Sally listened, but made no reply. What could she say?
She tried her utmost to undo the great cords which apparently bound her companion; but it was quite useless. They were too much for her slender fingers.
"Never mind," he said, speaking faintly. "I have borne the torture of these ropes cutting into my flesh so many hours now, that I can stand it until that cabman returns. I bribed him to return within an hour; but his horse is so lame, that will be almost impossible."
"How dark it is!" moaned Sally. "Oh, I am fairly quaking with terror!"
"It is the darkness which precedes the dawn," he remarked; and as he uttered the words, he coughed twice.
A moment later, Sally cried out, joyfully:
"Oh, I hear the sound of carriage wheels! That cabman is returning at last, thank the fates."
Yes, it was the cabman, who seemed almost overwhelmed with terror when he saw the condition of the two passengers, and heard of the robbery which had taken place.
"I'll get you back to Newport by daylight, sir," he cried, turning to Victor Lamont, "and we can drive direct to the police-station, where you can report your great loss."
"No, no, no!" cried Sally, clinging to Lamont's arm, as she imagined herself standing before a police magistrate, and trying to tell him the story.