“Claire!” cried Cora, in a low whisper. “Back to the house—quick!”
“Miss Dean!”
“Yes. Quick! For heaven’s sake. Go. Your father.”
Cora did not know it, but she had touched the right chord.
Claire had seemed startled at first, and had hesitated as they stood together in the darkness with Morton holding the new-comer’s arm; but as Cora exclaimed, as the place of safety Claire was to seek, “your father!” the thought flashed through Claire’s brain that he had had some terrible seizure—or, worse, that horror of which he was in dread had come upon him, and in an instant, she had turned and run back towards the house.
“Why, what the dickensh—I say, what’s matter?” stammered Morton. “Here, Miss Dean, I know you—you know—bu’ful Miss Dean. Proud of your company. Officer and a gentleman—and take my—”
It was so cleverly done that Cora was taken by surprise. She was about, as the simplest way out of the difficulty, to take the lad’s arm, and walk back with him to the house, when there was a slight rustle behind her, the sound of a blow or fall, and the latter muffled and strange, for a great cavalry cloak was thrown over her head, twisted tightly round her, binding her arms to her side, and stifling the cry she uttered; and as she struggled fiercely for her liberty she was lifted from her feet and borne away.
It was all done so quickly that she was staggered, and she had not recovered from her confusion when she felt herself forced into a carriage—the chaise, evidently, of which she had heard. Then came the banging of a door as she was held back by two strong arms, the swaying and jerking of the chaise as it went over rough ground and ruts. Then she realised that it swayed more than ever as they turned on to a hard road, and she could hear the dull, smothered rattle of the wheels and the tramp of horses’ feet.
She was a woman of plenty of strength of mind; but, for the time being, the fact of having fallen into this trap laid for Claire stunned her, and she felt a depressing dread. But by degrees this gave place to her returning courage, and she struggled furiously, but found that she was tightly held, and a deep voice she knew kept on bidding her to be patient—not to be alarmed—and the like.
In the midst of her excitement she ceased struggling and lay back in the corner of the chaise thinking, for the adventure had now assumed a ludicrous aspect. It was dramatic—a scene that might have happened in a play, and she laughed as she thought of Major Rockley’s rage and disappointment when he realised his mistake.