
"She is wonderfully clever, and it seems she did not mean to desert us at all. There is some sort of story back of her attention to the wounded ones at Restover," said Bess, who had been sitting at a little desk, busy with some mail.
A hall boy tapped at the door and announced that some one wished to seeMr. Kimball.
"Come along, Ed," said Jack. "You represent us."
In the hotel office they met two detectives sent by Mr. Rand. They explained that they would have to have a picture of Cora to use in the press, for the purpose of getting help from the public by any possible identification.
At first Jack objected, but Ed showed him that this move was necessary. So it was, with other matters, very painful for the young man to arrange with the strangers, where his sister's private life was concerned. Jack soon disposed of his part of the interview. He declared that Cora had no gentleman friends other than his own companions; also that she had never had any romantic notions about the stage or such sensational matters. In seeking all the information they could possibly obtain, that might assist in getting at a clew, the detectives, of course, were obliged to ask these and other questions.
"Has all the wood been searched?" asked Jack.
"Every part, even the caves," replied the detective. "We visited several bands of gypsies, but could not hold them—they cleared themselves."
"But the gypsies had threatened her," insisted Jack. "Could any have left the country by way of Boston?"
"Impossible. We have had all New York and New England roads carefully watched."
"And there are no old huts anywhere? It has always seemed to me that these huts one finds in every woods might make safe hiding places for criminals," said Jack.
"Well, we are still at it, and will report to you every day," said the elder man. "We have put our best men on the case, and have the hearty coöperation of all the newspaper men. They know how to follow up clews."
"Of course," agreed Jack. "There was nothing in the Chelton rumor. I knew that was only a bit of sensationalism."
"There was something in it," contradicted the detective, "but the trouble was we could not get further than the old gypsy woman's threat. She had told your sister to beware of interfering with that jailed fellow, Salvo. I believed there was some connection between her disappearance and that case, but, after talking to every one who knew anything about the gypsy band, we had to drop that clew for a time. There are no more of the tribe anywhere in the county, as far as we can learn."
"And they have not been around here since the day they moved away, when we were travelling over the mountains," went on Jack. "Of course you have, as you say, taken care of all the ends, but the arrest of that fellow seems the most reasonable motive."
"Had Miss Kimball any girl enemies? Any who might like to—well, would it be possible for them to induce her to go away, on some pretext, so that she might be detained?" asked the other detective.
Jack and Ed exchanged glances. There was a girl, an Ida Giles, of whom, in the other books of this series, we were obliged to record some very unpleasant things. She was an enemy of Cora's. But the detective's idea was absurd. Ida Giles would have no part in any such conspiracy.
"No girl would do anything like that," declared Jack emphatically. The sleuths of the law arose to go.
"Thank you for your close attention," said Ed. "We certainly have fallen among friends in our trouble. The fact that I left her alone——"
"Now, Ed, please stop that," interrupted Jack. "We have told you that it didn't matter whom she was with, the thing would have happened just the same. Any one would have fallen a victim to the false message."
Again for the detectives' information the strange man who called Ed into the hotel office was described. But of what avail was that? He was easier to hide than was Cora, and both were safely hidden, it seemed.
Finally, having exhausted their skill in the way of obtaining clews, the officers left, while the two young men, alone once more, were struggling to pull themselves together, that the girls might still have hope that there was a possibility of some favorable news.
"It looks bad," almost sobbed Jack, for the interview with the officers had all but confirmed his worst fears, that of throwing more suspicion upon the Gypsy tribe.
Ed was silent. He did not like to think of Cora in the clutch of those unscrupulous persons. The thought was like a knife to him. Jack saw his chum's new alarm and tried to brighten up.
The door suddenly opened. Both young men started.
A young woman entered the office.
"Mr. Kimball, Mr. Foster!" she exclaimed, as the boys looked at her in surprise. "I am so sorry!"
It was Miss Robbins.
"We are very glad to see you," said Jack. "We need all sorts of doctors. Belle is very ill, and the others are not far from it."
"And Cora?" she asked anxiously.
"No news," said Jack, as cheerfully as he could.
