The Midnight Guest

and painful train of thought. He was taking her to see her mother. But why had her mother so suddenly displayed this tender solicitude, after leaving her absolutely alone all these years? That Vera’s mother was in possession of her whereabouts, and had been all this time, the girl did not doubt. When part of the story had to be told she had accepted Ravenspur’s statement implicitly. Her mother was a vile woman, and the past was too painful for a young girl to hear. Ravenspur had not said so in as many words, but that was distinctly the impression he had conveyed to Vera. She began dimly to comprehend now why this newborn affection of her mother’s had not found vent in the conventional way. Doubtless Ravenspur would have forbidden her the house. Doubtless he had a hold that gave him the control of the situation⁠—probably a compact made years ago. And now one of the parties desired to break it. Perhaps it was a question of money, or family property, or something of that kind? Vera had heard of similar cases.

At any rate, there must be some reason for this mystery and violence. And no doubt every word that Ravenspur had said about her mother’s character was true. Otherwise she could not have consented to an abduction like this. Still, there was comfort in the reflection that Lord Ravenspur and Walter would leave no stone unturned to punish this outrage. The miscreants would be found out sooner or later. Vera congratulated herself now upon the fact that she had left her handkerchief tied to the collar of the dog Bruno. That would be a sufficient clue to put her friends on the trail, and Bruno himself, with his unerring instinct, would lead the pursuers to the right place. After all, the imprisonment could not last long, though Vera boiled with indignation as she thought of the treacherous way in which she had been deceived.

“And you are going to take me to my mother, then?” she asked.

“That is the programme,” Silva said coolly. “Unfortunately, you will not be able to see the Countess tonight. You may believe me or not, but I am sorry to have been compelled to take a step like this. But you see, Lord Ravenspur’s plans made it quite impossible for me to wait till tomorrow.”

Vera was silent for a moment. She could see plainly that Ravenspur’s clever scheme for getting away to Weymouth had been betrayed by someone to this man. Her chief anxiety for the moment was for her guardian. It was terrible to think that he had been dogged and watched by people so cunning and unscrupulous as these. Vera was still thinking the matter over when the cab stopped and Silva bade her get out. A wild idea of appealing to the cabman for assistance was dismissed as she caught sight of his face. There was a grin upon it, and the driver unmistakably winked at Silva. There was just enough light for Vera to see that the cabman was not wearing a badge. Doubtless he was a conspirator, too. There was nothing for it but to see the thing through to the finish. So Vera followed Silva through the garden till he paused at length on the steps of a house, which appeared to be in total darkness.

“The servants have gone to bed,” Silva explained, as he opened the door with a latchkey. “If you will wait a moment, I will turn up the gas. If you desire anything⁠—”

“Nothing,” Vera said curtly. “All I want you to do is to show me to my room. I wish to be alone.”

Silva bowed politely enough. He turned and locked the door, and Vera saw that he dropped the key in his pocket. Then he took a silver candlestick from the hall table and handed it to Vera, intimating that he would like her to precede him up the stairs. They came at length to a room in the roof of the house which appeared to be comfortably, almost luxuriously furnished, and with every feminine requirement at hand. With absolute amazement Vera saw her own silver toilet set laid out on the dressing table, her handbag was on the floor, and in one corner of the room stood the two dress-baskets which her maid had packed for immediate use on board the yacht. A slight smile of amusement flickered over Silva’s face as he noticed Vera’s amazement.

“Everything has been done to make you comfortable,” he said. “It was my own idea to remove your immediate belongings from Waterloo Station and bring them on here. I assure you that it was no difficult job. And now I wish you goodnight, with a thousand pardons for the way in which I have been compelled to treat you. Tomorrow morning⁠—”

Silva paused significantly and bowed himself out of the room. He closed the door gently behind him, and Vera waited till the sound of his footsteps had died away. She tried the door, but, as she had anticipated, it was fastened on the outside. Beyond all question, she was a prisoner. There was nothing but to make the best of it, and wait on the course of events. There were two bolts on the inside of the door, and, having secured these, Vera felt easier in her mind. She undressed slowly, and more for something to occupy her mind than anything else. She would never be able to sleep again. The idea of sleep seemed to be out of the question. Yet, within ten minutes, Vera had fallen into a deep slumber from which she did not wake until the sun was shining high, and the birds were singing in the trees. The girl rose eagerly and looked out. She could see a wide expanse of green lawn, with big shaded trees here and there. On two sides of the house a common stretched away apparently to the confines of space. How far she was from London