Two minutes later the 'bus rolled away in the fog and drizzle, leaving Dauntless and Windomshire alone on the steps. "Good-night," said the Englishman, after an awkward silence. "Good-night," was the response. Then, following a brief pause, both started toward their cars. The next minute they were chugging away, in the night and the lights in the clubhouse began to go out. Two hours later a stealthy figure crept across the Thursdale lawn, lurking behind the rose beds and lilac bushes, finally worming its way to a dripping but secluded spot under the weather side of the house. It was past twelve o'clock, but there were still lights in the front part of the big summer-house. Quiet reigned there, however; the noise of merry-making came from the servants' quarters overlooking the ravine. A handful of gravel left an impatient hand and rattled against the second-story window above. Almost instantaneously the window was raised and a head came forth. "Joe?" came a shrill whisper from above. "What's the matter?" whispered the man below. "I've been waiting out there for two hours--well, half an hour, at least. Aren't you coming, dear?" "I can't get out," came in a whispered wail. "I've had my hat on for hours, but---" "Why can't you get out? Good Lord, you just must!" "They're playing bridge in the front part of the house and the servants are having a reunion in the back. Oh, I've been nearly crazy. What are we to do? Shall I jump?" "Don't! Is there no way to sneak out?" "I'm afraid of being seen. It would give everything away if any one saw me in this automobile rigging at this time of night--and in a rain like this, too. Oh, dear, dear, I know I shall go mad! You poor darling, aren't you wet to the skin? I really couldn't help it. I just couldn't be there at 11.30." "We'll never make that train--never in the world," groaned Dauntless. "It's ten miles, and the road's horrible all the way. By Jove, Nell, you must get out some way. It's now or never. I've got everything fixed." "Oh, Joe--listen! Do you think you can get a ladder out from under the verandah? The painters left them there this morning. Look out for paint, dear. Don't make a noise--not a sound. Mr. Windomshire's room is just over the porte cochere. For Heaven's sake, don't arouse him." "Drop your bag down first, dear,--here! I'll catch it." "I've got to put some things in it first. It isn't quite ready," she gasped, darting away from the window. "'T was ever thus," he muttered in despair. Cautiously he made his way to the end of the verandah. A close listener might have heard him snarl "damn" more than once as he tugged away at the painters' ladders, which had been left there when the rain began. He was a good-natured chap, but barking his knuckles, bumping his head, and banging his shins, added to the misfortunes that had gone before, were enough to demoralise a saint.