"Listen. I must tell you while I have a chance—before I see the girls. The man I stayed over to nurse is my brother!"
"Oh, Miss Robbins!" exclaimed Belle.
"My dear! I am so sorry to see you ill!"
"Yes, but Cora——"
"Hush, my dear. You will not get strong while you worry so. Of course, you cannot stop at once, but you must try."
Hazel, Betty and Bess had withdrawn. What a relief it was already to have some one who just knew how to control Belle. It had been so difficult for the young girls to try to console her, and her nerves had worked so sadly upon their own.
"I suppose you thought I was a perfectly dreadful young woman," said Dr. Robbins cheerily. "But you did not know (she sighed effectively) that every one has her own troubles, while a doctor has her own and a whole lot of others."
"Had you trouble?" Belle asked sympathetically.
"Indeed I had, and still have. You should know. But wait, I'll just call the girls in and make a clean breast of it. It will save me further trouble."
The tactful young doctor had planned to tell her story as much for the purpose of diverting Belle's mind as for any other reason. She called to the girls, who were in an adjoining room. How the strain of that one dreadful week had told upon their fresh young faces! Bess had almost lost her peach-blow; Hazel, never highly colored, but always bright of eye, showed signs even of pallor; Betty had put on too much color, that characteristic of the excitable disposition when the skin is the thermometer of the nerves, and her eyes not only sparkled, but actually glittered. All this was instantly apparent to the trained eye of the young doctor.
"Come in, girls," she said. "I have decided to make a full confession."
They looked at her in astonishment. What could she mean? Might she have married the sick man? This thought flashed into the mind of more than one of the party.
"You thought I deserted you?" began Miss Robbins.
"It looked like it," murmured Bess.
"Well, when I went out on that lawn to work over the injured, I found there a long-lost brother!"
"Brother?"
"Yes, really. It is a strange story, but for three years mother and I have tried every means to find Leland. He was such a beautiful young fellow, and such a joy to us, but he got interested in social problems, and got to thinking that the poor were always oppressed, and all that sort of thing. Well, he had just finished college, and we hoped for such great things, when, after some warning enthusiasm, he disappeared."
"Ran away?" asked Hazel.
"Well, we thought at first he was drowned, for he used to sit for hours on the beach talking to fishermen. But I never thought he had met with any such misfortune. Leland is one of the individuals born to live. He is too healthy, too splendid, a chap to up and die. Of course, mother thought he must be dead, or he would not keep her in anxiety, but that is the way these reformer minds usually work—spare your own and lose the cause."
"And what did happen?" asked Betty, all interested.
"I happened to find him. There he lay, with his wonderful blond hair burned in ugly spots, and his baby complexion almost——"
"Oh! are all his good looks gone?" gasped Belle—she who always stood up for the beautiful in everything, even in young men.
"I hope not gone forever," said the doctor, "but, indeed, poor boy, he had a narrow escape."
"But whatever took him into the kitchen?" asked Bess.
"He went down there among the foreigners to study actual conditions. Did you ever hear of anything so idiotic? But that is his hobby. He has been into all kinds of labor during these three long, sorrowful years."
"And you were helping your own brother! And we—blamed you!" It wasBelle who spoke.
"I could not blame you for so doing. I had been enjoined to secrecy the very moment poor Leland laid his eyes on me. He begged me not even to send word to mother, as he said it would spoil the research of an entire year if he had to stop his work before the summer was entirely over."
"But he could not work—he is ill?" said Bess.
"Still, you see, he could keep among the men he had classed himself with, and that is his idea of duty. I let mother know I had found him in spite of his 'ideas,' but I did not tell her much more."
"Will he not go home with you?" asked Hazel.
"He has promised to give up cooking by October first. Then I am going to collect him."
"What an interesting young man he must be," remarked Belle, to whom the story had already brought some brightness.
