Ben's Nugget; Or, A Boy's Search For Fortune

"I see you know me, Miss Douglas," said Orton Campbell, throwing off the shawl and rising from the couch.

For the first time it dawned upon Florence that she had walked into a trap. She hurried to the door and strove to open it, but Mrs. Bradshaw had locked it.

"What does this mean, Mr. Campbell?" she demanded with spirit, in spite of her terror. "Is this unworthy trick of your devising?"

"I am afraid I must confess that it is," said Orton, coolly.

"And it was all a falsehood about Richard Dewey's sickness?"

"Yes."

"And the note?"

"I wrote it myself."

"Then, sir, you have acted shamefully," said Florence, indignantly.

"I am afraid I have," said Orton Campbell, smiling, "but I couldn't help it!"

"'Couldn't help it'?" repeated Miss Douglas.

"No; you would not receive me, and I had to contrive an interview."

"Do you know anything of Richard Dewey?"

"No; he is perfectly well, so far as I know, or he may be dead. Pray be seated."

"I would rather stand. May I ask what you expect to gain by this base deception?"

"Your consent to a marriage with me."

"Then it is clear you don't know me, Orton Campbell."

"It is quite as clear, Miss Florence Douglas, that you don't know me."

"I believe you capable of any atrocity."

"Then you do know me. I am capable of anything that will break down your opposition to my suit."

"Do you propose to keep me here?"

"Yes, until you give me a favorable answer."

"That will never be."

"Then you will stay here an indefinite period."

"Are there no laws in California?"

"None that will interfere with me. The people who live here are devoted to my interests, as you will find. I don't wish to hurry you in your decision, and will therefore leave you for the present. Your meals will be sent you at regular times, and I will call again to-morrow."

He drew a key from his pocket, opened the door, and left the room, locking the door behind him.

Florence sank into a chair, almost in despair.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A HARD-HEARTED JAILER

Florence soon recovered a degree of self-possession, and began to consider the situation. The room in which she so unexpectedly found herself a prisoner was about fifteen feet square. There were two front windows, from which she took a survey of the neighborhood, which she had but slightly observed from the windows of the carriage. She could see no other house, and naturally concluded that this had been selected on account of its lonely location.

The distance from the window-sill to the ground was not over twelve feet, and Florence began to consider whether she could not manage to escape in this way.

She tried to open one of the windows, but could not stir it. Closer examination showed her that it had been nailed down. She went to the second window, and found that secured in a similar way.

"They evidently anticipated that I would try to escape," she thought to herself.

Next her thoughts recurred to the woman who appeared to be the mistress of the house. Not that she had any intention of appealing to her kindness of heart, for the hard-featured Mrs. Bradshaw was not a woman likely to be influenced by any such considerations. Florence had enjoyed but a transient view of the lady's features, but she already had a tolerably correct idea of her character.

"She is probably mercenary," thought Florence, "and is in Orton Campbell's pay. I must outbid him."

This thought inspired hope, especially when from the window she saw her persecutor ride away on horseback. This would gave her a fair field and a chance to try the effect of money upon her jailer without risk of interruption. She would have felt less sanguine of success if she had heard the conversation which had just taken place between Mrs. Bradshaw and her captor:

"Mind, Mrs. Bradshaw, you must not let the young lady leave her room on any consideration."

"All right, sir."

"I take it for granted, Mrs. Bradshaw, you are not easily taken in?"

"I should say not, sir," said the woman, emphatically.

"The young lady will try to impose upon you while I am away."

"Then she'd better save her trouble," said Mrs. Bradshaw, tossing her head.

"She's very artful," said Orton. "Most crazy people are."

"You don't mean to say she's crazy?" said Mrs. Bradshaw in surprise. "She don't look like it."

"You are quite right. She doesn't look like it, but she wrong here," continued Campbell, tapping his forehead. "Why, she fancies herself immensely rich, Mrs. Bradshaw, when, as a matter of fact, she's a penniless cousin of mine, who would have gone to the poorhouse but for my father's charity."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Mrs. Bradshaw, interested.

"Sometimes she thinks she's worth millions of dollars. I wish she were, for in that case my father would be relieved of the burden of supporting her."

"To be sure, sir!"

"Some time since she managed to elude our vigilance and escaped from our home in Albany. Knowing how feeble-minded she was, we felt very anxious about her, but for some time were unable to get a trace of her. Finally, we learned that she had been seen in California, and I came out at great personal inconvenience to bring her back."