“Come, Robert! Quick!” she commanded.
She climbed quickly into the machine, followed by Hillyer, who was puzzled and alarmed by what he had seen in Marion’s face.
“You too, Mr. Smythe. Hurry!” cried Marion.
“But my horse?” objected Smythe.
“He’ll run home,” answered Marion impatiently. “Come! We may need you.”
Smythe obeyed, and jumped into the tonneau, while Robert cranked up and threw in the clutch.
“Fast!” cried Marion.
Hillyer glanced at her. She was very white; her lips were pressed together, her eyes were fixed on the road ahead. The machine lurched under them.
“Faster!” urged Marion, in another minute.
The machine, with a kind of shudder, responded to Hillyer’s hand, and shot out with fresh speed.