Part 4 (1/2)

”I'll--I'll try to back her out,” shouted Windoms.h.i.+re. Eleanor whispered something shrilly and anxiously from the tonneau, and Joe called out instantly:

”Who is ill?”

”Mrs.--Mrs. Smith,” replied the other, bravely.

”Good!” exclaimed Dauntless, heartily. Windoms.h.i.+re was not in the least annoyed by the lack of sympathy. He began to drive his car backward by jerks and jolts, blindly trusting to luck in the effort to reach the road which he had pa.s.sed in his haste a few minutes before. Joe was shouting encouragement and pus.h.i.+ng slowly forward in his own machine.

The noise of the engines was deafening.

”Hang it all, man, don't blow your horn like that!” roared Windoms.h.i.+re at last, hara.s.sed and full of dread. Joe, in his abstraction, was sounding his siren in a most insulting manner.

At last Windoms.h.i.+re's wheels struck a surface that seemed hard and resisting. He gave a shout of joy.

”Here we are! It's macadam!”

”Cobberly Road,” cried Joe. ”Back off to the right and let me run in ahead. I'm--I'm in a devil of a hurry.”

”By Gad, sir, so am I. Hi, hold back there! Look out where you're going, confound you!”

”Now for it,” cried Joe to Eleanor. ”We've got the lead; I'll bet a bun he can't catch us.” He had deliberately driven across the other's bows, as it were, sc.r.a.ping the wheel, and was off over Cobberly Road like the wind. ”Turn to your right at the next crossing,” he shouted back to Windoms.h.i.+re. Then to himself hopefully: ”If he does that, he'll miss Fenlock by three miles.”

They had covered two rash, terrifying miles before a word was spoken.

Then he heard her voice in his ear--an anxious, troubled voice that could scarcely be heard above the rus.h.i.+ng wind.

”What will we do if the train is late, dear? He'll be--be sure to catch us.”

”She's never late. Besides, what if he does catch us? We don't have to go back, do we? You're of age. Brace up; be a man!” he called back encouragingly.

”There are too many men as it is,” she wailed, sinking back into the tonneau.

”Here we are!” he shouted, as the car whizzed into a murky, dimly lighted street on the edge of Fenlock, the county seat. ”There are the station lights just ahead.”

”Is the train in?” she cried, struggling to her feet eagerly.

”I think not.” He was slowing down. A moment later the throbbing car came to a stop beside the railway station platform. The lights blinked feebly through the mist; far off in the night arose the faint toot of a locomotive's whistle.

”We're just in time,” he cried. ”She's coming. Quick!” He lifted her bodily over the side of the car, jerked two suitcases from beneath the curtains, and rushed frantically to the shelter of the platform sheds.

”I'll leave you here, dear,” he was saying rapidly. ”Wait a second; there is your railroad ticket and your drawing-room ticket, too. I'll wake Derby when I get on board. I have to run the automobile down to Henry's garage first. Won't take ten seconds. Don't worry. The train won't be here for three or four minutes. Get on board and go to sleep.

I'll be two cars ahead.”

”Oh, Joe, won't I see you again before we start?” she cried despairingly.

”I'll be back in a minute. It's only half a block to Henry's. All I have to do is to leave the car in front of his place. His men will look after it. It's all understood, dearest; don't worry. I'll be here before the train, never fear. Stand here in the shadow, dear.” He gave her what might have been a pa.s.sionate kiss had it not been for the intervention of veil and goggles. Then he was off to the motor, his heart thumping frantically. Standing as stiff and motionless as a statue against the damp brick wall, she heard the automobile leap away and go pounding down the street. Apparently she was alone on the platform; the ticking of telegraph instruments came to her anxious ears, however, and she knew there were living people inside the long, low building. The experience certainly was new to this tall, carefully nurtured girl. Never before had she been left alone at such an hour and place; it goes without saying that the circ.u.mstances were unique. Here she was, standing alone in the most wretched of nights, her heart throbbing with a dozen emotions, her eyes and ears labouring in a new and thrilling enterprise, her whole life poised on the social dividing line. She was running away to marry the man she had loved for years; slipping away from the knot that ambition was trying to throw over her rebellious head. If she had any thought of the past or the future, however, it was lost among the fears and anxieties of the present. Her soul was crying out for the approach of two objects--Joe Dauntless and the north-bound flyer.

Her sharp ears caught the sound which told her that the motor had stopped down the street; it was a welcome sound, for it meant that he was racing back to the station--and just in time, too; the flyer was pounding the rails less than half a mile away.

Fenlock was a division point in the railroad. The company's yards and the train despatcher's office were located there. A huge round-house stood off to the right; half a dozen big headlights glared out at the s.h.i.+vering Eleanor like so many spying, accusing eyes. She knew that all trains stopped in Fenlock. Joe had told her that the flyer's pause was the briefest of any during the day or night; still she wondered if it would go thundering through and spoil everything.

Miss Thursdale, watching the approaching headlight, her ears filled with the din of the wheels, did not see or hear a second motor car rush up to the extreme south end of the platform. She was not thinking of Windoms.h.i.+re or his machine. That is why she failed to witness an extraordinary incident.