"Oh, indeed he is," declared Miss Robbins. "He is younger than I, and when I went to college he promised to do all sorts of stunts to prove my problems. He even wanted to try living, or dying, on one sort of food; wanted to remain up without sleeping until he fell over; wanted to sleep in dark cellars to see what effect that would have; in fact, I thought we would have to lock him up with a bodyguard to save his life, he was so enthusiastic about my profession. And as to anti-vivisection! Why, at one time he had twenty-five cats and four dogs in our small city yard to save them from the possible fate of some of their kind. I tell you, we had our hands full with pretty Leland."
"I should love him," said Belle suddenly and emphatically.
Every one laughed. It was actually the first real smile that had broken the sadness of their lives in that long, dreary week. Belle returned the charge with a contemptuous glance.
"I mean, of course, I should love him as a friend of humanity," she answered.
"Cats and dogs!" exclaimed Betty.
"A friend of dumb animals is always a friend of humans," insisted Belle.
Dr. Robbins smiled. Her cure was already working, and, while her story was correct, the recital of it had done more for those girls than had any other attempted cure of their melancholy.
"Well, I cannot agree with you that one fond of animals—that is excessively fond—is always very fond of mankind," she said. "Still, in Leland's case, it was a curious mixture of both."
"He will become a great man," prophesied Hazel.
"If he does not kill himself in the trying," said the sister. "He came too near it in the fire. But suppose he should insist on—on digging sewers?"
"Oh, you could restrain him. That would be insane!" declared Bess.
"I don't know about that. Sewers have to be dug," contended Leland's sister.
"I wish we might meet him," ventured Bess. "I am sure he would be an inspiration."
Poor Bess! Always saying things backwards. He would be an inspiration—in digging sewers!
"Well, you may some day, if he ever consents to become civilized again," said Dr. Robbins. "You see, he may take to the lecture platform, but very likely the platform will be against his principles. He will want to shout from the housetops!"
A step in the hall attracted them. It was Ed.
"Jack and I are going to town," he said, his face flushed with excitement. "The detectives claim to have a clew."
"Oh, good! I knew Dr. Robbins would bring luck," declared Belle, actually springing up from the couch. "I am going out in the air. I feel as if Cora were here already!"
"Easy, Belle," cautioned the doctor. "We must insist upon discipline for your mind and body. You must not waste energy. It is well to be hopeful, but bad to get excited."
"But I can't help it."
"Now, girls, we will let you know at once over the 'phone if we have any news," promised Ed, making his adieux. "We really are hopeful."
Hope, as contagious as fear, had sprung into the heart of each of them.Yes, there must soon be news of Cora!
"We are to go out to-day!" Helka's face was beaming when she gave this news to Cora. The latter had longed so for the sunshine since shut up in the big upper room.
"Out where?"
"In the grounds, of course. They do not let us on the highway."
"And does that satisfy you? You could go—if you chose."
"Well, I could, and I could not. I would be afraid if I ran away that old Mother Hull's face would kill me in my sleep. She is a dreadful woman."
"But that is superstitious. No dream can kill. I wish that was all that held me here," and Cora sighed deeply.
"But you have promised not to try to escape while you are in my charge," Helka reminded her. "And surely you will keep that promise!" There was alarm in her voice. Helka had not told Cora all of her fears.
"Yes, I will not run away from you. I doubt if I could do so, at any rate."
"Indeed, you could not, but you might be foolish enough to try. I keep hoping for you all the time."
"You are very good to me, Helka, and I hope that whatever becomes of me I will not lose you entirely. But sometimes I have a fearful dread. I feel as if I will choke from actual fear."
"I don't blame you. The faces of some of our tribe are enough to strangle one. But I have promised to take care of you, and you need fear no violence, at any rate."
They were seated on the floor, as usual. Presently Lena appeared.
"Fetch the walking dresses—the brown and the black," said Helka. "We are going out in the woods."
"Sam did not go to town," ventured Lena.
"Why?" asked the queen sharply.
"I don't know. He asked if you were going out."
"Indeed! Perhaps he expects to walk with us. Well, don't hurry with the things. We have all day."
Cora was disappointed. The very thought of getting out of doors had brought her hope—hope that some one might see her, hope for something so vague she could not name it.
"Can't we go out this morning?" she asked. "The day is so delightful."
