In five minutes more, Cora Arthur stood arrayed in a dark traveling suit, with a pair of walking boots in one hand, and the key of her chamber door in the other. Swiftly and silently as a professional house-breaker, she opened the door and passed out, closing it quietly behind her. Like a shadow she glided down the now unlighted stairway, and through the dark and silent hall, in the direction of the dining-room. Turning to the left, she paused before a side door, the very door through which Madeline had escaped on a certain eventful June night, and noiselessly undid the fastenings. In another moment she was outside, and the door had closed behind her. She drew a long breath of relief, and sat down to put on her shoes. Her escape was well timed; the train for the city, the midnight express, was due in twenty minutes. Strong would hardly waken before that time, and then--she would be flying across the country at the heels of the iron horse. Rising to her feet, she took one step in the darkness--only one. Then a light suddenly flashed before her eyes, a heavy hand grasped her arm, and a gruff voice said: "This is a bad night for ladies to be abroad. You had better go back, ma'am!" Cora made a desperate effort to free herself, but the hand held her as in a vise, and the bull's eye of the dark lantern flashed in her face as the speaker continued: "Yes, you are the identical one I am looking for. Got a red face--toothache didn't make you a trifle lightheaded, did it? Come, turn about, quick!" And Cora knew that Madeline Payne had not been as blind as she had seemed. It was useless to struggle, useless to protest. The strong hand pushed her toward the entrance. The man gripped the lantern in his teeth, while he opened the door, and pushing her through, followed after. Closing the door again, and never once releasing his hold upon her, he forced her unwilling feet to retrace their steps, saying, as they ascended the stairs: "Show the way to your own room, if you don't want me to rouse the house." Quivering with rage, Cora pointed to the door, and was immediately ushered, with more force than politeness, back into her own dressing-room and the presence of her still insensible maid. "Now, then," said her tormentor, "where is Miss Payne's room? No nonsense, mind; I'm not a flat." Cora, thoroughly convinced of the truth of this statement, sullenly directed him to Madeline's door. "Stand where you are," was the next command of the man; "it might jar your tooth to move." And Cora stood where he had left her, while he aroused Miss Payne and communicated to her the news of the night's exploit.