eur continued, "what
with going out of our way all the time because of the broken bridges.
I'm pretty well frozen through, and as for him," he added, jerking his
thumb across his shoulder, "it seems to me you're taking a bit of a
risk."

"The doctor said he would remain in exactly the same condition for
twenty-four hours," Gerald declared.

"Yes, but he didn't say anything about shaking him up over forty
miles of rough road," the other protested. "You'll excuse me, sir," he
continued, in a slightly changed tone; "it isn't my business, of course,
but I'm fairly done. It don't seem reasonable to stick at it like this.
There's Holt village not a mile away, and a comfortable inn and a fire
waiting. I thought that was as far as you wanted to come. We might lie
up there for a few hours, at any rate."

His passenger slipped down from his place, and, lifting the rug, peered
into the tonneau of the car, over which they had tied a hood. To all
appearance, the condition of the man who lay there was unchanged. There
was a slightly added blueness about the lips but his breathing was still
perceptible. It seemed even a little stronger. Gerald resumed his seat.

"It isn't worth while to stay at Holt," he said quietly. "We are
scarcely seven miles from home now. Sit still for a few minutes and get
your wind."

"Only seven miles," the chauffeur repeated more cheerfully. "That's
something, anyway."

"And all downhill."

"Towards the sea, then?"

"Straight to the sea," Gerald told him. "The place we are making for is
St. David's Hall, near Salthouse."

The chauffeur seemed a little startled.

"Why, that's Squire Fentolin's house!"

Gerald nodded.

"That is where we are going. You follow this road almost straight
ahead."

The chauffeur slipped in the clutch.

"Oh, I know the way now, sir, right enough!" he exclaimed. "There's
Salthouse marsh to cross, though. I don't know about that."

"We shall manage that all right," Gerald declared. "We've more light
now, too."

They both looked around. During the last few minutes the late morning
seemed to have forced its way through the clouds. They had a dim,
phantasmagoric view of the stricken country: a watery plain, with here
and there great patches of fields, submerged to the hedges, and houses
standing out amidst the waste of waters like toy dwellings. There were
whole plantations of uprooted trees. Close to the road, on their left,
was a roofless house, and a family of ch