Another car dashed around the lower turn, apparently not hearing the warning, or determined to ignore it, that no momentum with which to climb the steep grade coming should be lost.  There was an instant in which the two drivers glimpsed each other out of the gloom of the unlighted curve; then quick action upon the part of both—­lightning-like swerves to avoid the danger—­two great cars rocking each on the brink of disaster, then righting themselves and running on into safety, no pausing to let any look back and ponder upon the closeness of the escape.

It was all over so quickly that it was like the swift passage of a hideous thought, but there had been time for every soul in the car to look death in the face.  And in that moment of peril there had been individual action—­instantaneous—­the action which is instinctive and born of character.

Julius himself had sat absolutely still beside the chauffeur, his muscles tensely bracing themselves for whatever might come.  Ashworth had caught Miss Vincent, rigid with fear, into his arms.  Waldron, throwing up the arm next to Dorothy to grasp her with it, felt her hand leap toward him, and with his free hand seized it in his own.

Staring straight ahead then they saw a strange thing, yet not so strange when one remembers human nature.  Ridgeway Jordan had leaped to his feet and thrown one leg over the side of the car ready to jump, when, before he could complete the movement, the car righted itself and he sank back into his seat.

“Holy smoke!” Julius murmured under his breath, and glanced at the chauffeur.

That nearly imperturbable youth grunted in return.  His hands were steady upon the wheel, but he laughed a little shakily.

Then Julius gazed back into the depths of the car.  He could not see much, for the trees at this point were heavily overshadowing the road, but he made out that Ridge Jordan was sitting stiffly in his seat, with—­strange to observe!—­his head turned toward the front of the car.  Behind him the other figures were still and silent.  Julius guessed that nobody felt like speaking; he did not feel like it himself.  It had been a little too near a thing to discuss at first hand.

Dorothy, her heart beating in a queer, throat-choking way, became conscious that her hand was held close and warm in another hand.  An arm that had been about her, whose clasp she had not consciously felt but now remembered, had been withdrawn at the moment that the danger had passed.  But evidently—­for the car had now gone a quarter of a mile beyond the crucial point and was running smoothly along a wider and less dangerous highway—­her hand had been imprisoned in this strange grasp for some time.

She made a gentle but decided effort to withdraw it, an effort which secured its release at once but brought a low question in her ear: 

“Are you all right?”

“I—­think so,” she murmured in reply.