As he stood shivering at the
window, one thin hand hard pressed upon his heart to still its beating,
there was a light of sudden resolve in his eyes, a new-born look of
anxiety on his unchildlike face.
"I will not have Gay protectioned and reliefed, and I will not be taken
away from her and sent to a 'sylum, where I can never find her again!"
and with these defiant words trembling, half spoken, on his lips, he
glanced from the unconscious form in the crib to the terrible door,
which might open at any moment and divide him from his heart's delight,
his darling, his treasure, his only joy, his own, own baby Gay.
But what should he do? Run away: that was the only solution of the
matter, and no very difficult one either. The cruel women were asleep;
the awful Thing that had been Flossy would never speak again; and no one
else in Minerva Court cared enough for them to pursue them very far or
very long.
"And so," thought Timothy swiftly, "I will get things ready, take Gay,
and steal softly out of the back door, and run away to the 'truly'
country, where none of these bad people ever can find us, and where I
can get a mother for Gay; somebody to 'dopt her and love her till I
grow up a man and take her to live with me."
The moment this thought darted into Timothy's mind, it began to shape
itself in definite action.
Gabrielle, or Lady Gay, as Flossy called her, in honor of her favorite
stage heroine, had been tumbled into her crib half dressed the night
before.
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