“Not at all,” he said, earnestly. “I will merely appeal to the higher court for permission to live forever.” Both laughed with the buoyancy that comes from suppressed delight. “It occurs to me, Dorothy,” said he, a few minutes later, “that we are a long time in reaching the town Father Bivot told me about. We seem to be in the wilds, and he said there were a number of houses within five miles of Craneycrow. Have we passed a single habitation?” “I have not seen one, but I'm sorry the time seems long,” she said. “I wonder if we have lost the way,” he went on, a troubled expression in his eyes. “This certainly isn't a highway, and he said we would come to one within three miles of the castle. See; it is eleven o'clock, and we have been driving for more than two hours at a pretty fair gait. By the eternal, Dorothy, we may be lost!” “How delightful!” she cried, her eyes sparkling. “I don't believe you care,” he exclaimed, in surprise. “I should have said how frightful,” she corrected, contritely. “This isn't getting you on a train, by any manner of means,” he said. “Could I have misunderstood the directions he gave?” He was really disturbed. “And the poor horse seems so tired, too,” she said, serenely. “By Jove! Didn't we cross a stream an hour or so ago?” he cried. “A horrid, splashy little stream? We crossed it long ago.” “Well, we shouldn't have crossed it,” he said, ruefully. “I should have turned up the hill over the creek road. We're miles out of the way, Dorothy.” “What shall we do?” she asked, with a brave show of dismay. “I don't know. We're in a deuce of a pickle, don't you see?” he said. “I can't say that I do see,” she said. “Can't we drive back to the creek?” “We could if I could turn the confounded trap about. But how, in the name of heaven, can I turn on a road that isn't wide enough for two bicycles to pass in safety? Steep, unclimable hill on our left, deep ravine on our right.” “And a narrow bit of a road ahead of us,” she said. “It looks very much as if the crooked and narrow path is the best this time.” That narrow road seemed to have no end and it never widened. The driving at last became dangerous, and they realized that the tired horse was drawing them up a long, gradual slope. The way became steeper, and the road rough with rocks and ruts. Her composure was rapidly deserting her, and he was the picture of impatience. “If we should meet anyone else driving, what would happen?” she asked, fearfully. “We won't meet anyone,” he answered. “Nobody but a mountain goat would wittingly venture up this road. This poor old nag is almost dead. This is a pretty mess! How do you like the way I'm taking you to the train?”