"I--I cannot!" she cried, and began to weep.
Muttering something under his breath the villain caught her by the arms, just as he had caught her when he had come for the model, and in a trice he was carrying her up to the loft. She struggled as best she could but this availed her nothing.
"Now you keep quiet, or I'll surely gag you," he said, as he set her down on the dusty floor. "If you start up any kind of a racket it will be the worse for you."
Having thus delivered himself, Corrigan went below again, closing the door to the loft behind him and fastened one of the bolts which was there to hold it in place.
Left to herself, Deb stood dazed for a moment in the center of the floor. Then she tottered to an empty box standing near and sank upon this, the picture of misery and despair.
What should she do? What could she do?
Over and over she asked herself the questions, but without reaching a satisfying answer. She was the prisoner of a wicked man, and to get away from him appeared impossible.
The loft was very dusty, and from overhead hung huge cobwebs full of dirt and spiders. It was quite dark, for the only window was a little affair overlooking the river and the four tiny panes of this were thick with grime, the accumulation of years.
At last she arose, and with a long-drawn sigh made her way toward the window. It was nailed fast and could not be raised, so she had to content herself with scraping some of the dirt from the glass and looking through the spots thus afforded.
She could see but little, and nothing which gave her satisfaction. Below her was the broad and swift-flowing river, and beyond was a grassy bank, backed up by brush and tall trees. No boat was in sight, nor any human being.