Presently it occurred to her that this was not Arthur's limousine at
all. There was no speaking tube for one thing. She leaned forward and
felt for the leathern pocket in which she kept a veil and her street
gloves. No pocket of any sort was to be found.

An unreasoning terror now possessed her. She knew not what to fear, yet
feared everything. She made another attempt to cry aloud for help and
then fell back unconscious on the cushions.

How long she lay in the faint she did not know. When she recovered the
limousine was still rattling forward at a brisk gait but bumping over
ruts in a manner that indicated a country road.

Through the curtains she could see little but the black night, although
there was a glow ahead cast by the searchlights of the car. Louise was
weak and unnerved. She had no energy to find a way to combat her fate,
if such a way were possible. A dim thought of smashing a window and
hurling herself through it gave her only a shudder of repulsion. She
lacked strength for such a desperate attempt.

On, on, on. Would the dreary journey never end? How long must she sit
and suffer before she could know her fate, or at least find some
explanation of the dreadful mystery of this wild midnight ride?

At last, when she had settled down to dull despair, the car came to a
paved road and began to move more slowly. It even stopped once or twice,
as if the driver was not sure of his way. But they kept moving,
nevertheless, and before long entered a driveway. There was another stop
now, and a long wait.