One short day had brought all this to pass. He had heard it said that Love and Time are enemies. The falseness of the saying was clear to him in the light of his own experience. Love and Time are not enemies; they are strangers to each other. On they went northward. To Orme the streets through which they passed were now vaguely familiar, yet he could hardly believe his eyes when they swung around on to the Lake Front at Evanston, along the broad ribbon of Sheridan Road. But there was the dark mysterious surface of Lake Michigan at their right. Beyond the broad beach, he could see the line of breakwaters, and at their left the electric street lights threw their beams into the blackness of little parks and shrubby lawns. The car swept to the left, past the university campus. "Do you remember?" asked the girl, in a low voice, pressing his arm. Then, "Don't!" she whispered. "Someone will see!" for he had drawn her face to his. They came to the corner of Chicago Avenue and Sheridan Road, where they had halted the night before in their search for the hidden papers. "We'd better give him further directions," said the girl. But the chauffeur turned north at the corner and put on more speed. "He's taking the right direction," she laughed. "Perhaps his idea is to follow Sheridan Road till we tell him to turn." "I don't quite like it," said Orme, thoughtfully. "He's a bit too sure of what he's doing." The girl hesitated. "It _is_ funny," she exclaimed. "And he's going faster, too." She leaned forward and called up to the chauffeur: "Stop at this corner." He did not seem to hear. She repeated the order in a louder voice, but the only answer was another burst of speed. Then Orme reached up and touched the chauffeur's shoulder. "Stop the car!" he cried. The chauffeur did not obey. He did not even turn his head. Orme and the girl looked at each other. "I don't understand," she said. "I'm afraid I am beginning to," Orme replied. "He will not stop until we are where he wishes us to be." "We can't get out," she exclaimed. "No. And if I pull him out of the seat, the car will be ditched." He puzzled vainly to hit on a method of action, and meantime the moments sped. They passed the university grounds quickly. Orme retained an impression of occasional massive buildings at the right, including the dome of an observatory, and at the left the lighted windows of dwellings. He saw, too, the tower of a lighthouse, a dark foundation supporting a changing light above; and then the road turned sharply to the left and, after a few hundred yards, curved again to the north. Suddenly the chauffeur slowed down. On either side were groves of trees. Ahead were the lights of an approaching motor. Orme was still at a loss, and the girl was awaiting some decision from him. When the chauffeur at last turned and spoke--three short words--Orme realized too late the situation he and the girl were in. "We stop now," said the chauffeur.