Through the glass she could see the chauffeur sitting, almost immovable, intent upon his machine, and turning neither to the right or left, and a feeling of terror seized upon her as she realized that she was being carried away she knew not where, and that she was quite alone and helpless. She called to the chauffeur, but he paid no attention whatever to her cries. She shook the doors to her cab-prison, but she could not open them; she rapped on the glass front close to the driver's ears, but for all the notice he took of her she might have been a moth fluttering in the background of the night. And all the time they were rushing on, on, on, into the great calm of the moonlit night, beyond the glare of electric lights, beyond the suburban dwellings, beyond the cheerful farmhouses, and into the wooded roads which she recognized as belonging to a neighboring town, at least fifteen miles from Roma. She called again and again; she pounded the glass-front with the silver top of her purse--the only thing in her possession which could make a noise, but still the chauffeur sat motionless as if he were entirely alone. She rose in her seat and called to the driver of a team as they passed it; she tried to get the attention of a solitary foot-passenger, but the car flew too fast, and if the men saw her she was out of their reach before they could answer. Then she settled back, exhausted. She realized now, that she was the victim of some trick of the opposition party. She looked at her watch. A quarter of nine. By now she should have made her speech. John Allingham was having everything his own way now, beyond a doubt. Possibly--probably, he was behind this attempt to kidnap her--afraid to meet a woman on a public platform; for that was it, disguise the thing as they might by saying he would not debate with a woman. Contemptible! And still they flew on into the shining, moonlight night, out from the fine old wood road, along the river-way, miles and miles away. If they were unwilling to match wits with a woman, why did they not say so? Why condescend to kidnaping a woman and running away with her from the fight? If this was the kind of a man John Allingham was-- They were turning into a cross-road now which led up-hill into another strip of wood. Shadows of tall pines and oak trees made it like a solemn temple, into the arched aisles of which they seemed to be entering. Gertrude did not see, and apparently the motionless automaton before her did not, that other machine gliding on in the shadowy road above and toward them. There was a jar and a crash and they all came down together. Gertrude Van Deusen, inside her prison, was not hurt, but at last, her chauffeur was shaken out of his stoicism. Extricating himself from the wreck, he hurried to unfasten the door which was uppermost. "Are you hurt?" he asked, speaking for the first time in twenty-two miles. "I don't know. I think not. But let me out," she answered.