"What are you going to do ?" "I don't know what we're going to do," said St.George doggedly, "but if we can overtake them it won't take us long to find out." Never so slightly the pursuers were gaining.

It was impossible to tell whether those in the flying car knew that they were followed, and if they did know, and if Olivia knew, St.George wondered whether the pursuit were to her a new alarm, or whether she were looking to them for deliverance.

If she knew! His heart stood still at the thought--oh, and if they had both known, that morning at breakfast at the Boris, that _this_ was the way the genie would come out of the jar.

But how, if he were unable to help her?
And how could he help her when these others might have Heaven knew what resources of black art, art of all the colours of the Yaque spectrum, if it came to that?
The slim-trunked trees flew past them, and the tender branches brushed their shoulders and hung out their flowers like lamps.

Warm wind was in their faces, sweet, reverberant voices of the wood-things came chorusing, and ahead there in the dimness, that misty will-o'-the-wisp was her veil, Olivia's veil.