Fifty feet down the rock-gnarled hillside they took Pauline from the clutch of the dead driver. His fall had broken hers and it was only from fear that she had fainted. Harry, pressing the taxi driver's flask to her lips, saw her eyes open and his cry was like a prayer of thanksgiving.

When Harry lifted Pauline to carry her to the taxicab, to his abas.e.m.e.nt he felt her hands press him away. He thought she had not yet recovered, that she believed herself still in the grasp of the madman.

He set her on her feet and looked at her questioningly.

Without a word she turned from him and started up the road.

"Pauline!" he cried. "What do you mean? Don't you know me? It's Harry."

She kept on without turning. He caught her by the arm. "Don't you know me, your brother?" he pleaded.

She turned, tremblingly. "You are not my brother," she blazed. "And I did not know you until today."

"You are hurt and ill, dearest. Come, let me take you home."

She walked on up the road.

"But where are you going?" he demanded.

"I am going to the wedding. You tried to keep me away by your base trick but you can't do it."

Now he understood. "I know; I know," he groaned. "It was the meanest and most useless thing. But I did not think it was safe for you to go to the wedding. I am sorry to the bottom of my heart."

"Goodbye," she said coldly, walking on.

"But you can't go like that," he exclaimed, pointing to her torn and draggled clothes, her unfastened hair.

"It is better to go to friends whom I can trust," she said coldly, and moved on.

As gently as he could he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the taxicab. Placing her in the seat he followed, and as the machine started began to pour out his repentance. She would not even answer, but sat with averted face, weeping and trembling.

At last she became quiet. He drew her tattered wrap closer about her shoulders and put his arm around her so that her head rested against his breast. A moment later, looking down, he was surprised to see that she was smiling like a tired child.

CHAPTER XVIII

A HOT YOUNG COMET

"That's right; praise her; pet her; make her think she's great, so she'll do it all over again."

Harry turned away wrathfully from the joyous greetings of Lucille and Chauncey Hamlin to Pauline.

"Harry is quite right," said Lucille. "I ought to snub you entirely.

It is disgraceful, it's wicked to be as brave as you are, Polly."

"Oh, I say, Lucy," pleaded her brother. "You'll have Miss Pauline all upset."

"She likes it," snapped Harry. "She's been upset out of everything from a balloon to a house afire, and now she's looking for new capsizable craft."

"Polly! You wouldn't try it again! You don't want any more thrills after this?" Lucille's astonishment was sincere.

Pauline cast a serpentine glance at Harry. "Am I to live quietly at home with a creature like him?" she inquired.

"Why don't you have me beheaded, O Great White Queen?"

"The braves are reserved for torture. Where are you people going so bright and early?" she added turning to Chauncey.

"Going to take you for a little morning spin. Car's perfectly safe."

"Yes, do come along, Polly," urged Lucille.

"What! In a safe car? Never!" exclaimed Harry. "It isn't done, you know--not in this family. Now, if you had a hot restless young comet hitched at the door, Chauncey."

Pauline laughed merrily. "No, I couldn't go this morning even behind a restless young comet." She glanced mischievously at Harry. "Duty before pleasure; have important business on hand. No, I can't tell even you, Lucille--you're not to be trusted. You'd be sure to tell Harry."

As the Hamlins drove off, Harry turned anxiously.

"You've not forgotten your promise? There is to be a long rest from wildness, isn't there--no more adventures?"

"Yes--a rest from wild ones. I am going to have a tame adventure now."

"Polly, Polly! What do you mean?"

"This," she answered, taking the morning paper from the table.

Unfolding it, she showed him a headline:

GREAT LORDNOR STABLES TO BE AUCTIONED

World-Famous Horses of Late Millionaire Sportsman Under Hammer.

"Well?" questioned Harry.

"Don't you see?" she tantalized him.

"Not in the least."

"I am going to buy Firefly and ride him in the steeplechase handicap."

Harry's smile was almost despairing, but he answered quickly. "Oh, I see. You'll have me ride him and break my precious neck. I thought for a second you meant to ride yourself."

"That's just what I do mean. It will be gorgeously exciting--and perfectly safe."

"Safe?"

"Well, of course, I might be killed by a fall or something."