She wondered, as she had so often wondered before, whether any one had ever yet succeeded in turning Garth Trent aside from his set purpose, whatever it might chance to be.  She could not imagine his yielding to either threats or persuasions.  However much it might cost him, he would carry out his intention to the bitter end, even though its fulfillment might involve the shattering of the whole significance of life.

“Besides,”—­his voice cut across the familiar tenor of her thoughts—­“Kent will probably stop to dine at some hotel en route.  We shan’t.  We’ll feed as we go.”

“Oh—­h!” A gasp of horrified recollection escaped her.  “I never thought of it!  Of course you’ve had no dinner!”

He laughed.  “Have you?” he asked amusedly.

“No, but that’s different.”

“Well, we’ll even matters up by having some sandwiches together presently.  Mrs. Judson has packed some in.”

Sara was silent, inwardly dwelling on the fact that no least detail ever seemed to escape Garth’s attention.  Even in the hurry of their departure, and with the whole scheme of Molly’s rescue to envisage, he had yet found time to order due provision for the journey.

An hour later they pulled up at the principal hotel of the first big town on the route, and Garth elicited the fact that a car answering to the description of Lester Kent’s had stopped there, but only for a bare ten minutes which had enabled its occupants to snatch a hasty meal.

“They’ve been here and gone straight on,” he reported to Sara.  “Evidently Kent’s taking no chances”—­grimly.  And a moment later they were on their way once more.

Dusk deepened into dark, and the car’s great headlights cut out a blazing track of gold in front of them as they rushed along the pale ribbon of road that stretched ahead—­mile after interminable mile.

On either side, dark woods merged into the deeper darkness of the encroaching night, seeming to slip past them like some ghostly marching army as the car tore its way between the ranks of shadowy trunks.  Overhead, a few stars crept out, puncturing the expanse of darkening sky—­pale, tremulous sparks of light in contrast with the steady, warmly golden glow that streamed from the lights of the car.

Presently Garth slackened speed.

“Why are you stopping?” Sara’s voice, shrilling a little with anxiety, came to him out of the darkness.

“I’m not stopping.  I’m only slowing down a bit, because I think it’s quite feeding time.  Do you mind opening those two leather attachments fixed in front of you?  Such nectar and ambrosia as Mrs. Judson has provided is in there.”

Sara leaned forward, and unbuckling the lid of a flattish leather case which, together with another containing a flask, was slung just opposite her, withdrew from within it a silver sandwich-box.  She snapped open the lid and proffered the box to Garth.

“Help yourself.  And—­do you mind”—­he spoke a little uncertainly and the darkness hid the expression of his face from her—­“handing me my share—­in pieces suitable for human consumption?  This is a bad bit of road, and I want both hands for driving the car.”