Kate settled back for the wild ride with a smile on her face, just such a grim, gay little smile as her daughter had worn when she led her cavalry charge against the Night Riders. She was secure from discovery for a few precious moments; while back there at the mouth of the ravine the real Jacqueline waited, bag in hand, anxious, crying a little perhaps, watching for a lover who would not appear.--Let her cry! She was safe there, safe with the friendly storm, the wind, the rain, and the lightning that do nothing worse than kill. Far away across the wide plateau before them sounded the shrill whistle of a train. It shot into sight, a long, slim, glittering thing, flying a pennant of fiery smoke. Kate laughed exultingly. She never heard these trains shrieking their way through the darkness without a shuddering memory of her night of vigil in Frankfort, listening for the one which was to carry away her child, and which had taken instead the man she loved better than any child. She was a little beyond herself now, a little _exaltée_, as the French say, with the excitement of the moment; and it seemed to her that the approaching train was an old enemy upon whom she was about to be avenged by robbing it of its prey. "Hurry, hurry!" she cried, leaning forward, forgetting in her excitement that she must not speak. Charming laughed back over his shoulder. "You joy-rider! We're doing the best we can now--but we'll make it." They drew up at the platform just as the train paused, a grinning porter waiting on the step with his box. "Got your bag? Run for it," cried Channing, and followed through the pelting rain with his own luggage. The train started even as the chuckling porter helped her on. "Stateroom fo' N'Yawk,--yessir, yessir! Right in dis way, miss. I done seed you-all comin'. You suttinly did tek yo' foot in yo' han' an' trabbel--yessir! yes, _suh_!" "Lord, what a run!" Channing was saying behind her. "I left the engine going, too--old Morty will be furious when he finds her! You must be wet as an otter in spite of that great cape.--Well, little sweetheart, here we are! Let 's--" He stopped short. Kate had turned, slipping the cape from her shoulders.--There they were, indeed. The train sped on, gathering speed with each mile. She began to laugh, softly at first, then more and more heartily, till her whole body shook and the tears streamed down her face. The romance-loving porter, listening outside, chuckled in sympathy. Channing essayed a sickly smile. She stopped as suddenly as she had begun, and a silence fell. Channing broke it, of course. It was his misfortune in moments of emergency always to become chatty.