seeing that his victim had lost consciousness, the man paused in his work, and turned around to lamont with a loud laugh.

"a capital night's work," he declared. "you ought to have made good your time by having three or four simpletons like this one, who wears expensive jewels, fall in love with you."

it was fully an hour after victor lamont's accomplices—for such they were—had retreated, that sally opened her eyes to consciousness.

for a moment she was dazed. where was she? this was certainly not her room at the ocean house.

in an instant all the terrible scenes she had passed through recurred to her. she was in the cab—alone! with a spasmodic gesture, she caught at her neck. ah, heaven! the diamond necklace, all her jewels, were indeed gone!

with a cry that was like nothing human, she sprung to her feet, and at that moment she heard a deep groan outside, and she realized that it must be victor lamont. perhaps they had hurt him; perhaps he was dying.

"oh, mr. lamont," she cried out in agony, "where are you?" and waited breathlessly for his response.

"here," he groaned; "bound fast hand and foot to the wheel of the cab. can you come to my aid?"

with feet that trembled under her, and hands shaking like aspen leaves, she made her way to him, crying out that her diamonds were gone.

"how shall i ever forgive myself for this night's work!" he cried. "oh, mrs. gardiner—sally—why don't you abuse me? why don't you fling it into my face that it was all my fault, persuading you to take this ride that has ended so fatally? for myself i care not, though i am ruined. they have taken every penny i had with me. but it is for you i grieve."

sally listened, but made no reply. what could she say?

she tried her utmost to undo the great cords which apparently bound her companion; but it was quite useless. they were too much for her slender fingers.

"never mind," he said, speaking faintly. "i have borne the torture of these ropes cutting into my flesh so many hours now, that i can stand it until that cabman returns. i bribed him to return within an hour; but his horse is so lame, that will be almost impossible."

"how dark it is!" moaned sally. "oh, i am fairly quaking with terror!"

"it is the darkness which precedes the dawn," he remarked; and as he uttered the words, he coughed twice.

a moment later, sally cried out, joyfully:

"oh, i hear the sound of carriage wheels! that cabman is returning at last, thank the fates."

yes, it was the cabman, who seemed almost overwhelmed with terror when he saw the condition of the two passengers, and heard of the robbery which had taken place.

"i'll get you back to newport by daylight, sir," he cried, turning to victor lamont, "and we can drive direct to the police-station, where you can report your great loss."

"no, no, no!" cried sally, clinging to lamont's arm, as she imagined herself standing before a police magistrate, and trying to tell him the story.

"i understand your feelings perfectly," whispered lamont, pressing her arm reassuringly. "the story of our losses must not get out. no, we dare not ask the police to help us recover your diamonds and my money, because of the consequences."

wretched sally was obliged to agree with this line of thinking.

neither spoke much on that homeward ride. sally was wondering if she would be able to evade suspicion, and gain her rooms unrecognized; and lamont was wondering if the beautiful married flirt realized how completely she was in his power.

he had concocted a brilliant scheme, and he meant to put it into execution with as little delay as possible.

jay gardiner was lavish in giving money to his young wife, and he—lamont—meant to have some of that cash—ay, the most of it. he had thought of a clever scheme to obtain it.

the driver was as good as his word this time. he landed them as near to the hotel as possible, and that, too, when the early dawn was just breaking through the eastern horizon.

with cloak pulled closely about her, and veil drawn close over her face, sally accompanied the driver of the coach to the servants' entrance.

it was not without some shame and confusion that she heard the ignorant coachman pass her off as his sweetheart, and ask his brother, the night-watchman, to admit her on the sly, as she was one of the girls employed in the house.

she fairly flew past them and up the broad stairway, and never paused until she reached her own room, threw, open the door, and sprung into it, quaking with terror.

antoinette, her french maid, lay dozing en a velvet couch. she hoped that she would be able to slip past her without awakening her; but this was destined not to be.

antoinette heard the door creak, and she was on her feet like a flash.

"oh, my lady, it is you!" she whispered, marveling much where her mistress got such a queer bonnet and cloak. "let me help you take off your wrap. you look pale as death. are you ill?"

"no, no, antoinette," replied mrs. gardiner, flushing hotly, annoyed with herself, the inquisitive maid, and the world in general. but she felt that she must make some kind of an excuse, say something. "yes, i'm tired out," she replied, quickly. "i was called away to see a sick friend, and had to go just as i was, as there was not a moment to lose."

"you were very prudent, my lady, to remove your magnificent jewels. shall i not take them from your pocket, and replace them in their caskets, and lock them safely away?"

"i will attend to them myself, antoinette," she panted, hoarsely. "help me off with this—this ball-dress, and get me to bed. i am fagged out for want of sleep. i do not want any breakfast; do not awake me."

looking at her mistress keenly from beneath her long lashes, antoinette saw that she was terribly agitated.

long after the inner door had closed on her, antoinette sat thinking, and muttered, thoughtfully:

"i shall find out where my lady was last night. trust me to learn her secret, and then she will be in my power!"