A second later a motor-car shot out from the line and took the road to Tarragona.
Hillyard was inside the car.

The tall houses of the city gave place to villas draped in bougainvillea behind gardens of trees.

Then the villas ceased and the car sped across the flats of Llobegrat and climbed to the finest coast-road in the world.

It was a night for lovers.

A full moon, bright as silver, sailed in the sky; the broad, white road rose and dipped and wound past here and there a blue cottage, here and there a peasant mounted on his donkey and making his journey by night to escape the burning day.