City and town life -- Fiction; Urban poor -- Fiction
"I'd suffer it for two pins, so as you should be pulled down too,"
muttered the woman, as she wiped the blood from the prisoner's lips, and
then with a scowl Richard turned to go.
"I shall be back in three days at the latest," he said. Then he paid
and dismissed the cabman, walked hastily through a few streets, and then
took another cab and drove off.
"Gone!" exclaimed Ellen Pellet, opening her eyes to gaze about her in an
anxious manner as she tried to make for the door.
Mrs Walls nodded, and then half led, half pushed her into a back
parlour.
"He'll be back in two days, and then you're going away from here, and
for good, and I'm glad of it," said the woman, not unkindly, considering
that but a day since her prisoner had contrived to escape. "I don't
want you here any more."
"To take me to her?"
"To be sure," said Mrs Walls, as she would have spoken to a child. The
next minute the door was closed, and the key turned upon the prisoner,
who sank down upon a chair, and pressed her hands in a bewildered way to
her forehead.
She sat without moving for an hour, and then began to pace round and
round the room to find, after trying door and window, that the former
was fast and the latter only slid down a few inches at the top, the
bottom being of ground-glass, and preventing a view of the outer world
unless the occupant of the room stood upon a chair; and even then only
the backs of houses and a blackened wall or two were to be seen.
Escape now seemed to be the sole idea in the poor creature's mind. She
recalled in a darkened way a long period of imprisonment, and evidently
dreaded its recurrence, for again and again she tried the door, shaking
it gently, but it was locked, though the key remained in, so that she
could touch the end as it projected about the sixteenth of an inch
through the keyhole.
Another hour passed, and another, of torture and dread of treachery.
Could she not get away to her little one? That was the great thought
which crushed all others; and as if determining to escape, she began to
try with her nails to turn the key, repeating her efforts till the wards
hung downward. Then, by means of a wooden splint, one of a dozen upon
the chimney-piece, she thrust the key nearly out of the keyhole, where
it hung while she listened attentively, then, with one more gentle push,
it fell rattling down upon the oilcloth of the passage.
She stood listening, her bosom heaving painfully, but no steps followed
the noise--it was evidently not heard, and, sinking upon her knees, she
tore up the edge of the tacked-down carpet, till she could pass her worn
and bony fingers beneath, and drag it away from the door, leaving the
bottom exposed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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