e sky. The gleaming river shone winding away under the
dusky wooded hills. The white road stretched ahead, dimming in the
distance. A night for romance and love--for a maiden at a stile and a
lover who hung rapt and humble upon her whispers! But that red eye
before him held no romance. It leered as the luxurious sedan swayed
from side to side, a diabolical thing with speed.

Lane was driving out the state highway, mile after mile. He calculated
that in less than ten minutes Swann had taken a girl from a bustling
corner of Middleville out into the open country. In pleasant weather,
when the roads were good, cars like Swann's swerved off into the
bypaths, into the edge of woods. In bad weather they parked along the
highway, darkened their lights and pulled their blinds. For this,
great factories turned out automobiles. And there might have pealed
out to a nation, and to God, the dolorous cry of a hundred thousand
ruined girls! But who would hear? And on the lips of girls of the
present there was only the wild cry for excitement, for the nameless
and unknown! There was a girl in Swann's car and Lane believed it was
his sister. Night after night he had watched. Once he had actually
seen Lorna ride off with Swann. And to-night from a vantage point
under the maples, when he had a car ready to follow, he had made sure
he had seen them again.

The red eye squared off at right angles to the highway, and
disappeared. Lane came to a byroad, a lane lined with trees. He
stopped his car and got out. It did not appear that he would have to
walk far. And he was right, for presently a black object loomed
against the gray obscurity. It was an automobile, without lights, in
the shadow of trees.

Lane halted. He carried a flash-light in his left hand, his gun in his
right. For a moment he deliberated. This being abroad in the dark on
an errand fraught with peril for some one had a familiar and deadly
tang. He was at home in this atmosphere. Hell itself had yawned at
his feet many and many a time. He was a different man here. He
deliberated because it was wise to forestall events. He did not want
to kill Swann then, unless in self-defense. He waited until that
peculiarly quick and tight and cold settling of his nerves told of
brain control over heart. Yet he was conscious of subdued hate, of a
righteous and terrible wrath held in abeyance for the sake of his
sister's name. And he regretted that he had imperiously demanded of
himself thi