in range of
the continent, and no friendly car was speeding to their aid.

The two halted on the rising ground, and one of them, at least, gazed
anxiously into the purple shadows now mellowing the gray monotony of
the plateau. The point where the Du Vallon left the main road was
invisible from where they stood. Marigny had laid his plans with
skill, so his humorous treatment of their plight was not marred by any
lurking fear of the Mercury's unwelcome appearance.

"What a terrible collapse this would be if I were running away with
you, Miss Cynthia," he said slyly. "Let us imagine a priest waiting in
some ancient castle ten miles away, and an irate father, or a pair of
them, starting from Cheddar in hot pursuit."

"My imagination fails me there, Monsieur Marigny," she replied, and
the shade of emphasis on his surname showed that she was fully aware
of the boundary crossed by the "Miss Cynthia," an advance which
surprised her more than the Frenchman counted on. "At present I am
wholly absorbed in a vain effort to picture an automobile somewhere
down there in the gathering mists; still, it _must_ arrive soon."

Then Marigny put forth a tentative claw.

"I hate to tell you," he said, "_mais il faut marcher quand le diable
est aux trousses_.[A] I am unwillingly forced to believe that your
chauffeur has taken the other road."

[Footnote A: "But needs must when the devil drives."]

"The other road!" wailed Cynthia in sudden and most poignant
foreboding. It was then that she first began to estimate her running
powers.

"Yes, there are two, you know. The second one is not so direct----"

"If you think that, your man had better go at once to the village he
spoke of. Is it certain that he will obtain petrol there?"

"Almost certain."

"Really, Monsieur Marigny, I fail to understand you. Why should you
express a doubt? He appeared to be confident enough five minutes ago.
He was ready to start until we prevented him."

That the girl should yield to slight panic was precisely what Count
Edouard desired. True, Cynthia's sparkling eyes and firm lips were
eloquent of keen annoyance rather than fear, but Marigny was an adept
in reading the danger signals of beauty in distress, and he saw in
these symptoms the heralds of tears and fright. His experience did not
lead him far astray, but he had not allowed for racial difference
between the Latin and the Anglo-Saxon. Cynthia might weep, she might
even attempt to run, but in t