No one would have recognised either of them had it been possible to see them,--so carefully were their heads swathed in their coverings. She was veiled and he was goggled, and both of them scrooged down in the seat apprehensively. Hardy's car, borrowed in reality for the occasion, was performing nobly. It careened through the muddy streets of the village with a sturdiness that augured well for the enterprise. Out into the country road, scudding northward, it sped. Dauntless increased the speed, not to the limit, on account of the fog and uncertainty of the road, but enough to add new thrills to the girl who crouched beside him. Neither spoke until they were far from the town line; the strain was too intense. "What will everybody say?" she finally cried in his ear--the most natural question in the world. "And the newspapers? Oh, dear!" "You're not weakening, are you?" he cried. "Shall I turn back?" She was silent for half a mile. "No," she replied at last, "I couldn't climb UP that ladder. And besides--" with a gasp as the car shot over the railroad tracks,--"we never could get as good a start as this again." "Bully for you!" he shouted. "How far is it to Fenlock, Joe?" she asked, a quaver in her high-pitched voice. "About seven miles. We'll take the short cut through O'Brien's Lane and strike Cobberly Road again at the crossroads. Then it will be easy going. We'll catch the flyer all right, Nell. Everything's arranged. You go into Car 5 and I in Car 7--" "With a whole car between us? Heavens!" "It's safest, dear. There might happen to be some one on board who'd know us and suspect. Keep your veil down until you get into the berth. There's not much danger of any one being up at this time of night, but don't take any chances." "Goodness, isn't it thrilling! And when do we get to Omegon?" "Little after seven in the morning. My cousin will meet us in a hack and drive us straight to the church. His wife will go with us as the extra witness. By eight o'clock we'll be married. Derby will be on the train with us. He's a full-fledged preacher now, and he'll marry us without a whimper." "Oh," she sighed deliciously, in spite of the jarring of the motor, "isn't it nice to have old college chums who can be depended upon?" "Poor old Windomshire," he laughed in the buoyancy of conquest. "I don't think he'll---" She stopped. "What?" "Care very much," she concluded. He laughed doubtingly. Mile after mile the car traversed the misty night, jolting over the ruts in the lane, taking the hills blindly--driven entirely by the hand of Good Luck. Suddenly the "honk, honk!" of an invisible motor struck upon their tense ears, the sound coming from some point ahead in the black, narrow lane. Dauntless sat straight and peered ahead, sounding his horn sharply.