ovo
on to Cattaro; and it's to Cattaro one must go for the ancestral ruin."

"If there's a ghost of a road, it will do for me and this motor," I
said. "What does it matter if we're both smashed, if only we get there
first?"

"Men and motors don't get far when they're smashed. You'll have to wait
till to-morrow morning, when we can all go flying down by the Austrian
Lloyd, if the truants don't turn up in the meantime."

"Wait till to-morrow morning? My name isn't Terence Barrymore if I do
that, or if I wait one minute longer than it will take me to go back
where I came, and load up with petrol enough to see me through this job
for good or evil."

"You'll start off at once, without finding out any more--and road or no
road?"

"There's no more to find out this side of Cattaro, unless I'm far out of
my reckoning; and if there's no road after Castelnuovo, I'll--I'll get
through somehow, never fear."

"I don't fear much, when you set your jaw that way, my son. I suppose
you'll just give me time to make my will, and--er--say good-bye to Miss
Beechy?"

"You're not going, Ralph. I must travel light, for speed; I don't want
an unnecessary ounce of weight on board that car to-day, for she's got
to show her paces as she never did before. You must stop behind, and
instead of saying good-bye, try to cheer Miss Beechy."

"Well, needs must, when _somebody_ drives," mumbled Ralph. But he did
not look very dismal.

I made no preparations, save to fill up with petrol and put all the
spare _bidons_ sent by the Austrian Lloyd in the tonneau. I was in
flannels, as the day was not to be a motoring day, and I wouldn't have
delayed even long enough to fetch my big coat, if I hadn't suddenly
thought that I might be glad of it for Her. Ralph saw me off, making me
promise to wire from Cattaro--if I ever got there!--as soon as there was
news for Beechy of her mother and cousin.

Once out on the open road I gave the old car her head, and she bounded
along like an India rubber ball, curtseying to undulations, spinning
round curves along the sea coast, and past quaint old towns which I
thought of only as obstacles.

Often when you wish your car to show what she can do, she puts on the
air of a spoiled child and shames you. But to-day it was as if the motor
knew what I wanted, and was straining every nerve to help me get it. In
a time that was short even to my impatience, she and I did the
thirty-odd miles to Castelnuovo. A few questions