"I cannot take him with me, and he will freeze to death if I leave him in the road. Will you come?"
The man stared at her.
"Say, IS it your husband?" he asked agape.
She nodded her head.
"Well, I'll go out and have a look at the fellow you've got with you," said he, still doubtful.
She stood in the door while he crossed over to the car and peered at the face of the sleeper.
"Steve Morley," he said. "Fuller'n a goat."
"Please remove him from the car," she directed.
Later on, as he stood looking down at the inert figure in the big rocking chair, and panting from his labours, he heard her say patiently:
"And now will you be so good as to direct me to the Post-road."
He scratched his head. "This is mighty queer, the whole business," he declared, assailed by doubts. "Suppose you are NOT Mrs. Wrandall, but—the other one. What then?"
As if in answer to his question, the man Morley opened his blear-eyes and tried to get to his feet.
"Wha—what are we doin' here, Mis' Wran'all? Wha's up?"
"Stay where you are, Steve," said the other. "It's all right." Then he went forth and pointed the way to her. "It's a long ways to Columbus Circle," he said. "I don't envy you the trip. Keep straight ahead after you hit the Post-road." He stood there listening until the whir of the motor was lost in the distance. "She'll never make it," he said to himself. "It's more than a strong man could do on roads like these. She must be crazy."
Coming to the Post-road, she increased the speed of the car, with the sharp wind behind her, her eyes intent on the white stretch that leaped up in front of the lamps like a blank wall beyond which there was nothing but dense oblivion. But for the fact that she knew that this road ran straight and unobstructed into
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