She knew now what had happened. He had drugged her forcibly--she
shivered at the remembrance--and had borne her away to this dreadful
place during her unconsciousness. Her father was left behind in the
fort. He had sanctioned her removal. He had given her, a helpless
captive, into this man's keeping.

But no! Her whole soul rose up in sudden fierce denial of this. He
had never done this thing. He had never given his consent to an act so
cowardly and so brutal. He was incapable of parting with her thus. He
could never have permitted so base a trick, so cruel, so outrageous, a
deed of treachery.

Strength came suddenly to her--the strength of frenzy. She leaped to
her feet. She would escape. She would go back to him through all
the hordes of the enemy. She would face anything--anything in the
world--rather than remain at the mercy of this man.

But--he had not been looking at her, and he did not look at her,--his
arm shot out as she moved, and his hand fastened claw-like upon her
dress.

"Sorry," he said again, in the same practical tone. "But you'll have
something to eat before you go."

She stooped and strove wildly, frantically, to shake off the detaining
hand. But it held her like a vice, with awful skeleton fingers that
she could not, dared not, touch.

"Let me go!" she cried impotently. "How dare you? How dare you?"