From Farm to Fortune, or, Only a Farmer's Daughter — page 17: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

14 _then the woman leaned forward and whis- pei rapidly: “You have made a terrible mistake, my child, but you are not to blame. You are in the wrong place—your host is not your uncle!” Marion caught her breath sharply but did . not utter a sound. “Who is he, then?” she said softly, clasping her hands tightiy together. The woman shrugged,her shoulders and glanced quickly around the room. “Never mind who he is,” she said, almost roughly. “He is not your uncle, and he is not married. Now tell me, who is your uncle, and how did you come here?”’ Marion replied with eager promptness: “My uncle is Frederic Stanton, and he lives at “The Norwood.’ I wrote him at that ad- dress and he answered my letter. ried my mother’s sister, and he is very rich, so rich that he has never recognized any of his wife’s relatives in the country. When Dollie was abducted my father disowned her and I was obliged to write to uncle, then I came to him,” she finished simply. “There are a dozen apartment houses in the city by that name,” said the woman thoughtfully. biggest one, uptown on Fifth avenue.” “T don’t know,” said Marion anxiously. “I only knew ‘The Norwood.’ You see I did not even think that there might be two of them.” “Well, he should have thought and told you,” said the woman, “or the cabman should have as soon as you told him.” Marion gave a quick exclamation, which was as quickly smothered. She had thought of something that might explain it. “There was a man watching me in the station while I was waiting,” she said slowly. “He heard uncle’s name and the address, I am sure, and afterward I saw him give the cabman some money and a scrap of paper. Do you suppose it is possible - Miss Gray interrupted her: “Is that the piece of paper?” she asked, drawing a scrap from her pocket. Marion took it and read these astonishing words: He mar-: “He probably lives at the MY QUEEN. “Dear Ted: Here’s a treasure, right fresh from the country. Name, Marion Marlowe, looking for her uncle, Frede#ic Stanton at ‘The Norwood. Married her mother’s sis- ter, but she has never seen him. Expected him to meet her, but, luckily for you, he didn’t. Ill be around to-night; meanwhile | wish you luck. Don’t ever say again that I’m not a judge of beauty.” The note was not goned, and Marion — looked at the woman inquiringly. “That was written by the blackest villain in New York,” said Miss Gray, her voice © vibrating strangely, “and it is not his first effort in that direction either.” Marion rose from her chair and con- fronted the woman. She understood at last the full horror of her position. 3 “T am the victim of a plot,’ she said at last. “Oh, my dear Miss Gray, how can : thank you for telling me?” For once the woman smiled; her features had softened amazingly. sions of gratitude seemed thawing her cold- ness. “But can | not protect myself apabact them?” asked Marion, after a minute. “Can't I have them arrested by a arate or something?” Miss Gray smiled at the ee girl’s ig- norance of such matters. | “No use,” she said shortly. “What could you do? You haven’t an atom of proof that you did not come here freely.” “But that bit of paper?” cried Marion, pointing to the note that Miss Gray was hold- - ing between her fingers. In the coolest possible manner the woman tore it into atoms. | “Would mean nothing at all, I can assure you,” she said quickly; “for in the first place, I have destroyed it.” She rose and tossed the fragments into the erate as she spoke. Marion. stared at her helplessly; she was too bewildered to answer. When Miss Gray came back her eyes were shining dangerously. “They have gone a inttle too far in their dastardly deeds this time,” she said im a whisper. “But have I the courage to thwart their plottings ?” She began pacing the floor as she asked the question. Gomicbooks com Marion’ Ss expres-