“Heaven will not help you,” he cried; “there is no help for you. Back, Rosamond Arleigh!” for she had sprung lightly forward, as though to leap from the carriage. “Back, I say, or I will have your life!”
With a swift movement he pushed her back into the vehicle, closed its door, and sprung upon the box. A moment later they were flying onward through the dusky shadows—the dark hour which comes just before day. It was a dark hour to poor Rosamond Arleigh. She crouched down once more among the cushions and gave herself up to bitter reflections. Surely Heaven had turned a deaf ear upon her, and would not hear or heed her prayers. She was lost—lost! An awful horror seized her. What would become of her? Where would he take her? What would be her fate? She closed her eyes as a deadly faintness stole over her and weakened her heart and paralyzed her brain. Lost, lost! No hope for her now. Heaven had forsaken her; she was in Gilbert Warrington’s power. A dull apathy began to steal over her and deprive her of reason. But the thought of her innocent child left to the machinations of this villain aroused her, and in a moment her mind was made up.
“I will make one bold stroke for freedom, though I perish in the attempt,” she said, resolutely.
The carriage was going at a furious pace. Close by was a deep, dark stream brawling onward amid fallen trees and débris, between high, steep banks. Rosamond remembered it, and knew that they were obliged to slacken pace to cross the narrow bridge which spanned the stream further on. They reached the bridge. She opened the carriage door softly, and made a swift, mad leap out and downward. As she touched the steep bank of the stream, the soft, sandy earth crumbled and gave way. Down she went—down to the swift, swirling flood below, followed by a shower of dislodged earth and stones! Down, down! And the carriage crossed the bridge and dashed on.
CHAPTER X.
A MYSTERY.
The steep bank of sandy earth gave way and precipitated Rosamond Arleigh downward—down, down! She closed her eyes and gave herself up for lost. On, on she went, until at last she struck the water with a splash, and all was still.
On, on over the narrow bridge, and away in the direction of Belleville, Doctor Danton’s horses went tearing like mad—on, as though pursued by demons. And the face of the man upon the box was indeed not unlike the faces of the demons in old paintings. He set his white teeth hard together, with a low, hissing laugh, as he guided the horses onward down the long, straight country road.
“Caged at last, my dear Rosamond!” he ejaculated; “safe in my hands like a snared bird! It will go hard with me if I do not handle the Arleigh fortune before many weeks are over. Ah! what is that?” he exclaimed as the carriage jolted over the gnarled roots of an immense oak which had stretched themselves across the road. And at that moment there fell upon his ears a sudden sharp sound, a clanging noise, and turning about, he saw for the first time that the carriage door was wide open. By the gray light of the early dawn he could see it swinging to and fro. It was the sound of the door swinging against the side of the carriage which had aroused him to a realization that something was wrong.
“What can it be?” he asked himself, bringing the horses to a halt with some difficulty, for their spirits were fully aroused now, and they were eager to go on.