Helka gave her a meaning glance. "I wish Sam would bring me some fruit," she said to Lena. "Tell him I have not had any for days, and say that the last—from the farm was delicious."
"All right," assented Lena, "I think he—will go."
"I think he will," agreed Helka. "He never fails me when I ask for anything. Sam is ambitious."
She was bright and cheery again. Yes, they would take their walk, andCora would be out in the great, free, wide world once more.
"How do you manage to get such up-to-date clothes?" she asked Helka, as she inspected the tailor-made walking dress of really good cut and material.
"Why, I have a girl friend in New York who sends by express a new gown each season. You see, it would not do for me to attract attention when I am out in the grounds."
"But, if you did attract attention, would not that possibly help you to get away?"
"My dear, the situation is very complex. You see, I have a respectable lover, and I live every day in hopes of some time joining him. Should our band get into disrepute, which it surely would do if discovered here, I should feel disgraced. Besides"—and she looked very serious—"there are other reasons why I cannot make any desperate move for freedom."
Cora thought it wise not to press her further. It was a strange situation, but surely the woman was honest and kind, and had befriended Cora in her darkest hour. What more could she ask now?
Helka gave Cora a choice of the dresses, and she took the black costume. There was scarcely any perceptible difference in their sizes, and when gowned Helka declared Cora looked "chic." Helka herself looked quite the society lady, her tight-fitting brown costume suiting her admirably.
Cora was trembling with anticipation. She wondered if they would be allowed to roam about at will, or how they would be guarded. Finally Helka was ready.
"We will have Lena with us—that is, she will be supposed to be with us. Then—but you must wait and see. It is rather odd, but it is better than being indoors." Helka rang her bell and Lena appeared.
"We are ready," she said simply, and again the girl was gone.
It seemed ages, but really was but a short time before Lena returned.
"All right," she said, "the door is opened, and the dogs are gone."
It was the first time Cora had been out in the hall, and she looked around in wonderment. It was dark and dirty, so different from Helka's apartment. Lena led the way. There were three flights of stairs.
"You girls do not do too much sweeping," complained the queen, as she lifted her skirts. "I should think you would have had Christine brush down these steps."
"I told her to, but Mother Hull sent her for berries," explained Lena.
They passed along, and finally reached the outer door. The fresh air blew upon them.
"Oh!" exclaimed Cora. "Isn't it good to be in the open air?"
"Hush!" whispered Helka. "It is best that you make no remarks. I will tell you why later."
Mother Hull was crouched at the steps. She looked up first at Helka, then at Cora. My, what eyes! No wonder Helka said they might kill one in a dream.
Down the steps and at last on the ground! Cora's feet fairly tingled. Helka tripped along lightly ahead of her. Two ordinary-looking men were working on the grounds. The place seemed just like any other country house that might be old and somewhat neglected, but there was not the slightest evidence of it being an abode of crime or of gypsies.
"This way, Cora," said Helka. "There is a splendid path through the woods this way. I love to gather the tinted leaves there."
As they turned the men also turned and made their work fit in exactly to the way the girls were going.
"Our guard," whispered Helka. "They will not speak to us, but they never take their eyes off us. I don't mind them, but I hate the dogs. They never call them unless they fear I might speak with a stranger."
"What sort of dogs are they?" asked Cora eagerly.
"I don't know; not thoroughbreds, I can tell you that. I could make friends with any decent dog, but these—must be regular tramps. I hate them."
Cora, too, thought she might have made friends with any "decent" dogs, but she had the same fear that Helka spoke of regarding mongrels.
A roadway was not too distant to be seen. If only some one would come along, thought Cora, some one who might hear her voice! But if she should shout! They might both be attacked by those savage dogs.
"Oh, see those gentian," exclaimed Helka. "I always think of David's eyes when I find gentian. They are as blue and as sweet and——"
"Why, Helka! You leave me nothing to say for my fair-eyed friends. They have eyes, every one of them. Here are Betty's," and she grasped a sprig of a wonderful blue blossom. "And here are dear, darling Belle's," picking up a spray of myrtle in bloom, "and here are the brown eyes of Bess," at which remark the eyes of Cora Kimball could hardly look at the late, brown daisy, because of a mist of tears.
