[CHAPTER XX.]
Gradually the first frantic struggle of Jaquelina relaxed in violence. The grief and horror of her situation overcame her nerves. She fainted, and hung limp and nerveless in the strong arms of the outlaw.
"It is better thus," said Gerald Huntington, grimly. "Her struggles sadly impeded my flight. Now I will put my horse to its highest speed."
He crushed the beautiful, senseless white burden fiercely against his breast, and struck the spurs into the sides of his gallant horse, urging him madly forward, for he could hear, in the distance, the ringing hoofs of the animals that bore hot pursuers upon his track.
But his horse, one of the swiftest racers in the country, and the first-rate start he had had, precluded the possibility of being overtaken. Gradually as he flew over the long, white, moon-lighted road, he lost the echo of the pursuing hoofs. They might follow still, but he had left them too far behind to fear them. When he had fully realized this, he struck into the woods. An hour's hard riding brought him to the entrance of the cave, where Jaquelina had first had the ill-fortune to meet him.
He dismounted, and, taking the still senseless girl in his arms, blew a shrill, low whistle that brought a man to care for his horse.
"Have you brought the priest?" he said, abruptly, to this man.
"Yes, captain, he's in waiting," was the respectful reply.
Gerald Huntington waited for no more. He strode into the pitchy darkness of the cave, winding in and out through its tortuous recesses, and emerged, at last, in the luxurious apartment which was specially his own, and which no one dared to enter without his permission. All the while the beautiful, stolen bride lay white and senseless, like a broken lily in his strong arms.