The Angel and The Demon CHAPTER 20.
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"This is going too far," said Adele, as she came forward again and stood in sight of the room where the child lay in its fearfully-unnatural sleep, after Mrs. Fordham had gone down to the parlors to join Mrs. Weir and her companions. Slowly, listening almost breathlessly, and with silent footsteps, she descended the stairs, and, approaching the chamber, laid her hand upon the door-knob and turned and pressed against it. To her disappointment, she found that Mrs. Fordham had locked her prisoner in, and withdrawn the key.
For a little while Adele stood by the door, her face shadowed with perplexity. She then moved silently away, and, going into her own room, sat down, with a sober face, to think. The right thought was soon suggested. Starting up with a sudden impulse, she went to the door of her own room and quickly withdrew the key. It fitted the lock, as she had hoped, and in less than ten seconds she was in the room where the child lay in its deathlike slumber. Carefully shutting the door, she crossed to the bed. The child had not stirred since Mrs. Fordham left the chamber. Stooping down, Adele gazed upon the pure young face, until tears blinded her eyes. Then, laying a hand upon her, she shook her gently. But not a sign of life, beyond the feeble respiration, appeared.
An expression half surprise, half fear, came into the young girl's countenance; and she stood quite still for an instant. Then, laying her hand again upon the child, she shook her violently, putting at the same time her mouth to her ear, and saying, in a low but eager voice, "Wake! wake up! Come!"
But she might as well have spoken to the dead. The sleeper's senses were locked by a key that was not in her possession.
For a little while Adele remained bewildered and irresolute. Then she made a more violent effort to break the spell that shut the doors of conscious life. It was in vain.
"Time flies. It must be done now, or the opportunity may pass forever. Poor child! Poor lamb in the wolf's grasp! I must, I will, save you!"
Turning from the bed, as she thus spoke with herself, Adele left the room, and, going to her own chamber, hurriedly put on a bonnet and shawl, and then, coming back, lifted the sleeper resolutely in her arms, and, bearing her from the room, locked the door and withdrew the key. For a few moments she stood at the top of the stairs, irresolute as to her next step. Then, laying her burden upon the floor, she went down the first flight and listened. The sound of muffled voices from the parlor was distinct enough to warn her that one of the doors at least was open, and that it would be folly to attempt to leave the house by the front way. There was an outlet in back, by means of a narrow alley leading past a row of small houses into a court, and thence to a street running parallel with the one on which Mrs. Weir lived. But, to reach the yard so as to gain this outlet, Adele must descend the stairway, the foot of which was near the back-parlor, and pass out by a door opening within a few feet of the parlor-window. This mode of egress was, therefore, almost as impossible as the first, for the window she knew was open.
For a little while the excited girl was in despair; and the words, "It is hopeless," were on her lips, when she thought of a low shed out upon which she could climb from one of the second-story windows of the back-building. To think was to act. Hurriedly lifting the child, she passed into the small room over the kitchen, closing the door behind her, so as not to be seen by anyone who might happen to come up the stairway. The window was raised: a glance at the shed below showed the distance to be not less than three feet from the window-sill. There was a low table in the room: on this she laid her burden carefully, and then drew it to the window.
A quick but searching examination of all the windows overlooking the position she occupied, told her that she was free from observation. Next she dropped down lightly upon the shed, and from thence sprang like an antelope to the yard, six feet below, her form disappearing beyond the edge of the slanting shed. Fortunately, there was an old table in the yard, which Adele drew up to the side of the outbuilding, and, mounting thereon, without an instant of hesitation, clambered to the roof, and gained the window, just inside of which the child still lay as motionless as if she were dead.
It was only the work of an instant to draw her forth and carry her to the eaves of the shed, where Adele laid her carefully and then leaped down upon the table below. Then she took her in her arms and lifted her from the shed, and then jumped to the pavement, bearing the heavy burden still in her arms. Almost like a spirit, she vanished through the gate, shutting it noiselessly behind her. Hurrying down the long alley-way and through the court, Adele emerged upon the open street. A large coach was passing at the moment, and she signaled the driver to stop. It so happened that no passengers had yet entered the vehicle, and this made her and her insensible companion the sole occupants when it moved on again. Taking the extreme upper end of the seat, she placed the child in an upright position, so as not to attract the attention of those who might come in, and supported her with one arm.
The stage moved on for two squares before gaining any accession to the number of its passengers. Then two ladies came in. They looked hard at Adele; also at the child whose face was hidden among her garments. Two men came in next; and then a woman with a little girl. After that, an elderly man entered. He kept looking up and down the cross-streets, and glancing at the passengers on the sidewalks, in a curious, anxious kind of way, as if in search of someone. At last, he fixed his eyes on Adele with a gaze so penetrating that it brought the color to her face. From her, he looked to the child crouching down in the corner of the seat, and kept gazing at the half-hidden form, until Adele by a slight movement threw her body farther forward, so as to conceal it still more from observation.
Where was Adele going with the rescued child? That question, the girl could not herself answer. Escape was the first thing, and flight the second. All beyond, was still in doubt.
One passenger after another left, until only Adele with her charge, and the old gentleman, remained. The curiosity of the latter, it was plain to the girl, had become strongly excited, and she began to feel certain that he would not leave the coach, nor permit her to do so, without penetrating the mystery of her sleeping companion. With stealthy glances she examined his face, in order to gain such limited knowledge of his character as was possible under the circumstances. Her impression was favorable.
At last, the stage reached the Exchange, and Adele was yet undetermined what to do or which way to go. The possession of an insensible child in such a public place would at once attract notice, and probably draw around her an excited and misjudging crowd. Fear was intruding upon her heart.
The old gentleman stepped forward to pay his fare, and stood just above her, looking down upon her face and at the child.
"Is that little girl asleep?" he asked. The voice was kind, and the tones assured the heart of Adele.
"Yes, sir," she answered, timidly.
The old man stooped and laid his hand upon the child. Adele bent forward as if to prevent the closer scrutiny he evidently wished to make; but he grasped the sleeper firmly and turned her face to the light. An exclamation of surprise fell from his lips, and he sat down, drawing, as he did so, with resolute hands, the child from Adele's arms.
"Girl, how did this child come into your possession?" he said, sternly.
"Oh, sir!" exclaimed Adele, with eagerness, "do you know to whom she belongs?"
"Maddy! Maddy! Wake up, dear! Wake up!" said the old man, turning from the girl without replying. "What ails her? What is the meaning of this strange sleep?" He addressed Adele again.
"If she belongs to you," said Adele, "take her home as quickly as possible. I have done my part in rescuing the dove from the hawk — the lamb from the wolf."
Uncle John Fleetwood, whom the reader has recognized, needed no further prompting. He had a carriage called, and, taking into it both Adele and his recovered niece, was driven rapidly to the residence of Mr. Dainty. On the way, he gained such information as Adele permitted him to glean. It was not by any means satisfactory.
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