“You’ll be Lady Windomshire some day, my word for it—­if the other chaps manage to die, God bless ’em.  I say, here’s the train.  Good-night, dear, up you go!  I’ll go up ahead.  Don’t forget!  The wedding’s at noon to-morrow.”

The long, shadowy train came to a stop.  He elbowed the porter aside and helped her up the steps.  Neither of them noticed the vague figure which rushed across the platform and into the second car below.

“Where’s the luggage car?” shouted Windomshire to the porter.

“The what?”

“I mean the baggage van.”

“Way up front, sir.  Where they’re puttin’ on the trunks, sir.”

Swinging his travelling bag almost at arm’s length, the long Englishman raced forward.  His own and Miss Courtenay’s pieces had come over during the afternoon, skilfully smuggled out of the Thursdale house.  Just as he reached the baggage truck a panting, mud-covered individual dashed up from the opposite direction, madly rushing for the train.  They tried to avoid a collision, but failed.  A second later the two men were staring into each other’s eyes, open-mouthed and dismayed.

“Hello!” gasped Dauntless, staggered.

“What the devil, sir, do—­My word!  It’s Dauntless!” sputtered Windomshire.

“Where is she?” shouted Joe, convinced that his rival had captured his runaway fiancee and was now confronting him for explanation.

“Confound you, sir, it’s none of your business,” roared Windomshire, confident that Dauntless had been sent by Mrs. Thursdale to intercept him in his flight with the governess.  “Damn your impudence!”

“Stand aside, Windomshire,” exclaimed Joe, white with anger and dread.  “I’m going to find her.  What have you done with her?”

“You sha’n’t interfere, Dauntless,” cried Windomshire, squaring himself.  “She’s going to be my wife, and—–­”

“I guess not!  Get out of my way, or—–­”

“She’s on that train, confound you, and I’m going away with her whether you like it or not—­or anybody else, for that matter,” said Windomshire, refusing to budge an inch.

“Well, you’ll have a damned hard time getting rid of me,” roared Joe, trying to break past his rival.  A baggage-man leaped between them in time to prevent blows.  He held the angry, mistaken rivals apart,—­ rivals no longer, if they only knew.  “Let go of me!  Hold this fellow and I’ll give you a hundred dollars—­hold him till the train goes!”

“Hold me, will you?  My word!  What is this?  A highway robbery!”

Both men broke away from the baggage-man and rushed frantically down the line of cars, each trying to hold the other back.  Joe succeeded in grasping the handrail of the first sleeping-car, but his adversary pulled him away.  An instant later they were struggling across the station platform, clasped in savage and hysterical combat.  The station employees were rushing up to separate them when the train began to move slowly away.