d, in Sussex--never mind your petrol--get more on the road.
You can have what fare you like. Quick!"

The man hesitated, looked in her face, and said:

"Very well; miss. By Dorking, ain't it?"

Barbara nodded.

CHAPTER XXVIII

The clock over the stables was chiming seven when Miltoun and Barbara
passed out of the tall iron gates, in their swift-moving small world,
that smelled faintly of petrol. Though the cab was closed, light spurts
of rain drifted in through the open windows, refreshing the girl's hot
face, relieving a little her dread of this drive. For, now that Fate had
been really cruel, now that it no longer lay in Miltoun's hands to save
himself from suffering, her heart bled for him; and she remembered to
forget herself. The immobility with which he had received her intrusion,
was ominous. And though silent in her corner, she was desperately
working all her woman's wits to discover a way of breaking into the
house of his secret mood. He appeared not even to have noticed that they
had turned their backs on London, and passed into Richmond Park.

Here the trees, made dark by rain, seemed to watch gloomily the progress
of this whirring-wheeled red box, unreconciled even yet to such harsh
intruders on their wind-scented tranquillity. And the deer, pursuing
happiness on the sweet grasses, raised disquieted noses, as who should
say: Poisoners of the fern, defilers of the trails of air!

Barbara vaguely felt the serenity out there in the clouds, and the
trees, and wind. If it would but creep into this dim, travelling prison,
and help her; if it would but come, like sleep, and steal away dark
sorrow, and in one moment make grief-joy. But it stayed outside on its
wistful wings; and that grand chasm which yawns between soul and soul
remained unbridged. For what could she say? How make him speak of what
he was going to do? What alternatives indeed were now before him? Would
he sullenly resign his seat, and wait till he could find Audrey Noel
again? But even if he did find her, they would only be where they were.
She had gone, in order not to be a drag on him--it would only be the
same thing all over again! Would he then, as Granny had urged him, put
on his armour, and go down into the fight? But that indeed would mean
the end, for if she had had the strength to go away now, she would
surely never come back and break in on his life a second time. And a
grim thought swooped down on Barbara. What if he resigned