CHAPTER XI.

EMILE VORSE IS CAUGHT AT LAST.

In less than two hours Ralph Moore came back and astonished Marion by handing her one hundred dollars.

He was as pale as a corpse, but was unusually calm. There was not a tremor in his voice when he urged her to accept it.

“Never mind where I got it,” he said, with a slight smile, “only promise me, Miss Marlowe, that you will say nothing about it. You see, my aunt and uncle might think I came by it dishonestly.”

“Oh, I am sure they would not,” said Marion, a bit startled. “I am sure they would be the last to accuse you of dishonesty.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Mr. Moore with another strange smile: “I’ve been a bit wild, and ‘once give a dog a bad name’—you know the rest, Miss Marlowe.”

“I would trust you anywhere,” said Marion, firmly. “Your heart is too good, you could never do wrong, I am certain.”

“If I did it would be with a good motive,” said the young man again, “but I must go now, Miss Marlowe, and I would so like to see poor Dollie.”

“You shall see her,” said Marion, “for she is sitting up to-night. I think she has been better since she got your message.”

She smiled at him slyly, and the young man blushed like a girl. When he entered the room, and had greeted Dollie, Marion discreetly retired for a few minutes.

“Dollie, dear Dollie, can you love me?” whispered Mr. Moore softly, as he went straight to the young girl who was bundled in wraps on the sofa.

“I do love you,” murmured the girl with a rosy blush. “I think I loved you when I first saw you, and oh, I am so perfectly happy.”

Mr. Moore put his arms around her and kissed her lips softly.

“And you will stick to me, Dollie?” he urged, very tenderly. “You won’t go back on me, even though I am a little frisky?”

“I’d hate to have you any other way,” admitted Dollie, frankly. “Yes, I will stand by you, Ralph, no matter what happens.”

“It is awful to be poor when you are in love and want to get married,” said the young man, sadly, after they had both said over and over that they should always love each other. “Oh, I do so hate this waiting until one can afford to marry, but I know it is sensible, don’t you think so, dearest?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Dollie, who was a very practical little woman. “We must wait patiently, Ralph, until we are both better off, and then, you know, I am very young—really I am not old enough to marry.”

She blushed a fiery red as she said the words, for there was a secret in her soul that was weighing very heavily.

Should she tell him that awful experience through which she had passed? She knew it would be honorable, but she could not do it, at least just then.

Marion returned at that moment, so the love scene ended. In a few moments Mr. Moore was obliged to leave them.

“When shall I see you again, Ralph?” asked Dollie, pouting a little. “Here you are, going away without saying a word about returning.”

The young man was standing with his hat in his hand, and for a second he seemed a little disconcerted.

Recovering himself, he said, with a tender glance:

“I shall come to-morrow, if possible, Dollie. If I don’t it will be business of importance that detains me.”

“Good-night, then,” she murmured, and her lover bent over her once more. He kissed her fondly in spite of Marion’s presence.

“I can never thank you enough for your kindness,” said Marion, following him to the door, “but some day I hope I shall be able to do you as great a favor.”

“You have done it already,” said Ralph Moore, earnestly. “You have sanctioned Dollie’s promise to marry me some day, and I can’t begin to tell you how I thank you.”

After he had gone Marion told Dollie the good news. For another month they could live in comparative comfort.

“I wonder where he got it,” was Dollie’s natural comment.

Marion sighed a little as she answered absently:

“It is one more debt of gratitude that I owe. When, oh, when, will I ever be able to repay them?”

The first thing the next morning Marion secured a doctor for Dollie. His bill was exorbitant, but she paid it ungrudgingly.

Her next move was to rent another typewriting machine, for she was hopeful that by this means Dollie might be able to earn her living.

“Of course it is a risk,” she argued to herself, “but it will amuse her when she is better, and she may be able to secure a position in an office when she has become proficient.”

As the days passed by the hundred dollars seemed to melt away, and Marion redoubled her efforts to secure employment.

Mr. Moore came in every evening and tried to cheer them up, but the girls could see that he was often dispirited, although his manner was always courteous and affectionate. It was growing colder now and both girls needed new clothing, so this demand upon their capital diminished it still farther.

