Then for the first time she seemed to understand.
She was in the hands of a maniac.
[CHAPTER XXIV.]
As the terrible thought came to Leonie, with all its frightful import, she endeavored to conceive some plan by which she could save herself, knowing that upon the quickness of her action alone depended her chance of life.
And life never appears so intensely sweet as when we are looking the loss of it squarely in the face.
Yet what was she to do?
She knew that she had as well undertake to move the fingers of a hand cast in iron as those upon her throat.
It required not an instant of time for those thoughts to flash briefly through her head, but the time seemed ages to her strained nerves.
Still, under all the excitement and horrors of the night, her mind had never seemed so clear, so perfectly capable of coping with positions that appeared hopeless.