The Motor Girls Through New England Part 37

"And Mother Hull?"

"Smoking by the fire. She will sleep. I have put some powder in her tobacco."

Cora murmured a protest.

"Oh, she likes it," and the queen smiled. "Tonight it will be a treat.

But the men--the guards?"

"One went to gamble his money that you gave him; the other is out with his fishing pole. I have fixed it all."

"Good girl. You told him I wanted fish for breakfast, and you told the other he could spend his money at the inn. Lena, I wish you _could_ come with us."

"I _am_ going. I will not stay here."

"But in the morning, when they find three gone--what then?"

"In the morning," said Cora, "it does not matter what. We shall be safe some place. Yes, Lena, we will take you. This is no life for any girl."

Lena fell on her knees and kissed Cora's hands wildly. She had befriended Cora ever since she saw her lying so still and white in that awful wagon, and now she might get her reward.

"You will come up with tea when everything is safe," said Helka. "That will be our signal."

Lena went away with a smile on her thin lips. True, she was a real gypsy girl, but she longed for another life, and felt keenly the injustice of that to which she was enslaved.

"Then I will sing," said Cora. "See, the stars are coming out. The night will help us. I have marked every turn in the path. I pretended to be moving the stones from the gra.s.s, and I was placing them where I could feel them--in the dark."

"You are a wonderful girl, Cora, and your world must also be wonderful.

I have no fear of its strange ways--but my money? How shall I ever be able to get that?"

"Never fear about the money," replied Cora cheerily. "What is rightfully yours you will get. My friends are always the friends of justice."

"And they will not fear the tribe?"

"The tribe will fear them. Wait and see. Now, what shall I sing--the 'Gypsy's Warning?'"

"Yes," and Helka lay back on her low divan.

Again Cora fingered the guitar. Daintily her fingers awoke the chords.

Then she sang, first low, then fuller and fuller until her voice rang out in the night.

"Trust him not, oh, gentle lady, Though his voice be low and sweet, For he only seeks to win you, Then to crush you at his feet!"

At each stanza Cora seemed to gain new power in her voice. Helka raised herself on her arm. She was enchanted. The last line had not died on Cora's lips when Helka repeated:

"Yes, I am the gypsy's only child!"

The remark was rather a plaint, and Cora came over very close to Helka.

"You must teach me a new song," she said. "I want one to surprise my friends with."

"Then you are so sure of reaching them?"

"Positive. All America will seem small to me when I am free," and she patted the hand of the queen.

"Free!" repeated the other. "I had never thought this captivity until you came; then I felt the power of a civilized world, and I felt the bondage of this."

The girls were speaking in subdued tones. A single word might betray them if overheard. Yet they were too nervous to remain silent, and Helka seemed so impressed, so agitated, at the thought of leaving, forever, her strange life.

"Do you think it is safe about Lena?" she asked. "I would not like to get that faithful child into trouble."

"It would be much safer to take her than to leave her here," Cora reasoned, "for when they found us gone they would surely blame her."

"Yes, that is so. Well, I have never prayed, that has always seemed a weak sort of way to struggle," said the queen, "but it seems to me now that I must seek strength from some One more powerful than those of earth. There _must_ be such a power."

"Indeed there is," replied Cora. "But now let us be happy. See the stars, how they glitter," and she turned back the drapery from the window. "And see, we shall have a great, big, bright moon to show us our way."

"Hush!" whispered Helka. "I heard a step. Listen!"

Neither spoke for some moments. Then Cora said:

"It was someone in the hall, but the person has gone down the stairs."

"I wonder who it could be? Lena would come in."

"Perhaps that little, frowsy Christine. She seems to stay out of nights. I heard her last night when you were sleeping. I really think she came in very late, crept upstairs, and then I am sure she tried this door."

"She did! Why did you not call me?"

"Well, I was positive it was she, and I did not want to make trouble.

You see she has been listening again."

"She belongs to another tribe and has only come here lately," said Helka. "I have always suspected she was sent to spy on me. If it were not just to-night--this very night--I would call her to an account."

"If the child is under orders," intervened Cora, "you can scarcely trust her to do otherwise than spy. But what do they want to know about you that they cannot readily find out?"

"You could scarcely understand it dear. We have rival tribes, and they each want me--or my money."

"There is another step! There seems to be so many noises to-night."

"Perhaps that is only because we are listening."

"We want to listen, and we want to hear," and Cora put her ear to the keyhole.

"Are they gone?"

Cora did not answer at once. Then she turned to Helka.