CHAPTER VII
INTO THE UNKNOWN
Edith had been sole ruler of an American home and an American father. Now for the first time in her existence she was deprived of personal liberty.
During the long hours of a stormy night she was held captive in the racing cart The man who sat beside her in the darkness under the hood only placed his hand upon her when she struggled. Edith could not see him—except as a vague, cloaked shape during the intermittent flashes of lightning that cast a lurid half-light into the cart.
Once she screamed vigorously. Only once, because a heavy wad of felt was thrust against her mouth and kept there. The girl could not loosen the grasp that held it, and the overpowering scent of grime and mutton tallow gradually nauseated her. Her dainty lips and teeth never had been so outraged before. When her head drooped and a despairing murmur escaped her, the felt was removed and the solitary guardian resumed his vigil.
Twice when the cart first started its journey she had tried to rise and spring out. She was by no means a weakling. An active and athletic life had made her muscles supple and firm. Each time, however, the watcher as if guessing her intent had pushed her back upon the cushions in spite of kicks, scratches, and vigorous blows against his bony face. Edith wondered if he were made of iron.
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