Tony's sensations, as he found himself once more slipping past the open cottage doors, were so radiantly exhilarating that it was all he could do to keep them under control. Indeed, but for the fact that his right hand was clasping Isabel's left under the rug, and that the other was temporarily occupied in returning the salutes of the soldiers by the roadside, he felt that the temptation to throw his arms round Major Paqueta's neck would have been utterly irresistible.
The necessity for silence—always a difficult virtue in his case—did not tend to make the struggle any easier. A dozen questions were trembling on his tongue, but apart from the fact that Jimmy was driving at a pace which would have rendered anything but shouting absolutely useless, he knew it would be stark madness for Isabel to begin talking until they had succeeded in ridding themselves of their passenger. So with splendid if painful self-control he sat mutely beside her, while steadily gathering speed, the car swept up the opposite hillside and plunged joyously out of sight of the Château into the narrow gorge above.
With the exception of slowing down occasionally as he passed the various patrols, Jimmy pushed along in such an animated fashion that in what seemed to be an amazingly short time they had again descended from the high ground, and were racing back along the winding valley which led into the main road. As they came in sight of the thicket where they had first had the privilege of making Major Paqueta's acquaintance, two or three of the latter's soldiers, who were evidently on the watch, came hurrying out from amongst the trees. Seeing that it was their leader returning they formed up promptly into some kind of order, and putting on his brakes, Jimmy brought the car to a halt a dozen paces or so from where they were standing.
With a few words, apparently expressive of his thanks, the Major climbed down into the roadway. Then, drawing himself up, he bowed twice—once to Tony and once to Isabel: a polite attention which they both returned as gracefully as their somewhat cramped circumstances would allow. At the same moment Jimmy thrust in his clutch, and lurching forward again, the car swung rapidly round the corner on to the main Braxa road.
A few hundred yards from the wood Tony's self-control was unable to hold out any longer. Throwing back the rug he lifted up Isabel's hand, and regardless as to whether any one could see him or not, pressed it recklessly and joyously to his lips.
With a little gasp she laid her other hand upon his sleeve.
"Oh, say it's true, Tony. Tell me it's really true!"
Her words were almost carried away by the wind, for sublimely indifferent to the ruts Jimmy had let the car out to its fullest extent, and they were racing and bounding along in a fashion which would have done credit to a high-spirited chamois.
With a glad laugh Tony put his arm round her and drew her close up against him.
"It's the truest thing that's ever happened," he answered. "You are mine now, Isabel—mine, mine, mine; and all the fat-headed Kings in Europe will never get you away from me again."