Both Felix, the Finn,
and my host, the wood-cutter, had received their _douceurs_ and left,
but to the last-named I had given instructions to return home at once
and report by telegraph any news of my lost one.
A thousand conflicting thoughts arose within me as I sat in that crowded
_salle-a-manger_ filled with a gobbling crowd of the commercial men of
Abo. I had, I recognized, now to deal with the most powerful man in that
country, and I suffered a distinct disadvantage by being in ignorance of
the reason he held that sweet English girl a prisoner. The tragedy of
the dastardly manner in which she had been willfully maimed caused my
blood to boil within me. I had never believed that in this civilized
twentieth century such things could be.
Michael Boranski had given his pledge to assist me, yet he had most
plainly explained to me his fears. The Baron was intent upon again
getting Elma into his power. Was it at his orders, I wondered, that the
sweet-faced girl had been deprived of speech and hearing? Had she fallen
an innocent victim to his infamous scheming?
About me men were eating strange dishes and talking in Finnish, while
others were smoking and drinking their vodka; but I was in no mood for
observation.
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