“It has been no trouble,” he floundered “An adventure like this is worth no end of—­er—­inconvenience, as you call it.  I’m sure I must have lost my head completely, and I am ashamed of myself.  How much anxiety I could have saved you had I been possessed of an ounce of brains!”

“Hush!  I will not allow you to say that.  You would have me appear ungrateful when I certainly am not.  Ach, how he is driving!  Do you think it dangerous?” she cried, as the hack gave two or three wild lurches, throwing him into the corner, and the girl half upon him.

“Not in the least,” he gasped, the breath knocked out of his body.  Just the same, he was very much alarmed.  It was as dark as pitch outside and in, and he could not help wondering how near the edge of the mountain side they were running.  A false move of the flying horses and they might go rolling to the bottom of the ravine, hundreds of feet below.  Still, he must not let her see his apprehension.  “This fellow is considered the best driver in the mountains,” he prevaricated.  Just then he remembered having detected liquor on the man’s breath as he closed the door behind him.  Perhaps he was intoxicated!

“Do you know him?” questioned the clear voice, her lips close to his ear, her warm body pressing against his.

“Perfectly.  He is no other than Lighthorse Jerry, the king of stage drivers.”  In the darkness he smiled to himself maliciously.

“Oh, then we need feel no alarm,” she said, reassured, not knowing that Jerry existed only in the yellow-backed novel her informant had read when a boy.

There was such a roaring and clattering that conversation became almost impossible.  When either spoke it was with the mouth close to the ear of the other.  At such times Grenfall could feel her breath on his cheek, Her sweet voice went tingling to his toes with every word she uttered.  He was in a daze, out of which sung the mad wish that he might clasp her in his arms, kiss her, and then go tumbling down the mountain.  She trembled in the next fierce lurches, but gave forth no complaint.  He knew that she was in terror but too brave to murmur.

Unable to resist, he released the strap to which he had clung so grimly, and placed his strong, firm hand encouragingly over the little one that gripped his arm with the clutch of death.  It was very dark and very lonely, too!

“Oh!” she cried, as his hand clasped hers.  “You must hold to the strap.”

“It is broken!” he lied, gladly, “There is no danger.  See!  My hand does not tremble, does it?  Be calm!  It cannot be much farther.”

“Will it not be dreadful if the conductor refuses to stop?” she cried, her hand resting calmly beneath its protector.  He detected a tone of security in her voice.

“But he will stop!  Your uncle will see to that, even if the operator fails.”

“My uncle will kill him if he does not stop or come back for me,” she said, complacently.