“Faint heart!” he chided. “What can we do now? Why, ask ourselves what Kent would naturally have done when he found himself landed high and dry?”
“I don't know what he could do—in the middle of nowhere?” she answered doubtfully.
“Only we don't happen to be in the middle of nowhere! We're just about a couple of miles from a market town where abides a nice little inn whence petrol can be obtained. Kent and Miss Molly have doubtless trudged there on foot, and wakened up mine host, and they'll hire a trap and drive back with a fresh supply of oil. By Jove!”—with a grim laugh—“How Kent must have cursed when he discovered the trick Brady played on him!”
Ten minutes later, leaving their car outside, Garth and Sara walked boldly up to the inn of which he had spoken. The door stood open, and a light was burning in the coffee-room. Evidently some one had just arrived.
Garth glanced into the room, then, standing back, he motioned Sara to enter.
Sara stepped quickly over the threshold and then paused, swept by an infinite compassion and tenderness almost maternal in its solicitude.
Molly was sitting hunched up in a chair, her face half hidden against her arm, every drooping line of her slight young figure bespeaking weariness. She had taken off her hat and tossed it on to the table, and now she had dropped into a brief, uneasy slumber born of sheer fatigue and excitement.
“Molly!”
At the sound of Sara's voice she opened big, startled eyes and stared incredulously.
Sara moved swiftly to her.