"All girls!" exclaimed Helka wonderingly.
"Oh, I know some boys," replied Cora, running along and noting that the men with the dogs were close by. "Jack is dark. I really could not tell the color of his eyes!"
"And he is your brother!"
"The very reason," said Cora with something like a laugh. "Now I know that Walter has eyes like his hair, and his hair is not like anything else."
"But Ed's?" and at this Helka smiled prettily. "I had an idea that Ed's eyes were sort of composite. A bit of love, that would be blue," and she picked up a late violet, "a bit of faith, gray for that," and she found a spray of wild geranium, "and a bit of black for steadfast honor. There! I must find a black-eyed Susan," and at this she actually ran away from Cora, and left the frightened girl with the men and dogs too close to her heels for comfort.
For a moment Cora wanted to scream. She was too nervous to remember that she had been promised security by Helka: all she knew, and all she felt, was danger, and danger to her was now a thing unbearable.
"Helka! Helka!" she called wildly.
The other girl, running nymph-like through the woods, turned at the call, and putting her hands in trumpet shape to her lips, answered as do school girls and boys when out of reach of the more conventional forms of conversation.
"Here I am," came the reply. "What is it, Cora?"
"Wait for me," screamed the frightened girl, while those dreadful dogs actually sniffed at her heels.
Cora felt just then that the strain of being so near freedom, and yet so far from it, was even worse than being in the big room.
"I know where there are some beautiful fall wild flowers," said Helka. "We may walk along for a good distance yet. These grounds are mine, you know."
"If they were only mine!" Cora could not help expressing.
"You see, my dear, I owe something to my dear, dead mother. She loved this life."
"But your father. Did he?"
"I can't say. I wish I might find him. He is not really dead."
"Not dead!"
"No. I say so at times because we call certain conditions death, but I do believe my father lives—abroad."
"And he is a nobleman?"
"You folks would call him that, but he is not one of us."
"How strange that you should be so bound by traditions! And you know your lover—is not one of you."
"Oh, yes, he is. That is what makes him love me. He is called a socialist. He is not a gypsy, but he will not be bound by conventionalities."
"But suppose he knew of this crime?"
"We do not admit it is a crime to hold you for the release of Salvo. They cannot convict him of the robbery if you do not appear against him. It is a sort of justice."
It was very vague justice to Cora, and she knew perfectly well the argument would have little weight with her friends, should she ever meet them again.
But she must meet them! She must induce this girl—for she really was nothing more than a misinformed girl—she must induce her to escape!
If only she could get a letter to David!
If only Lena would take one for her!
My, how her heart beat! Helka was picking flowers, but Cora was looking out on that roadway.
An automobile dashed by.
"Oh!" exclaimed Cora, clutching Helka's arm. "I cannot stand it! I must call or go mad!"
The dead leaves tried to move! Something stirred them to unnatural life. There was a shuffling of feet! A riot of fear! Chipmunks scampered off! But the girl lay there!
"Cora! Cora, dear!" wailed Helka. "Try to live! I cannot lose you!Oh, Cora, I must make you live!"
But the form on the dead grass was lifeless. The automobile had dashed by. A cloud of dust was all that was left to mark its path.
"Cora! Cora!" almost screamed Helka. "Wake up! They are coming!"
The prostrate girl seemed to moan.
Then they did come.
Cora was apparently dead!
"What did I do? Did I—did they—oh, tell me?"
Helka was leaning over Cora as the girl regained consciousness. It was night, and the room was quite dark.
"You did nothing, dear, but faint. That was not your fault. Take another sip of this milk. Do you feel better?"
"Yes, but I was so afraid that I screamed, and that they—those dreadful men would punish you."
"Not afraid for yourself?"
"Not if I could not help it. But you had nothing to do with it. Oh,Helka, I will die if I am not soon set free! I can't stand it."
She burst into hysterical tears. Cora Kimball was losing strength, and with it her courage was failing.
"How could you escape?"
The words came slowly. Helka was thinking deeply.
"Could we get Lena to take a note to David? He would surely rescue us."
