“Where are we going?” she demanded, sitting very straight and defiant.

“After that train—­I’ll tell you all about it when I get my breath.  This is to be the quickest escape from a dilemma on record—­providing it is an escape.”  By this time they were bumping along the flinty road at a lively rate, jolting about on the seat in a most disconcerting manner.  After a few long, deep breaths he told her how the ride in the Springs hack had been conceived and of the arrangement he had made with the despatcher.  He furthermore acquainted her with the cause of his being left when he might have caught the train.

“Just as I reached the track, out of breath but rejoicing, I remembered having seen you on that side street, and knew that you would be left.  It would have been heartless to leave you here without protection, so I felt it my duty to let the train go and help you out of a very ugly predicament.”

“How can I ever repay you?” she murmured.  “It was so good and so thoughtful of you.  Oh, I should have died had I been left here alone.  Do you not think my uncle will miss me and have the train sent back?” she went on sagely.

“That’s so!” he exclaimed, somewhat disconcerted.  “But I don’t know, either.  He may not miss you for a long time, thinking you are in some other car, you know.  That could easily happen,” triumphantly.

“Can this man get us to the next station in time?” she questioned, looking at the black mountains and the dense foliage.  It was now quite dark.

“If he doesn’t bump us to death before we get half way there.  He’s driving like the wind.”

“You must let me pay half his bill,” she said, decidedly, from the dark corner in which she was huddling.

He could find no response to this peremptory request.

“The road is growing rougher.  If you will allow me to make a suggestion, I think you will see its wisdom.  You can escape a great deal of ugly jostling if you will take hold of my arm and cling to it tightly.  I will brace myself with this strap.  I am sure it will save you many hard bumps.”

Without a word she moved to his side and wound her strong little arm about his big one.

“I had thought of that,” she said, simply.  “Thank you.”  Then, after a moment, while his heart thumped madly:  “Had it occurred to you that after you ran so hard you might have climbed aboard the train and ordered the conductor to stop it for me?”

“I—­I never thought of that?” he cried, confusedly.

“Please do not think me ungrateful.  You have been very good to me, a stranger.  One often thinks afterward of things one might have done, don’t you know?  You did the noblest when you inconvenienced yourself for me.  What trouble I have made for you.”  She said this so prettily that he came gaily from the despondency into which her shrewdness, bordering on criticism, had thrown him.  He knew perfectly well that she was questioning his judgment and presence of mind, and, the more he thought of it, the more transparent became the absurdity of his action.