ossible! She choked back a laugh of rising
excitement.

"You're wise--it's drier there than in front. Gad, what a storm! I was
almost afraid it would scare you off. But I might have known better!"

Kate, listening acutely, detected a rather odd expression about the last
words, and wondered suddenly whether Jacqueline's nonappearance might
not have been something of a relief to Mr. Channing. Her eyes glittered,
and she drew the shrouding hood closer about her face.

He had started the engine, and was turning the machine around. So far he
had given her no opportunity to speak, and had to shout himself to be
heard above the noise of the engine and the storm.

"We're going to have a run for it. I've arranged to have the 12:45 stop
a second to take us on, and I'm late--This damned wind!"

The powerful car leaped forward. On two wheels it made the turn of the
road, full into the teeth of the storm. Channing bent over his wheel.
"Plenty of time to talk afterwards. Hold on tight!" His voice blew back
to her, faint in the roar of the blast.

Kate settled back for the wild ride with a smile on her face, just such
a grim, gay little smile as her daughter had worn when she led her
cavalry charge against the Night Riders. She was secure from discovery
for a few precious moments; while back there at the mouth of the ravine
the real Jacqueline waited, bag in hand, anxious, crying a little
perhaps, watching for a lover who would not appear.--Let her cry! She
was safe there, safe with the friendly storm, the wind, the rain, and
the lightning that do nothing worse than kill.

Far away across the wide plateau before them sounded the shrill whistle
of a train. It shot into sight, a long, slim, glittering thing, flying a
pennant of fiery smoke. Kate laughed exultingly. She never heard these
trains shrieking their way through the darkness without a shuddering
memory of her night of vigil in Frankfort, listening for the one which
was to carry away her child, and which had taken instead the man she
loved better than any child. She was a little beyond herself now, a
little _exaltee_, as the French say, with the excitement of the moment;
and it seemed to her that the approaching train was an old enemy upon
whom she was about to be avenged by robbing it of its prey.

"Hurry, hurry!" she cried, leaning forward, forgetting in her excitement
that she must not speak.

Charming laughed back over his shoulder. "You joy-rider! We're doing the