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A gust of wind and rain blew in upon her, but she was scarcely aware of it. In another moment she had softly closed the door again and was scudding across the terrace to the steps that led towards the river path.

As she reached it a light shone out in front of her, wavered, and was gone.

“This way to freedom, lady mine,” said Brandon’s voice close to her, and she heard in it the laugh he did not utter. “Mind you don’t tumble in.”

His hand touched her arm, closed upon it, drew her to his side. In another instant it encircled her, but she pushed him vehemently away.

“Let us go!” she said feverishly. “Let us go!”

“Come along then,” he said gaily. “The boat is just here. You’ll have to hold the lantern. Mind how you get on board.”

As he pushed out from the bank, he told her something of his arrangements.

“There’s a motor waiting–not the one Polly usually hires, but it’s quite a decent little car. By the way, she has gone straight up to Town from Wynhampton; said we should do our eloping best alone. We shan’t be quite alone, though, for Fricker is going to drive us. But he’s a negligible quantity, eh? His only virtue is that he isn’t afraid of driving in the dark.”

“You will take me to Mrs. Lockyard?” said Doris quickly.

“Of course. She is at her flat, she and Mrs. Fricker. We shall be there soon after midnight, all being well. Confound this stream! It swirls like a mill-race.”

He fell silent, and devoted all his attention to reaching the farther bank.

Doris sat with the lantern in her hands, striving desperately to control her nervous excitement. Her absence could not have been discovered yet, she was sure, but she was in a fever of anxiety notwithstanding. She would not feel safe until she was actually on the road.

The boat bumped at last against the bank, and she drew a breath of relief. The journey had seemed interminable.

Suddenly through the windy darkness there came to them the hoot of a motor-horn.

“That’s all right,” said Brandon cheerily. “That’s Fricker, wanting to know if all’s well.”

He hurried her over the wet grass, skirted the house by a side-path that ran between dripping laurels, and brought her out finally into the little front garden.

A glare of acetylene lamps met them abruptly as they emerged, dazzling them for the moment. The buzz of a motor engine also greeted them, and a smell of petrol hung in the wet air.

As her eyes accustomed themselves to the brightness, Doris made out a small closed motor-car, with a masked chauffeur seated at the wheel.

“Good little Fricker!” said Brandon, slapping the chauffeur’s shoulder as he passed. “So you’ve got your steam up! Straight ahead then, and as fast as you like. Don’t get run in, that’s all.”

He handed Doris into the car, followed her, and slammed the door.

The next moment they passed swiftly out on to the road, and Doris knew that the die was cast. She stood finally committed to this, the wildest, most desperate venture of her life.

CHAPTER VI

A MASTER STROKE

“Here beginneth,” laughed Brandon, sliding his arm around her as she sat tense in every nerve gazing at the rain-blurred window.

She did not heed him; it was almost as if she had not heard. Her hands were tightly clasped upon one another, and her face was turned from him. There was no lamp inside the car, the only illumination proceeding from those without, showing them the driver huddled over the wheel, but shedding little light into the interior.

He tightened his arm about her, laying his other hand upon her clasped ones.

“By Jove, little girl, you’re cold!” he said.

She was–cold as ice. She parted her fingers stiffly to free them from his grasp.

“I–I’m quite comfortable,” she assured him, without turning her head. “Please don’t trouble about me.”

But he was not to be thus discouraged.