She offered her hand to him before them all. The touch of her cool fingers was infinitely sweet, but when he strove to surprise some hint of her thought in those twin pools of limpid light that were wont to gaze at him so fearlessly he failed, for all the daring had fled from Cynthia, and he knew--how Heaven and lovers alone can tell--that her heart was beating with a fright she had not felt when he staggered under the relentless pressure of the river while holding her in his arms. To the lookers-on the girl's outstretched hand was a token of gratitude; to Medenham it carried an acknowledgment of that equality which should reign between those who love. His head swam in a sudden vertigo of delight, and he hurried away without uttering a word. There were some, perhaps, who wondered; others who saw in his brusqueness nothing more than the confusion of an inferior overwhelmed by the kindly condescension of a young and charming mistress; but the one who did fully and truly interpret the secret springs of his action went suddenly white to the lips, and her voice was curiously low and strained as she turned to Mrs. Devar. "Come, dear," she murmured, "I am tired, it would seem; and you, you must be quite worn out with anxiety." "My darling child," gushed Mrs. Devar, "I should have been nearly dead if I had not known that Fitzroy was with you, but he is one of those men who inspire confidence. I refused to admit even to myself that anything of evil consequence could happen to you while he was present. How fortunate we were that day in town----" The man who had suggested that the hotel pharmacist could dispense hot drinks other than lemonade nudged an acquaintance. "Our chauffeur friend has a rippin' nice job," he whispered. "Wouldn't mind taking his billet myself--it 'ud be a change from everlastin' goff. Hello! Where is he? I meant to----" Medenham had gone, striding away up the hillside in a very frenzy of happiness. Four days, and Cynthia as good as won! Was it possible, then, that the disguised prince of the fairytale could be a reality--that such romances might still be found in this gray old world? Four days! He could not be deeper in love with Cynthia had he known her four years, or forty, and he was certain now that he had really loved her before he had been in her company four minutes. But these rhapsodies were cut short by his arrival at the hotel garage, with the displeasing discovery that no one named Dale had reached Symon's Yat that evening, while the stolid fact stared him in the face that his cherished Mercury demanded several hours of hard-working attentions if it were to glisten and hum in its usual perfection next morning. "Queer thing," he said, thinking aloud rather than addressing the stableman who had given this disconcerting news. "I have never before known him fail; and I wired to Hereford early enough." "Oh, he's in Hereford, is he?" inquired the man. "He ought not to be, but he is, I fear."