They were not only not done but the mere menace of them was monstrous--unbelievably brutal. She needed more fuel, caught her breath, and cast about for it to stoke the flames before her flushed cheeks could cool. And to think--to _think_ that she, Karen, was actually at that moment wearing his orchids--here at her breast! Her gloved hand clenched and she made a gesture as though to tear the blossoms from her person.... And did not.... They were so delicate, so fresh, so fragrant.... After all the flowers were innocent. It was not these lovely, scented little things she should scorn and punish but the man--this man here asleep beside her---- Her heart almost ceased for a moment; he moved, opened his eyes, and lay looking at her, his lids still heavy with sleep. "You are horribly tired--aren't you?" she faltered, looking into his worn face which two days' lack of sleep had made haggard. He nodded, watching her. "I'll move across the way and let you stretch out," he said. "No--you need not." "You look dead tired." "I couldn't sleep that way. You--need not--move." He nodded; his eyes closed. After he had been asleep a little while, watching him, she wondered what he might be dreaming, for a ghost of a smile edged his lips. Then, sleeping, his arm moved, encircled her, drew her shoulder against his. And she found herself yielding, guided, relaxing, assenting, until her cheek lay against his shoulder, resting there. And after a while her eyes closed. The fuel had given out. After a little while the last spark died. And she slept. CHAPTER XIV HER ENEMY The dim light fell on them where they slept seated upright, unconscious, swaying as the car swayed. Unseen forests swept past on either side under a dark sky set with stars; low mountains loomed in the night, little rivers sparkled under trestles for a second and vanished in the dull roar of the rushing train. The man, sunk back against the upholstered seat, lay as though dead. But after a while the girl dreamed. It was the frontier toward which they were rushing through the night--a broad white road running between meadows set with flowers, such as she had often seen. Two painted sentry boxes stood on either side of the boundary; the one on her side was empty, but in the other she realized that her enemy was on guard, hidden, watching her. She desired to cross. In all her life never had she so longed for anything as she longed to cross that still, sunny, flower-bordered frontier. She dared not. Her enemy stood hidden, armed, watching her from within that painted sentry box. She knew it. She was afraid. She knew that her enemy would step out with weapon levelled and challenge her the instant she set foot across that flowering frontier. She was afraid of his challenge, afraid even to learn what her enemy might look like.