“If I was only well enough to look for work, too,” Dollie would say every day, but, in spite of Marion’s care she was still weak and ailing.

One night, when the winds were biting and the sky was laden with chilly mist, Marion was hurrying home from another day of fruitless searching.

A carriage passed her with its lanterns glowing brightly, and, as Marion gave a sharp glance into the vehicle, she saw her aunt and uncle leaning back in the cushions.

“Oh, this is horrible! horrible!” she whispered to herself. “They are fairly rolling in wealth, while their own nieces are starving.”

She turned into a side street and hurried along. Right in the middle of a dark block two men confronted her.

“Ha! So I have met you again, my beauty,” said a hateful voice which Marion recognized instantly. It was the man who had accosted her once before in a similar manner.

“You’re just the girl we were hoping to meet. Come on, little sweetheart, and we’ll treat you royally.”

There was not a person to be seen in the block, and the long rows of houses looked dark and gloomy.

Marion gave a quick glance around and then uttered a shrill cry as she felt the man’s hand fall familiarly on her shoulder.

“Don’t you dare to touch me, you scoundrel!” she almost screamed. “Oh, why is it that such a ruffian is not in prison?”

“I’ll tell you why, if you’re dead anxious to know,” said the other man, chuckling. “Our friend here is too slippery, the police can’t catch him.”

“Well, if he touches me again I’ll scream so that every officer in New York will hear me,” said Marion, boldly, then she suddenly stopped short and stared at the fellow.

“Oh, I guess you won’t do so very much screaming, my beauty,” was the sneering answer.

Marion had walked on slowly with the two men close beside her, and just as they reached a particularly gloomy-looking house the last speaker clapped his hand suddenly over her mouth, while he threw the other arm in a strong grip around her shoulders.

“Quick! Drag her into the areaway,” ordered the other fellow in a low voice. “I have a key to the basement, and the house is empty.”

As Marion heard the words she realized in an instant what the villain meant. She was at their mercy. The thought made her desperate.

In the same instant it flashed across her mind who the half-drunken fellow was. It was Emile Vorse. She knew him in spite of his disguise—for was he not the man of all men whom she had cause to remember?

With one fearful effort she wrenched his hand from her face and gave a cry for help that fairly woke the echoes.

In a second both men were flying down the street and people came hurrying to her aid from every direction.

As a burly policeman rushed up to her, Marion pointed in the direction of the fleeing men.

“They tried to assault me—do catch them, officer,” she cried. “One is Emile Vorse, who is wanted at headquarters!”

Like a flash the officer was after his quarry, giving three short raps on the sidewalk with his night-stick as he ran, to summon assistance.

Marion explained the situation to a small crowd of men and boys who had gathered, and they promptly started off to help the policeman.

As quickly as possible Marion hurried home and retired. The first thing in the morning she went out and bought a paper.

“They caught him! They caught Emile Vorse!” she cried out, happily, “but, oh, Dollie, just listen to this. They say he has been calling himself by the name of Max, and that he has been decoying young girls to ruin through an agency of some sort.”

“The very man that insulted me in his office,” cried Dollie, with a gasp. “His name was Mr. Max, oh, I am so glad they have caught him.”

“Miss Ray will be delighted,” was Marion’s answer, “for she has never felt quite safe, knowing that the fellow was at liberty.”

“Well, it’s a very true saying that ‘it is a long lane that has no turning.’”

“I hope our lane will turn pretty soon,” said Dollie, sighing.

Just then Marion’s glance fell on another item in the paper.

“That boy that was run over by the cable car was not identified,” she said, sadly. “He had no friends, apparently, for he has been buried by the city.”

“He was just Bert’s age,” said Dollie, sorrowfully.

Marion dropped the paper and stared at her sister.

“Oh, Dollie, I have a scheme,” she cried, excitedly. “Quick! Open your typewriter and be ready to take a dictation. I’m going to play a trick on Matt Jenkins that will give Bert Jackson his freedom.”