He opened his eyes, and said suddenly:
“So you think I'm going to lay hands on myself, Babs?”
Horribly startled by this reading of her thoughts, Barbara could only edge away and stammer:
“No; oh, no!”
“Where are we going in this thing?”
“Nettlefold. Would you like him stopped?”
“It will do as well as anywhere.”
Terrified lest he should relapse into that grim silence, she timidly possessed herself of his hand.
It was fast growing dark; the cab, having left the villas of Surbiton behind, was flying along at great speed among pine-trees and stretches of heather gloomy with faded daylight.
Miltoun said presently, in a queer, slow voice “If I want, I have only to open that door and jump. You who believe that 'to-morrow we die'—give me the faith to feel that I can free myself by that jump, and out I go!” Then, seeming to pity her terrified squeeze of his hand, he added: “It's all right, Babs; we, shall sleep comfortably enough in our beds tonight.”