THE first impression that Ella Bennett had when she returned to the kitchen to fasten the door that shut off the sitting-room, was that the tea-cloth, which she had hung up to dry on the line near the lofty ceiling, had fallen. With startling suddenness she was enveloped in the folds of a heavy, musty cloth. And then an arm was flung round her, a hand covered her mouth and drew back her head. She tried to scream, but no sound came. She kicked out toward the door and an arm clutched at her dress and pulled back her foot. She heard the sound of something tearing, and then a strap was put round her ankles. She felt the rush of the cold air as the door was opened, and in another second she was in the garden.
“Walk,” hissed a voice, and she discovered her feet were loosened.
She could see nothing, only she could feel the rain beating down upon the cloth that covered her head, and the strength of the wind against her face. It blew the cloth so tightly over her mouth and nose that she could hardly breathe. Where they were taking her she could only guess. It was not until she felt her feet squelch in liquid mud that she knew she was in the lane by the side of the house. She had hardly identified the place before she was lifted bodily into the waiting car; she heard somebody scrambling in by her side, and the car jerked forward. Then with dexterous hand, one of the men sitting at her side whisked the cloth from her head. Ahead, in one of the two bucket seats, the only one occupied, was a dark figure, the face of which she could not see.
“What are you doing? Who are you?” she asked, and no sooner did the voice of the man before her come to her ears than she knew she was in the power of the Frog.
“I’m going to give you your last chance,” he said. “After to-night that chance is gone.”
She composed the tremor in her voice with an effort, and then:
“What do you mean by my last chance?” she asked.
“You will undertake to marry me, and to leave the country with me in the morning. I’ve such faith in you that I will take your word,” he said.
She shook her head, until she realized that, in the darkness, he could not see her.
“I will never do that,” she answered quietly, and no other word was spoken through the journey. Once, at a whispered word from the man in the mask—she saw the reflection of his mica eye-pieces even though the blinds were drawn, as the car went through some village street—one of the men looked back through the glass in the hood.