CHAPTER XLVII.
DELAYS ARE DANGEROUS.
Doctor Bayless had predicted aright. Leslie continued to gain slowly,and in the third week of her illness, she could sit erect in her bed foran hour or two each day, listening to Mamma's congratulations, andrecalling, one by one, her woes of the past. Not recalling thempoignantly, with the sharp pain that would torture her when she shouldhave gained fuller strength, but vaguely, with a haunting pang, as oneremembers an unhappy dream.
Day by day, as strength came back, her listlessness gave place topainful thought. One day, sitting for the first time in alounging-chair, procured at second-hand for her comfort, she felt thatthe time had come to break the silence which, since her first fullawakening to consciousness, she had imposed upon herself.
Mamma was bustling about the room, inwardly longing to begin thepassage-at-arms which she knew must soon ensue, and outwardly seemingsolicitous for nothing save the comfort of her "dear girl." As Leslie'seyes followed her about, each seemed suddenly to have formed a likeresolve.
"How many days have I been ill?" asked Leslie slowly, and languidlyresting her head upon her hand.
Mamma turned toward her and seemed to meditate.
"How many days, my child? Ah, let us see. Why, it's weeks since you cameto us--two, yes, three weeks; three weeks and a day."
Leslie was silent for a moment. Then she asked:
"And you have nursed me through my illness; you alone?"
"Surely; who else would there be?" replied Mamma in an injured tone.
"Who, indeed!" repeated Leslie bitterly. "Sit down, Madam; I want totalk with you."
Mamma drew forward a chair, and sank upon it with a gratified sigh. Ithad come at last, the opportunity for which she had planned and waited.She could scarcely conceal her satisfaction.
"You have nursed me," began Leslie slowly, "through a tedious illness,and I have learned that you do nothing gratuitously. What do you expectof me?"
"Oh, my child--"
"Stop!" lifting her head, and fixing her eyes upon the old woman; "noevasions; I want the plain truth. I have no money. My husband's fortuneI will never claim. I have told you this; I repeat it. So _what_ do youexpect of me? Why was I not permitted to die in my delirium?"
Among her other talents, Mamma Francoise numbered that power, as usefuloff the stage as it is profitable behind the footlights--the power toplay a part. And now, bringing this power into active use, she bowed herhead upon her breast and sighed heavily.
"Ah, Leschen, you break my heart. We wanted you to live; we thought youhad something to live for."
The acting was excellent, but the words were ill-chosen.
"Something to live for!" Leslie's hands met in a passionate clasp."Something to live for! Right, woman; I have. Tell me, since you havebrought me back to myself, how, _how_ can I ransom Daisy Warburton?"
Mamma's time has come. Slowly she wipes away an imaginary tear, softlyshe draws her chair yet nearer Leslie, gently she begins.
"Leschen, my poor girl, don't think _us_ guilty of stealing your littleone; don't. When you came here that night, I thought you were wild. Butnow,--since you have been sick--something has happened."
She paused to note the effect of her words, but Leslie sat quite still,with her hands tightly locked together.
"Something has happened?" she echoed coldly. "I felt sure it would; goon."
"It isn't what you think, my girl. We haven't found your little dear;but there is a person--"
"Go on," commanded Leslie: "straight to the point. _Go on!_"
"A person who _might_ find the child, if--"
"If he or she were sufficiently rewarded," supplied Leslie. "Quick; tellme, what must Daisy's ransom be?"
Mamma's pulse beats high, her breath comes fast and loud. It is not inher nature to trifle with words now. She leans forward and breathes oneword into Leslie's ear.
"_Yourself._"
"Myself!" Leslie gasps and her brain reels. "_Myself!_" she controls heragitation, and asks fiercely: "Woman, what do you dare to say?"
"Only this," Mamma continues, very firmly and with the tiger lookdawning in her eye. "You have no money, but you have beauty, and that ismuch to a man. Will you marry the man who will find your little girl?"
In spite of her weakness, Leslie springs up and stands above Mamma, afierce light blazing in her eyes.
"Woman, _answer me_!" she cries fiercely; "do you know where that childis?"
"I? Oh, no, my dear."
"Is there another, a man, who knows?"
Slowly Mamma rises, and the two face each other with set features.
"There is a man," says Mamma, swaying her body slightly as she speaks,and almost intoning her words--"There is a man who swears he can findthe child, but he will not make any other terms than these. He will notsee you at all until you have agreed to his demands. You will marry him,and sign a paper giving him a right to a portion of your fortune, incase you should make up your mind to claim it. You may leave him afterthe ceremony, if you will; you need not see him again; but you mustswear never to betray him or us, and never to tell how you found thechild."
Into Leslie's face creeps a look of intense loathing. All her courageoussoul seems aroused into fearless action. Her scornful eyes fairly burninto the old woman's face.
"So," she says, low and slowly, "I have found you out at last." And thenthe weak body refuses to support the dauntless spirit.
She sinks back upon her chair, her form shaking, her face ghastly, herhands falling weakly as they will. But as Mamma comes forward, thestrong spirit for a moment masters the weak body.
"Don't touch me," she almost hisses, "or, weak as I am, I might murderyou! wait."
And Mamma stands aloof, waiting. Not while Leslie thinks--there is noconfusion of mind--only until the bodily tremor ceases, until the nervesgrow calmer, until she has herself once more under control. She does notattempt to rise again. She reclines in her easy chair, and looks at heradversary unflinchingly.
"At last," she says, after favoring Mamma with a long look of scorn; "atlast you show yourself in your true character. Your own hand pulls offyour hypocrite's mask. Woman, you were never so acceptable to me as atthis moment. It simplifies everything."
"You must not think--" begins Mamma. But Leslie checks her.
"Stop!" she says imperiously. "Don't waste words. We have wasted toomany, and too much time. I desire you to repeat your proposition, toname your terms again. No more whining, no more lies, if you want me tolisten. You are my enemy; speak as my enemy. Once more, your terms forDaisy's ransom."
And Mamma, too wise to err in this particular, abandons her _role_ ofinjured affection. Dropping her mantle of hypocrisy, not without a senseof relief, she repeats her former proposal, clearly, curtly, brutally,leaving no room for doubt as to her precise meaning.
Leslie listens in cold silence and desperate calm. Then, as Mammaceases, she sits, still calm, cold and silent, looking straight beforeher. At last she speaks.
"This person," she says slowly; "this man who can find Daisy if hewill--may I not see him?"
"When you have given your promise; not before."
"He will accept no other terms?"
"Never."
"And this transaction, this infamy--he leaves all details to you?"
"Just so."
"Then there is no more to be said. I might hope for mercy from thebeasts of the field, but not from you."
"You consent?"
"If I refuse, what will be the consequences to Daisy?"
"You had better not refuse!" retorts Mamma, with a glare of rage.
Before Leslie's mind comes the picture of little Daisy, and following ita panorama of horrors. Again she feels her strength deserting her.
"Wait," she whispers with her last fragment of self-command. "Leave meto myself. Before sunset you shall have my answer."
Further words are useless. Mamma, seeing this, turns slowly away, sayingonly, as she pauses at the door:
"
Don't waste your time; _delays are dangerous_."