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.