"No, ma’am, there ain’t any other way of getting back, excepting the trolley, unless you take an automobile. But I tell you what! The Boston train’ll be along presently. There’ll be rigs here then, and motors come to meet it, and probably some of them’ll be going back your way. They’d give you a lift, I dare say, if you’re in a great hurry and asked them." Katherine considered. To sit in the station, tamely waiting for things to come her way, was out of all line with her present impulse. She could not endure inaction. She had a flagellant’s ecstatic eagerness to begin her own castigation. She would _walk_. The starter did not confide to her his private opinion of her plan, when she indicated what she proposed to do by asking directions as to the way. "There’s a goodish stretch out of here, where the walking’s easy. But you’d have to get beyond that, before you’d be likely to be come up with, by a rig, or a car, going your way. You see, the trolley-line and the motors both use the road. Foot passengers ain’t allowed to, where there’s so much traveling. It’d be dangerous. But once you get off the main beat, going in the direction of your town, all you have to do is stick to the road and you’ll _get there_!" Looking after her, as she started off gallantly enough, his skepticism found vent in a long, low whistle and a muttered—"You’ll get there—_if_ you have luck." But Katherine felt no doubt of herself. It was only after she had covered "the goodish stretch," and come out on the road where the walking was "heavy," that her elation dropped a trifle, her bag began to prove itself subject to the law of gravitation. Still she plodded on resolutely. She had no hope that she would be able to outstrip the trolley, but at least she was not meekly submitting to overmastering forces, as she had done in the past. And if nothing better offered, she would take the trolley, when it should come along, and so accomplish her purpose in the end. She did not know how far she had walked, when her ears caught the sound of an approaching automobile. The way, at that point, was narrow, and for a moment she hesitated. Would it be better to step up on the bank, or proceed, as she was doing, trusting to the chauffeur to guide and control his car so as not to run her down? She chose the first course, glad that she had done so, when, looking back the way she had come, she saw what an immense machine it was bearing down upon her. Then all at once, her heart gave a leap. It was the Ronalds’ car. A minute, and the chauffeur had seen, recognized her. The car came to a halt. The next thing she knew, Francis Ronald had sprung from the limousine, taken her bag, given it to his driver, handed her into the car, and, himself, taken his place beside his man. It was only then, that she realized he had closed the door upon her, and a companion. A man. She looked up. The car started into motion. She was in Daniel Ballard’s arms, being held very close.