Gradually the first frantic struggle of Jaquelina relaxed in violence. The grief and horror of her situation overcame her nerves. She fainted, and hung limp and nerveless in the strong arms of the outlaw.

"It is better thus," said Gerald Huntington, grimly. "Her struggles sadly impeded my flight. Now I will put my horse to its highest speed."

He crushed the beautiful, senseless white burden fiercely against his breast, and struck the spurs into the sides of his gallant horse, urging him madly forward, for he could hear, in the distance, the ringing hoofs of the animals that bore hot pursuers upon his track.

But his horse, one of the swiftest racers in the country, and the first-rate start he had had, precluded the possibility of being overtaken. Gradually as he flew over the long, white, moon-lighted road, he lost the echo of the pursuing hoofs. They might follow still, but he had left them too far behind to fear them. When he had fully realized this, he struck into the woods. An hour's hard riding brought him to the entrance of the cave, where Jaquelina had first had the ill-fortune to meet him.

He dismounted, and, taking the still senseless girl in his arms, blew a shrill, low whistle that brought a man to care for his horse.

"Have you brought the priest?" he said, abruptly, to this man.

"Yes, captain, he's in waiting," was the respectful reply.

Gerald Huntington waited for no more. He strode into the pitchy darkness of the cave, winding in and out through its tortuous recesses, and emerged, at last, in the luxurious apartment which was specially his own, and which no one dared to enter without his permission. All the while the beautiful, stolen bride lay white and senseless, like a broken lily in his strong arms.

Now he laid her down on a silken sofa, and drawing a flask of wine from his pocket poured a few drops between her pale, parted lips, and chafed her cold brow and hands. Almost before he knew it, the dark eyes opened dreamily, and stared up at his masked face in bewilderment. Then Gerald Huntington again repeated his peculiar whistle.

The thick, velvet hanging parted noiselessly, and three men appeared in the opening. They manifested no surprise at the unusual sight of the girl lying helplessly on the sofa. They evidently knew what had transpired.

"Has Bowles arrived safely from the chapel?" inquired Captain Huntington.

"Yes, captain—just this moment," was the reply.

"Very well. Tell him to come in with the priest. You three guard the different approaches until you receive the signal to take away the priest."

The men bowed and went away. Jaquelina, suddenly regaining her strength and a half-dazed consciousness, sprang wildly to her feet.

"Oh, my God!" she cried out, as her gaze roved wildly around the luxurious cavern apartment, "is it indeed true? You have dared to bring me here! You have torn me from——"

She stopped with a moan of uncontrollable anguish.

"I have torn you from your lover's very arms—yes," echoed Gerald Huntington, with a scornful laugh. "Did I not warn you I would take my revenge in your happiest hour?"

"Cruel, implacable wretch!" Jaquelina cried out, indignantly, her dark eyes flashing fiery scorn on her triumphant enemy. "Oh, how I hate your very sight!"

"Hush, hush, my bonny bride," said Gerald Huntington, with mocking tenderness. "Ere long I will teach you to love me."

She looked at him with parted lips and dark eyes, but her angry beauty did not move him. His wrath was roused to its highest pitch against her. Passionate love and passionate hate struggled together in his breast.

The heavy curtains parted softly again, and Bowles entered, ushering in a small, frightened-looking priest. Gerald Huntington caught Jaquelina's hand forcibly in his and drew her forward.

"Come, priest, we are waiting," he said, with haughty impatience. "Make us man and wife as soon as you can."

"Oh, never—never!" cried his captive with a shriek of fear and terror, as she broke loose from his hold and fled swiftly toward the heavy hangings in a wild effort at escape.

But as she pushed aside the thick curtains, a dark form barred her farther progress. Gerald Huntington came toward her, laughing carelessly at her cry of disappointment.

"Not so fast, my pretty bird," he said. "You are caged tight and fast. There is no escape for you. I have determined to make you my bride whether you consent or not."

"You cannot," she broke out in passionate, breathless defiance. "You dare not!"

"I dare do anything!" Gerald Huntington replied proudly, and he proved the truth of his words by seizing her firmly by one arm, while Bowles, at a signal from his chief, took her by the other. It was a strange sight. The frightened, trembling little priest standing irresolute in the center of the large apartment, and the lovely young girl struggling desperately with the two masked outlaws; her face pale and convulsed with terror, her dark hair streaming in dishevelled ringlets, the silvery mist of her bridal veil rent and torn, the broken, white pansies falling from her hair and her breast, and strewing the crimson carpet—over all, the flickering glare of the lamplight, and the dark, sinister faces of the outlaws peering through the velvet hangings at the striking scene.

The little priest who had been decoyed to the cave by a clever story of a death-bed in the country, though frightened at the sound of his own voice in that terrible place, felt moved to utter a feeble protest.

"If the young lady is not willing," he ventured, "it is not right to marry her against her will."

Gerald Huntington turned on him sternly.

"Reverend sir," he said, haughtily, "we have not asked for your opinion. You are here to perform the ceremony of marriage. Proceed with it. To refuse, or even to hesitate, will be at your deadly peril!"

His white hand went into his breast, and the priest heard the click of a weapon. With a throbbing heart and faltering voice he began to mumble forth the words of the marriage service. Bowles and his master held Jaquelina firmly between them. Gerald Huntington made every response in a loud, clear, triumphant voice; but Jaquelina's head drooped on her breast, while her whole slight frame was benumbed by a sick and shuddering horror. A terrible hopeless despair was stamped upon her white and haggard features.

"I pronounce you man and wife, and whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder," said the priest's feeble, quivering voice at last, and the new-made bride drooped forward and fell like one dead at the feet of her lawful master.