"The second day after Ida's arrival," replied Peg, unhesitatingly.

"If that is the case," returned Jack, not knowing what to think, "it must have miscarried."

"That is a pity. How anxious you all must have felt!" remarked Peg, sympathizingly.

"It seemed as if half the family were gone. But how long does Ida's mother mean to keep her?"

"A month or six weeks," was the reply.

"But," said Jack, his suspicions returning, "I have been told that Ida has twice called at a baker's shop in this city, and, when asked what her name was, answered Ida Hardwick.' You don't mean to say that you pretend to be her mother?"

"Yes, I do," returned Peg, calmly.

"It's a lie," said Jack, vehemently. "She isn't your daughter."

"Young man," said Peg, with wonderful self-command, "you are exciting yourself to no purpose. You asked me if I _pretended_ to be her mother.

I do pretend; but I admit, frankly, that it is all pretence."

"I don't understand what you mean," said Jack, mystified.

"Then I will take the trouble to explain it to you. As I informed your father and mother, when in New York, there are circ.u.mstances which stand in the way of Ida's real mother recognizing her as her own child. Still, as she desires her company, in order to avert all suspicion, and prevent embarra.s.sing questions being asked, while she remains in Philadelphia she is to pa.s.s as my daughter."

This explanation was tolerably plausible, and Jack was unable to gainsay it, though it was disagreeable to him to think of even a nominal connection between Ida and the woman before him.

"Can I see Ida?" asked Jack, at length.

To his great joy, Peg replied, "I don't think there can be any objection. I am going to the house now. Will you come now, or appoint some other time?"

"I will go now by all means," said Jack, eagerly. "Nothing should stand in the way of seeing Ida."

A grim smile pa.s.sed over the nurse's face.

"Follow me, then," she said. "I have no doubt Ida will be delighted to see you."

"Dear Ida!" said Jack. "Is she well, Mrs. Hardwick?"

"Perfectly well," answered Peg. "She has never been in better health than since she has been in Philadelphia."

"I suppose," said Jack, with a pang, "that she is so taken up with her new friends that she has nearly forgotten her old friends in New York."

"If she did," said Peg, sustaining her part with admirable self-possession, "she would not deserve to have friends at all. She is quite happy here, but she will be very glad to return to New York to those who have been so kind to her."

"Really," thought Jack; "I don't know what to make of this Mrs.

Hardwick. She talks fair enough, if her looks are against her. Perhaps I have misjudged her, after all."

CHAPTER XIX. CAUGHT IN A TRAP.

JACK and his guide paused in front of a three-story brick building of respectable appearance.

"Does Ida's mother live here?" interrogated Jack.

"Yes," said Peg, coolly. "Follow me up the steps."

The woman led the way, and Jack followed.

The former rang the bell. An untidy servant girl made her appearance.

"We will go up-stairs, Bridget," said Peg.

Without betraying any astonishment, the servant conducted them to an upper room, and opened the door.

"If you will go in and take a seat," said Peg, "I will send Ida to you immediately."

She closed the door after him, and very softly slipped the bolt which had been placed on the outside. She then hastened downstairs, and finding the proprietor of the house, who was a little old man with a shrewd, twinkling eye, and a long aquiline nose, she said to this man, who was a leading spirit among the coiners into whose employ she and her husband had entered, "I want you to keep this lad in confinement, until I give you notice that it will be safe to let him go."

"What has he done?" asked the old man.

"He is acquainted with a secret dangerous to both of us," answered Peg, with intentional prevarication; for she knew that, if it were supposed that she only had an interest in Jack's detention, they would not take the trouble to keep him.

"Ha!" exclaimed the old man; "is that so? Then, I warrant me, he can't get out unless he has sharp claws."

"Fairly trapped, my young bird," thought Peg, as she hastened away; "I rather think that will put a stop to your troublesome interference for the present. You haven't lived quite long enough to be a match for old Peg. You'll find that out by and by. Ha, ha! won't your worthy uncle, the baker, be puzzled to know why you don't come home to-night?"

Meanwhile Jack, wholly unsuspicious that any trick had been played upon him, seated himself in a rocking-chair, waiting impatiently for the coming of Ida, whom he was resolved to carry back with him to New York if his persuasions could effect it.

Impelled by a natural curiosity he examined, attentively, the room in which he was seated. It was furnished moderately well; that is, as well as the sitting-room of a family in moderate circ.u.mstances. The floor was covered with a plain carpet. There was a sofa, a mirror, and several chairs covered with hair-cloth were standing stiffly at the windows.

There were one or two engravings, of no great artistic excellence, hanging against the walls. On the centre-table were two or three books.

Such was the room into which Jack had been introduced.

Jack waited patiently for twenty minutes. Then he began to grow impatient.

"Perhaps Ida is out," thought our hero; "but, if she is, Mrs. Hardwick ought to come and let me know."

Another fifteen minutes pa.s.sed, and still Ida came not.

"This is rather singular," thought Jack. "She can't have told Ida that I am here, or I am sure she would rush up at once to see her brother Jack."

At length, tired of waiting, and under the impression that he had been forgotten, Jack walked to the door, and placing his hand upon the latch, attempted to open it.

There was a greater resistance than he had antic.i.p.ated.

Supposing that it must stick, he used increased exertion, but the door perversely refused to open.

"Good heavens!" thought Jack, the real state of the case flashing upon him, "is it possible that I am locked in?"