For a few minutes Jane had struggled fiercely, but in vain; a piece of rope was tied tightly round both arms and ankles, and every effort to recover her freedom only resulted in acute pain. There was only one thing open to her, and that was to get to her feet and contrive to fall against the glass door, when she hoped that the crash might alarm the house, or at least be heard by some one. To appeal to Gurdon was, she knew, useless, and for awhile the despair engendered by the thoughts of her misery crushed down every other feeling, but only for a few short moments. Her whole thought directly after was on duty to those whom she felt that she had betrayed, and, taking advantage of her guard's back being turned, she contrived--how, she knew not--to get upon her feet. Another moment, and she would have been at the glass door, when, with a savage oath, the more horrible for being hissed in a low tone, Gurdon stepped back, caught her by her back hair, and dragged her down, at the same time striking her brutally across the face. Jane moaned feebly, but it was not from pain, but despair at not being able to help others. The despair, though, was driven away, and her dark eyes flashed a fierce resentment as they looked full in Gurdon's, which shrank from the encounter. "Watch her this time, will you!" he said, brutally. "Hold a knife over her if you like, while I go to the door!" "Hadn't you best fasten the other first?" growled a companion. "What, and shut off a way to bolt!" said the other. "No, thanky. Now, Gurdon, look alive; we're wasting time." "Hold your tongue, will you, with names," growled Gurdon. "Now then, mind the chairs along this passage. No lights, mind--not even a match." "Here, stay a moment," whispered the other. "This she-wolf will be loose. Drat you--be quiet, will you!" In effect, with a terrible effort, Jane had freed one of her hands, and was struggling to tear the gag from her mouth, when, as her guard struck at her savagely, there came a dull, heavy crash, and he rolled over upon his side. Book 1, Chapter XXIV. RESCUE. "Ye maraudin' villin, take that! And there's for ye too, ye deevil!" exclaimed a low, deep voice, and then another heavy, flapping blow was struck; there was a crash, a scuffle, another blow or two, and then came the sound of a heavy fall, succeeded by another, and the crackle of breaking twigs. "Heaven save us!" ejaculated the newcomer. "There goes half the pots off the stand, and, by all that's good, one of them's gone right amongst the azaleas!" Then there was a perfect stillness, unbroken even by the night wind, which had lulled once more, when, after listening at the door for a few moments, Alexander McCray, smiling at his opportune arrival and successful exploit, closed the portal, and slipped one of the bolts. Then, taking a box of matches from his pocket, he lit one, and then applied it to a candle in a sconce over the side-table.