“I—­I can’t!” she gasped helplessly.  Now that she had shared her burden of responsibility, the demands of the last half-hour’s anxiety and strain were making themselves felt.

With a swift movement Garth took the glass from her, and, supporting her with his other arm, held it to her lips.

“Drink it down,” he said authoritatively.  Then, as she paused:  “All of it!”

In a few minutes the wine had brought the colour back to her face, and she felt more like herself again.

“I’m all right, now,” she said.  “I’m sorry I was such a fool.  But—­but this business about Molly has given me rather a shock, I suppose.”

“Naturally.  Now, if you’re ready, we’ll make a start.”

She rose, and he surveyed her slight figure in its thin muslin gown with some amusement.

“Not quite a suitable costume for motoring by night,” he remarked.  He picked up one of the two big fur coats Mrs. Judson had brought into the room.  “Here, put this on.”  Then, when he had fastened it round her and turned the collar up about her neck, he stood looking at her for a moment in silence.

The whole of her slender form was hidden beneath the voluminous folds of the big coat, which had been originally designed to fit Garth’s own proportions, and against the high fur collar her delicate cameo face, with its white skin and scarlet lips and its sombre, night-black eyes, emerged like some vivid flower from its sheath.

Trent laughed shortly.

“Beauty—­in the garment of the Beast,” he commented.  Then, briskly:  “Come along.  Judson will have the car ready by now.”

Sara stepped into the car and he tucked the rugs carefully round her.  Then, directing Judson to drive the Selwyn pony and trap back to Sunnyside, he took his place at the wheel and the car slid noiselessly away down the broad drive.

“The surprising discovery of the doctor’s pony and trap at Far End to-morrow morning would require explanation,” he observed grimly to Sara.  She blessed his thoughtfulness.

“What about Judson?” she asked.  “Is he reliable?  Or do you think he will—­talk?”

“Judson,” replied Garth, “has been in my service long enough to know the meaning of the word ‘discretion.’”

Trent drove the car steadily enough through town, but, as soon as they emerged on to the great London main road, he let her out and they swept rapidly along through the lingering summer twilight.

“Are you nervous?” he asked.  “Do you mind forty or fifty miles an hour when we’ve a clear stretch ahead of us?”

“Eighty, if you like,” she replied succinctly.

She felt the car leap forward like a living thing beneath them as it gathered speed.

“Do you think—­is it possible that we can overtake them?” she asked anxiously.

“It’s got to be done,” he answered, and she was conscious of the quiet driving-force that lay behind the speech—­the stubborn resolution of the man which she had begun to recognize as his most dominant characteristic.