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