and fainted--not so Cynthia. At that
instant there was one thing to be done, and one only. She saw the open
road, and took it without faltering or thought as to the future.

"When is the next train to Calais?" she asked.

"At nine o'clock to-night, miss."

"Oh, God!" she wailed under her breath.

Dale's voice grew even more sympathetic.

"Was you a-thinking of going to him, miss?" he asked.

"Would that I could fly there," she moaned.

He scratched the back of his ear, for it was by such means that Dale
sought inspiration.

"Dash it all!" he cried. "I wish I had seen you half an hour earlier.
There is a train that leaves Charing Cross at twenty minutes past two.
It goes by way of Folkestone and Boulogne, and from Boulogne one can
get easy to Calais. Anyhow, what's the use of talkin'--it is too
late."

Cynthia glanced at her watch. It was just twenty-five minutes to
three.

"How far is Folkestone?" was the immediate demand generated by her
practical American brain.

"Seventy-two miles," said the chauffeur, who knew his roads out of
London.

"And what time does the boat leave?"

A light irradiated his face, and he swore volubly.

"We can do it!" he shouted. "By the Lord, we can do it! Are you game?"

Game? The light that leaped to her eyes was sufficient answer. He tore
open the door of the cab, roaring to the driver:

"Round that corner to the right--quick--then into the mews at the
back!"

Within two minutes the Mercury was attracting the attention of the
police as it whirled through the traffic towards Westminster Bridge.
Dale's face was set like a block of granite. He had risked a good deal
in leaving his master at the point of death at Calais; he was now
risking more, far more, in rushing back to Calais again without having
discharged the duty which had dragged him from that master's bedside.
But he thought he had secured the best physician London could bring to
the sufferer's aid, and the belief sustained him in an action that was
almost heroic. He was a simple-minded fellow, with a marked taste
for speed in both animals and machinery, but he had hit on one
well-defined trait in human nature when he decided that if a man is
dying for the sake of a woman the presence of that woman may cure when
all else will fail.

CHAPTER XVI

THE END OF ONE TOUR: THE BEGINNING OF ANOTHER

Cynthia found him lying in a darkened room. The nurse had just raised
some of the blinds; a dismal day was d