Marion Marlowe in Chicago, or, Trapped by a Lunatic — page 27: what you’re looking at

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

24 She chattered and gestured and even danced in her eagerness, and, as Marion still refused, she shook her-fists excitedly. Marion hesitated a moment, with the en- ergy of despair. Was she sure of her liberty, her freedom, after all, or would the old creature rob her and then laugh at her distress? It was a question which no measure of thought could answer, At least, she must risk it. There was nothing else. With a groan of anguish, she handed over, one by one, her pretty trinkets. All but one; that was a locket which Bert Jackson had given her. As she clutched it, eagerly, the old woman struck at her. Instantly, all the blood in Marion's body rebelled. She could bear insults, perhaps, but a blow from this creature—never! She straightened herself to her full height and caught up the unwieldy iron kettle. With a shriek of rage, the hag flew at her. Marion uttered a cry for help and then struck out bravely. The next instant there was a crash that shook the crumbling building, and the inner door broke loose from its hinges and was splintered to atoms. A man had bounded from the darkness of the inside chamber and was grappling with the woman. Marion gasped with astonishment. Mr. Temple. It was CHAPTER XII. THE RESCUE. Marion did not stop to ask questions then, for she had all she could do to help her man- ager. “Together they bound the old virago hand and foot and tied a towel over her mouth; then both sat down and looked at each other. Marion’s next move was a decidedly nat- ural one. She burst into tears, and in a mo- ment her head was pillowed on Mr. Temple's bosom. “Poor little Marion! Poor child! You came here to seek me! [ am sure of it,” whispered her friend. . Marion dried her eyes and told him her story. When she had finished it was time to escape from the shanty. ae Mr. Temple recovered all of Marions trinkets and money, while the virago glared at them in fury; then, carefully unlocking the door, they peered out into the alley. % | “Tt ie ctill too dark! We must wait,” whis- pered the manager, softly. “We are safer MY QUEEN. here than we would be outside, unless, as you” suggested, we disguise ourselves in those garments.” Marion took a sharp glance at the heap of clothes and shook her head in disgust. "< “We would catch smallpox or something, Iam sure, Mr. Temple. Suppose we lock the door again and wait a little longer.” “Listen! I hear some one shouting!” said the manager, softly. “It may be the police! Listen, Marion!” Marion put her head out of the door, but all was still. All that was to be heard was the sound of cursing in a nearby groggery. They locked the door again and sat down — on the stools, and Mr. Temple put his hand to his head wearily. ! “You have time to tell me your story now,” whispered Marion, tenderly. “How did you come here, Mr. Temple? Do hurry and tell 99 me. > Once more her friend passed his hand across his brow. “T can’t remember exactly, Marion,” he — said, feebly. “I really think I must have been drugged on the train. Bill Jones, my old — ‘supe,’ was aboard. I remember that distinct-_ ly. In order to keep him from talking to- me, I sat in the smoker with another fellow, and # : “Was his name Jack Hart” broke in, Mar- ion, eagerly. ‘ “T believe it was,” said Mr. Temple, stop- _ ping in his story and staring at her. : “Then it was Percy Preston in disguise. | I ought not to have inter- But go on, Mr. Temple! What did th wretches do? “T took a glass of beer with him just be- fore we reached Chicago,”’ went on the man ager. “The next thing I remember I was jolting over the stones in a cab; then later, something happened; I don't know what, hen I came to myself I was a prisoner in this shanty, my jewelry and money gone and with these clothes on me, Marion.” The young girl glanced at him. She ha not noticed his garments before. | Now she saw that they were cheap an dowdy—not at all like the stylish ones he was in the habit of wearing. | “You must have been drugged and the struck.” she said, with the tears runnin down her cheeks. “Oh, Mr. Temple, Iams sorry! so dreadfully sorry !" Once more he took her in his arms an pressed a kiss upon her brow. They werd companions in misfortune, and those are al ways dearest. 7 The old woman had given up strug ling now and lay quietly es) the Hoar, 80. m