feeling. He looked at Mr. Treffry's profile, with its tufted
chin; at the grey road adventuring in darkness; at the purple mass of
mountains piled above it. All seemed utterly unreal.

As if suddenly aware that he had a neighbour, Mr. Treffry turned his
head. "We shall do better than this presently," he said, "bit of a slope
coming. Haven't had 'em out for three days. Whoa-mare! Steady!"

"Why are you taking this trouble for me?" asked Harz.

"I'm an old chap, Mr. Harz, and an old chap may do a stupid thing once in
a while!"

"You are very good," said Harz, "but I want no favours."

Mr. Treffry stared at him.

"Just so," he said drily, "but you see there's my niece to be thought of.
Look here! We're not at the frontier yet, Mr. Harz, by forty miles; it's
long odds we don't get there--so, don't spoil sport!" He pointed to the
left.

Harz caught the glint of steel. They were already crossing the railway.
The sigh of the telegraph wires fluttered above them.

"Hear 'em," said Mr. Treffry, "but if we get away up the mountains, we'll
do yet!" They had begun to rise, the speed slackened. Mr. Treffry
rummaged out a flask.

"Not bad stuff, Mr. Harz--try it. You won't? Mother's milk! Fine
night, eh?" Below them the valley was lit by webs of milky mist like the
glimmer of dew on grass.

These two men sitting side by side--unlike in face, age, stature,
thought, and life--began to feel drawn towards each other, as if, in the
rolling of the wheels, the snorting of the horses, the huge dark space,
the huge uncertainty, they had found something they could enjoy in
common. The, steam from the horses' flanks and nostrils enveloped them
with an odour as of glue.

"You smoke, Mr. Harz?"

Harz took the proffered weed, and lighted it from the glowing tip of Mr.
Treffry's cigar, by light of which his head and hat looked like some
giant mushroom. Suddenly the wheels jolted on a rubble of loose stones;
the carriage was swung sideways. The scared horses, straining asunder,
leaped forward, and sped downwards, in the darkness.

Past rocks, trees, dwellings, past a lighted house that gleamed and
vanished. With a clink and clatter, a flirt of dust and pebbles, and the
side lamps throwing out a frisky orange blink, the carriage dashed down,
sinking and rising like a boat crossing billows. The world seemed to
rock and sway; to dance up, and be flung flat again. Only the stars stood
still.

Mr. Treffry, putting on