Jeanie had often read, with the mind that accepts and does not ponder, the oft-used expression “to be paralysed with fright.” She knew now what it meant. Fright did paralyse one, at first. Then, when the paralysis had died off, how wild, how ill-directed, how full of panic became one’s movements as one plunged and struggled, trying vainly to make up for that lost moment! Jeanie’s struggles had availed her nothing. Her assailant had been far stronger than she, and had had the advantage of knowing exactly what he intended to do, while she was at the disadvantage of not knowing what plan she was resisting. In a very short space of time Jeanie had found herself back in her bedroom, and alone again: but securely bound hand and foot with strong bands of some soft material that not only tied her hands together but, passing round her waist, prevented her from even lifting them, and gagged with a wedge of cloth, securely tied in place, that hurt her tongue and made it difficult to swallow and added to her general terror the particular terror that she might suffocate.
