It was Pen's first ride in a superlative car. The springs were miraculous. One was but faintly aware of wheels underneath. The body swam along as smoothly as a high-bred lady, only curtseying slowly now and then to a rut. It was all slightly unreal to Pen. As they whirled through the village she had glimpses of the staring Islanders. It was only too clear what they were thinking. When an Island boy and his girl went to town together they generally came home married. It was a clear fresh morning. Pen would have loved to lean back in her cushioned corner and give herself up to the flying panorama through the windows. Nowadays there are few roads left like that in our country. The prospect was of a peaceful, long-settled land with nothing garish nor raw; not a factory, not a railway, not a rich man's house the whole way. But miles of pine woods, many old farms, a sleepy village now and then, glimpses of the blue Bay from high land; a rickety bridge over an arm of the Bay. Unfortunately Riever wanted to talk. It wore Pen out to talk to him because she couldn't be frank. Real frankness was unknown to Riever, though he could be amusing. His eyes never lost their watchfulness, nor his lips their superficial smile. This morning he was not amusing. For several days Pen had been aware that his temper was suffering as a result of the continued non-success of his efforts to run down Counsell. To Pen's secret dismay he commenced to talk about it now, watching her keenly meanwhile. "What do you think of the situation at the Point?" he asked. "How do you mean?" asked Pen. "Counsell appears to have given us the slip." Pen said to herself: "I must be bold. Half measures will never deceive him." She said to him calmly: "I hope he has." Riever bit his lip. "I wish I knew what it was about murder that appeals to women's imaginations," he sneered. "About murder, nothing," said Pen coolly. "Not to this woman. But no true woman could help sympathizing with a man hunted by a pack." "Even if he was guilty of a foul crime?" Pen was not to be betrayed into declaring her belief in Don's innocence. "Even if he was guilty," she said. "Then what about justice?" "Well, I fancy a woman's idea of justice differs from a man's. To kill for killing gets us nowhere." "I thought you thought him innocent," said Riever subtly. "How can one tell?" said Pen. "The newspapers are so contradictory." "I haven't noticed it," said Riever. "If there's any evidence in his favor it hasn't been brought to my attention." Pen seeing that she had made a slip, adroitly shifted to new ground. "That's just it," she said. "The newspapers are so clearly prejudiced, you can't help but feel there is another side to the story." "How do you suppose he made his getaway?" asked Riever, still watching her. "Every yard of the shore has been searched, every native questioned."