Soon they were safe from even a chance shot. On climbing a rail fence, Carshaw led the girl clearly into view until a fold in the ground offered. Then they doubled and zigzagged. They saw some houses, but Carshaw wanted no explanation or parleying then and pressed on. They entered a lane, or driveway, and followed it. There came a murmuring of mighty waters, the voice of the sea; they were on the beach of Long Island Sound. Far behind, in the gloom, shone a lurid redness, marking the spot where the two cars and the bullock were being converted into ardent gasses. Carshaw halted and surveyed a long, low line of blackness breaking into the deep-blue plain of the sea to the right. "I know where we are," he said. "There's a hotel on that point. It's about two miles. You could walk twenty, couldn't you?" "Oh, yes," said Winifred unthinkingly. "Or run five at a jog-trot?" he teased her. "Well--er--" She blushed furiously, and thanked the night that hid her from his eyes. No maid wishes a man to think she is in love with him before he has uttered the word of love. When next she spoke, Winifred's tone was reserved, almost distant. "Now tell me what has caused this tornado," she said. "I have been acting on impulse. Please give me some reasonable theory of to-night's madness." It was on the tip of Carshaw's tongue to assure her that they were going to New York by the first train, and would hie themselves straight to the City Hall for a marriage license. But--he had a mother, a prized and deeply reverenced mother. Ought he to break in on her placid and well-balanced existence with the curt announcement that he was married, even to a wife like Winifred. Would he be playing the game with those good fellows in the detective bureau? Was it fair even to Winifred that she should be asked to pay the immediate price, as it were, of her rescue? So the fateful words were not uttered, and the two trudged on, talking with much common sense, probing the doubtful things in Winifred's past life, and ever avoiding the tumult of passion which must have followed their first kiss. In due course an innkeeper was aroused and the mishap of a car explained. The man took them for husband and wife; happily, Winifred did not overhear Carshaw's smothered: "Not yet!" The girl soon went to her room. They parted with a formal hand-shake; but, to still the ready lips of scandal, Carshaw discovered the landlord's favorite brand of wine and sat up all night in his company. CHAPTER XIII THE NEW LINK