When the carriage stopped for the first time to permit the masked man to thrust his revolver into the faces of the occupants, the trunk was jerked from that same buggy and thrown to the boot of the larger vehicle. Of course, having absolute control of the carriage, it was no trick, if luck attended, for the new coachman and footman to drive away with the unsuspecting bride and her companions. It is only the ridiculously improbable projects that are successful, it has been said. Certainly it was proven in this case. It is not necessary to tell the full story, except to say that the masked man who appeared at the carriage door in the little side street was Quentin; that the foot-man was Dickey Savage, the driver Turk. In the exchange of clothing with the deposed servants of Mrs. Garrison, however, Turk fell into a suit of livery big enough for two men of his stature.
The deserted house was beyond the city limits, and had been located the day before by Turk, whose joy in being connected with such a game was boundless. Other disguises, carefully chosen, helped them on to the Grand Duchy, Quentin as the gray-bearded man, Savage as the old woman. The suffering of Dorothy Garrison during that wild night and day was the only thing that wrung blood from the consciences of these ruthless dare-devils. Philip Quentin, it must be said, lived years of agony and remorse while carrying out his part of the plan. How the plot was carried to the stage where it became Lady Saxondale's duty to acquaint Dorothy Garrison with the full particulars, the reader knows. It only remains to say that good fortune favored the conspirators at every turn, and that they covered their tracks with amazing effectiveness. Utterly cut off from the eyes of the world, the captive found herself powerless to communicate with the hysterical people who were seeking her in every spot save the right one.
"Now that you have finished this remarkable story and have pleaded so prettily for him, may I ask just what Mr. Quentin expects of me?" asked Dorothy, cold, calm, and entirely the mistress of herself and the million emotions that Lady Saxondale's disclosures aroused.
"He expects you to give him your heart," said her ladyship, slowly. Dorothy fell back against the wall, aghast, overcome by this crowning piece of audacity.