Part 3 (1/2)
Royal Bryant's face was ghastly white when he finished reading this brief epistle.
”Good heavens!” he muttered, ”to think of that beautiful girl being arrested and imprisoned for such an offense! Where is Miss Allandale?”
he added, aloud, turning to Mrs. O'Brien, who had been watching him with a jealous eye ever since entering the room.
”In the Thirtieth street station-house, sir,” she briefly responded.
”Infamous!” exclaimed the young man, in great excitement. ”And has she been in that vile place since Sat.u.r.day evening?”
”She has, sir; but not with the common lot; the matron has been very good to her, sir, and gave her a bed in her own room,” the woman explained.
”Blessed be the matron!” was Royal Bryant's inward comment. Then, turning again to his companion, he inquired.
”What is your name, if you please, madam?”
”Kate O'Brien, at your service, sir.”
”Thank you; and do you live near Miss Allandale?”
”Jist forninst her, sir--on the same floor, across the hall.”
”She writes that her mother is very ill,” proceeded the young man, referring again to the letter.
”Whisht, sir; the poor lady's dyin', sir,” said Kate in a tone of awe.
”Dying!” exclaimed Royal Bryant, aghast.
”Yes, sir; she has consumption; and just afther the officer--bad luck to 'im!--took the young lady away, she had a bad coughin' spell, and burst a blood-vessel, and she has been failin' ever since,” the woman explained, with trembling lips.
”Who is with Mrs. Allandale now?” questioned Mr. Bryant, with a look of deep anxiety.
”The docthor, sir; he promised to stay wid her till I come back.”
”Well, then, Mrs. O'Brien, if you will be good enough to hurry back and care for Mrs. Allandale, I will go at once to her daughter; and I am very sure that I can secure her release within a short time. Tell her mother so, and that I will send her home immediately upon her release.”
”Bless yer kind heart!” cried the woman, heartily, and she hurried away to take the blessed news to Edith's fast-failing mother.
The moment the door closed after her, Royal Bryant seized his overcoat and began to put it on again, his face aflame with mingled indignation and mortification.
”In a common city lock-up for the crime of pa.s.sing counterfeit money!”
he muttered, hoa.r.s.ely. ”And to think that I brought such a fate upon her!--I, who would suffer torture to save her a pang. Two nights and an endless day, and her mother dying at home!--how she must have suffered! I could go down upon my knees to ask her pardon, and yet I cannot understand it. That money came directly from the bank into my possession.”
He was just fastening the last b.u.t.ton of his coat when there came a knock upon his door.
”Come in,” he said, but frowning with impatience at the unwelcome interruption and the probable detention which it portended.
An instant later a rather common-looking man, of perhaps forty years, entered the room.