She looked
up at her conductor, but cloak and hat and whiskers disguised him as
effectually as the mask had done on other occasions. She looked back at
the old woman and held out her supplicating hands.
"My good woman, whoever you are, if you have a woman's heart, take pity
on me. I have been brought here against my will by this man."
"Ah, poor creeter!" sighed the old woman, shaking her grizzly old head;
"as if I didn't know that. Poor little creeter!"
"Help me!" Mollie cried. "Don't aid this man to keep me here. I don't
know who he is--I have been wickedly entrapped. I am a little, helpless
girl, but I have rich and powerful friends who will liberally reward
you. Don't help this, bad, bold man to keep me a prisoner here."
"Ah, poor creeter!" sighed the old woman, plaintively, a second time;
"only hear her talk now. And such a pretty little thing, too! Dear,
dear! It goes to one's heart. Don't keep her standing in them wet
clothes, sir. Come upstairs. Such a pity, such a pity!"
She hobbled away, muttering to herself and shaking her head. The
disguised man laughed--a low, deriding laugh.
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