"But then—they might pour out vengeance upon him. I could not take the risk of anything happening to David."
"You are too timid, Helka. Such straits as we are in demand risks."
"We might poison those horrible, savage dogs. Lena might do that without her own knowledge. I could fix something. Do you know anything about poisons?"
"Not much," replied Cora, "but I suppose if we got anything sure to be poison it would do." Hope sprang into her heart. "How did you get me indoors?"
"They carried you. The air was too strong for you after such close confinement."
"No, it was that automobile on the road. The sight of it simply overpowered me. Oh, how I wanted to call to those in it!"
"Poor girl! Since you came I, too, have wanted to be free, and I am not as much afraid as I used to be."
"We are in America, and have no right to fear." Cora thought at the same time that probably her own fearlessness accounted for her present plight.
"If we could poison the dogs, and then slide down from one of these windows in the dark, perhaps we could get away," said Helka. "But what would happen when we found ourselves out in the dark woods? If they found us——"
"There must be no 'if.' They must not find us. I am afraid of nothing but of this imprisonment."
"Well, we will see. To-morrow I will get Lena to go to town for me, and perhaps we may be able to arrange something."
"And you will not write to your David?"
"Don't you think that dangerous?"
"The very safest thing, for he is a man, and how could they injure him?"
"And so handsome and so strong! He is like some grand old prince—his hair is like corn-silk and his eyes are like the blue sky," and Helka, as she reclined, with her chin in her hands, upon her couch, almost forgot that Cora was with her.
"Then you will write to-morrow? Tell him to come to the end of the path at the west road by ten to-morrow night, and if we are not there we will leave a note so that he will see it."
"How quickly you plan! What about the dogs?"
"Lena will fetch the stuff to-morrow morning, and they will be dead by night. Then we will tie a rope to the window-sill or some strong place, and we will slip down. Oh, Helka, I will go down first, and go out first, and if they do not miss me, they will not miss you. It will be safe to follow me as quickly as you see I am off!"
Cora threw her arms about the gypsy queen. As she spoke it seemed as if they were already free!
"And when we meet David! Oh, my dear Cora, now you have made me—mad! Now I, too, will risk life to get away! I must go out into your world—David's world!"
"Then we must both sleep, and be strong. Tomorrow we will be very good to every one. I will be well, and if I cannot eat I will pretend to. Lately I have almost choked on my food." Cora sipped the milk and then fell back exhausted.
"I nearly forgot your illness, I became so excited with our plans. Do you know when you fainted they were all very much frightened? They would not like to have you die!"
"But they might easily bury me. I should think that would be safer."
"No, it is very hard to bury one. Somehow they find the dead more difficult to hide than they do the living. I guess the good spirits take care of the dead."
"And we must take care of ourselves! Well, that may be. At any rate,I am glad I did not die. Oh, Helka, if you only could know my brotherJack. He is the noblest boy! And our girls! You know, we are calledthe motor girls, don't you?"
"And you all own automobiles! I have never been in an automobile in my life," sighed Helka.
"But you are going to ride in mine—in theWhirlwind! Doesn't that name suit you? It sounds so like your gypsy names. Why did you say they call you Helka?"
"Well, I wanted something Polish. Holka means girl, so I changed it a little. My father called me his Holka."
"How do you know that?"
"From my mother's old letters. She told me as much as she wanted me to know. She said I was not all a gypsy, but I might choose my life when I grew up. She left me with a very kind gypsy nurse, but when she died—they took me to that horrible Mother Hull."
"What a pity your mother should have trusted them. Well, Helka, when we find David, he will find your father. What was his name?"
"Some day I will show you the letter, then you will know all my strange history. My music I inherited. My father was a fine musician."
The winds of the White Mountains sang a song of tired summer. The leaves brushed the windows, and the two girls fell to dreaming.
Cora thought of Jack, of Ed and of Walter; then of the dear, darling girls! Oh, what would she not give for one moment with them?
Helka dreamed of David—of the handsome boy who had risked his life to get a note to her; then of how he followed her to America, and how he had, ever since, sent her those letters!
Yes, she must risk all for freedom!