CHAPTER x.x.xIII

IDA IS FOUND

Ida was sitting alone in the dreary apartment which she was now obliged to call home. Peg had gone out, and, not feeling quite certain of her prey, had bolted the door on the outside. She had left some work for the child--some handkerchiefs to hem for d.i.c.k--with strict orders to keep steadily at work.

While seated at work, she was aroused from thoughts of home by a knock at the door.

"Who's there?" asked Ida.

"A friend," was the reply.

"Mrs. Hardwick--Peg--isn't at home," returned Ida.

"Then I will come in and wait till she comes back," answered the voice outside.

"I can't open the door," said the child. "It's fastened outside."

"Yes, so I see. Then I will take the liberty to draw the bolt."

Mr. John Somerville opened the door, and for the first time in seven years his glance fell upon the child whom for so long a time he had defrauded of a mother's care and tenderness.

Ida returned to the window.

"How beautiful she is!" thought Somerville, with surprise. "She inherits all her mother's rare beauty."

On the table beside Ida was a drawing. "Whose is this?" he inquired.

"Mine," answered Ida.

"So you have learned to draw?"

"A little," answered the child, modestly.

"Who taught you? Not the woman you live with?"

"No," said Ida.

"You have not always lived with her, I am sure?"

"No, sir."

"You lived in New York with a family named Harding, did you not?"

"Do you know father and mother?" asked Ida, with sudden hope. "Did they send you for me?"

"I will tell you that by and by, my child. But I want to ask you a few questions first. Why does this woman, Peg, lock you in whenever she goes away?"

"I suppose," said Ida, "she is afraid I'll run away."

"Then she knows you don't want to live with her?"

"Oh, yes, she knows that," said the child, frankly. "I have asked her to take me home, but she says she won't for a year."

"And how long have you been with her?"

"About three weeks, but it seems a great deal longer."

"What does she make you do?"

"I can't tell what she made me do first."

"Why not?"

"Because she would be very angry."

"Suppose I should promise to deliver you from her, would you be willing to go with me?"

"And you would carry me back to my father and mother?" asked Ida, eagerly.

"Certainly, I would restore you to your mother," was the evasive reply.

"Then I will go with you."

Ida ran quickly to get her bonnet and shawl.

"We had better go at once," said Somerville. "Peg might return, you know, and then there would be trouble."

"Oh, yes, let us go quickly," said Ida, turning pale at the remembered threats of Peg.

Neither knew as yet that Peg could not return if she would; that, at this very moment, she was in legal custody on a charge of a serious nature. Still less did Ida know that in going she was losing the chance of seeing Jack and her real mother, of whose existence, even, she was not yet aware; and that this man, whom she looked upon as her friend, was in reality her worst enemy.

"I will conduct you to my own rooms, in the first place," said her companion. "You must remain in concealment for a day or two, as Peg will undoubtedly be on the look-out for you, and we want to avoid all trouble."

Ida was delighted with her escape, and with the thoughts of soon seeing her friends in New York. She put implicit faith in her guide, and was willing to submit to any conditions which he saw fit to impose.

At length they reached his lodgings.

They were furnished more richly than any room Ida had yet seen; and formed, indeed, a luxurious contrast to the dark and scantily furnished apartment which she had occupied since her arrival in Philadelphia.

"Well, you are glad to get away from Peg?" asked John Somerville, giving Ida a comfortable seat.

"Oh, so glad!" said Ida.

"And you wouldn't care about going back?"