Pretty Geraldine, the New York Salesgirl; or, Wedded to Her Choice

He dropped some twenty-dollar gold pieces into her hand, gave her some instructions, and drove his team toward the city. A few hours later he boarded a train for Cincinnati at daylight, and remained away five days, in order to throw the searchers for Geraldine off guard.

But as we have seen, the forged note, representing that she had gone of her own free will to marry her betrothed, had effectually prevented any hue and cry over Geraldine's disappearance.

So the villainous abductor had it all his own way, and for two long weeks, until Hawthorne's return, he was free to come and go as he chose in the prosecution of his designs against the poor girl.

As for the poor victim, who can judge of her surprise and terror on awaking the next morning from her drugged sleep, in a strange room, and guarded by an old giant of a woman, with the most villainous face she had ever beheld.

The night before she had fallen asleep in her own lovely, luxurious room, and the last sight her eyes had rested on was the handsome, smiling face of Miss Erroll, the governess.

But her sleep had been haunted by terrible nightmare dreams, and when she waked at last in that shabby room in the presence of her horrible old jailer, she thought that she was dreaming still.

Recoiling from the woman, she threw out her arms, groaning helplessly:

"Oh, those dreadful nightmare dreams! How they haunt me! Will not some one wake me, please? Martha, where are you? Come to me at once. Oh, Cissy! oh, mamma!"

Old Jane Crabtree came and stood over her scowlingly, snapping out:

"You an't dreamin', gal; you is wide awake!"

But it took her some little time to assure her captive that this was not a continuation of her terrible nightmare dreams.

When she at last convinced her that this was an awful reality, and boldly told her that Clifford Standish had brought her here in a drugged sleep, the terrible truth rushed over her mind.

"That wine Miss Erroll gave me was drugged! She was in the plot!" she cried, wildly.

The hag nodded sullenly, and Geraldine continued, passionately:

"He will never get my consent to marry him, never!"

And then she fell to pleading with the old woman for her liberty, promising to make her rich if she would only restore her to her friends.

But Jane Crabtree laughed her to scorn, sneering at the idea of Geraldine being able to reward her for her liberty.

Standish had cleverly prepared her for all that the girl might threaten or promise, by telling her not to listen to anything, as the girl was only a poor salesgirl from Siegel & Cooper's, on a salary of three dollars a week.

So the old witch grunted scornfully at her pleadings, threats, and promises, and presently went out, locking the door after her until she returned with a coarse breakfast of badly served food, from which the girl turned with loathing.

While she was absent, Geraldine rose and looked from the window to see if there was any chance of escape.

What she saw made her turn shudderingly back to the bright coal-fire, the only cheerful object in the poor room.

The window was very small, and the grimy panes were guarded by heavy iron bars.

Beyond these bars Geraldine saw a level stretch of country covered with a mantle of snow. A wild snow-storm was raging, and the wind drove against the shutters with terrible violence, banging them to and fro until the old house shook in the terrible gale.

She realized that she was in a farm-house, far removed from any other habitation, and that if she could have walked out of the house at that moment she must have perished in the deep drifts of snow while struggling to escape.

That terrible first day passed in alternate weeping and praying. Standish did not make his appearance, and Jane Crabtree remained down stairs, attending to her household tasks, except when she came up to replenish the fire and minister to the wants of her captive.

That first day Geraldine ate nothing. At night she sobbed herself to sleep.

The next day hunger drove her to partake of a little of the coarse food.

For three days the monotonous blizzard raged, and the snow grew deeper and deeper. Geraldine felt as if she should go mad.

She wondered despairingly if she should ever get free from the power of her cruel jailer, or if she should die here, as old Jane had boldly threatened.

The woman had become very impatient over Geraldine's continued weeping, and one day she said, roughly:

"You might as well hush that snivelin' an' make your mind up ter marry that man, for if you don't he'll kill you!"

"Kill me! He dare not!"

"He'll dare anything, and if he don't, I will. Sho! I don't mind killin' anybody. I beat a poor-house chile to death last year, and only three months ago I p'isened my husband with arsenic. An' that isn't all I done, neither, for–" She paused in the recital of her crimes, for the listener had dropped limply in a swoon, overcome by the horror of the story.

Oh, the weary days, and the terror-haunted nights! How did the poor captive drag through them? The wonder to her ever afterward was that she did not go mad.

At last Clifford Standish came.

It was a full week since he had brought her there and the storm had somewhat abated in violence, but the snow still lay deep upon the ground, and the wailing of the winter wind was like the knell of hope in her ears.

The door opened, and her cowardly abductor stood within the room, gazing at his cruel work.

Pretty Geraldine had wept till her brown eyes were dim and heavy, with purple shadows beneath them, and her cheeks all wan and sunken. She had not taken the trouble to exchange her blanket wrapper for the cloth gown Miss Erroll had put in the hand-bag. She had not given a thought to her appearance.

But even her disheveled locks and haggard looks could not quench the fire of passion in the villain's heart. He looked at her gloatingly, exclaiming:

"Good-morning, pretty Geraldine. I suppose that after your week with Jane Crabtree, you are glad to see even me!"

CHAPTER LVIII.

SENTENCE OF DEATH

"Alas, a wicked man am I;
With temper fierce, too prone to strife,
And quick to wrath, my hands I ply
To evil deeds."

    Benjamin Hathaway.
Geraldine gave the smooth villain a glance of measureless contempt as she answered, bitterly:

"The sight of his satanic majesty would be more welcome than you, Clifford Standish!"

"Still defiant!" he laughed, mockingly. "Why, I thought that a week of Mrs. Crabtree's society would bring you to your senses!"

"Say rather would cause me to lose my senses!" she retorted, bitterly, and there was a moment's silence, which he broke by saying, impatiently:

"I will come to the purpose of my visit, Geraldine, I wish to marry you."