The recollection of the events of the past evening appeared to her like a terrible dream. Like a flash the thought occurred to her that she had been abducted. To think of such a thing almost crazed her brain.
“Where am I?” she wildly exclaimed, springing toward the ruffian who was keeping guard at her chamber door.
Without heeding her question, he made a commanding gesture for her to remain silent. She tried to draw him into conversation, but in vain.
Seeing she could not gain any information, she seated herself on the rude couch that had been prepared for her, and commenced to reflect.
The excitement and fatigue of the past few hours, however, were too much for her delicate frame, and in a few moments she fell into a gentle slumber.
The guard, seeing his charge asleep, closed the door of the chamber gently, and being wearied, seated himself near the fire. After fruitless endeavors to keep his heavy eyelids from closing, he was finally obliged to succumb to his drowsiness.
His head fell heavily on his breast, his arms hung listlessly by his side, and in a few moments he was slumbering heavily. Imogene’s sleep was light and fitful. Her dreams were haunted by the transactions of the past night.
In a short time she awoke. Hearing no movement outside, she listened attentively for the monotonous tread of her guard, but it had ceased. Nothing broke the awful stillness save the heavy breathing of the sleeping ruffians.
Rising quickly, she peered cautiously out, and there, by the dim light of the dying embers, she perceived her abductors wrapped in sound slumber.
Hastily procuring what articles were necessary to protect her against the chill air of the evening, she wrapped her shawl around her person, and quietly entered the dimly lighted room. Stepping lightly over the sleeping forms of her captors, she fled down the stairs.