Unconsciously Peter's arms went out to her as he repeated that old cry of his in the days when he was a sufferer in the Surgical, "Why--why, it's Leerie!" and his love seemed to pound through every syllable. For the flash of a second the eyes of the girl leaped to his in answer, but in another flash they seemed to have traveled miles away, looking back at him with the sadness of a lost angel. "Yes, it's Leerie again--come for help," she announced, tersely. "All right." Peter tried to sound matter-of-fact. "Don't ask questions; just do it. Will you?" Peter nodded. "You said once if you had to, you could drive through any storm, snow, hail, or rain, that you had ever seen. Yes? Then get your car and take Doctor Brainard out to-night. Take him anywhere, and keep him going till he's so tired he's ready to drop. Talk to him, tell him stories, don't let him talk about himself--or to-morrow. And bring him home when you think he can sleep." "Yes. What are you going to do?" "Sleep, I hope." She turned to go, but came back again and laid a cold hand in Peter's. "Thank you. Don't think I don't appreciate it." "Wait a minute. As it happens, I haven't met Doctor Brainard, and there's a perfectly good chance he may not care about joy-riding in a young hurricane--even in my company," Peter ended ironically. Leerie gave a little hollow laugh. "Oh, he'll go--don't worry. I'll bring him down and introduce him. Ready in ten minutes?" And this time she was gone. Peter knew if he lived to the ripe old age of Solomon himself he should never forget the smallest detail of that night--Doctor Brainard's curt, almost surly greeting, the plunge into the car, and the start. After that Peter felt like a mythological being piloting the elements. He headed for a state road, and for miles, neither of them speaking, the car streaked over what might have been the surface of the river of Lethe, or the strata of mist lying above Niflheim, for all the feeling of reality and substance it gave. He had the eery sensation that he might be forced to keep on and on till the end of the world, like the Flying Dutchman. He wondered what sin of his own or some one's else he might be expiating. They passed no living or mechanical thing; they had the road, the night, the storm to themselves. They might have gone ten miles or thirty before Doctor Brainard broke the silence. "Gad! but you can drive!" "Thank you. Like it?" "Not exactly. But it's better than thinking." "Works the other way with me; this sets me thinking." A sudden, heavier gust sent the car skidding across the road, and Peter's attention went to his wheel. Righting it, he went on, "This is the second time in my life I've felt something controlling me that was stronger than my own will." "Nasty feeling. Lucky man if you've only felt it twice. What was it the first time?" "Fear. That's what brought me here."