They saw the driver's strange, full, dark face peering into the lamps under drawn brows.

Ursula shuddered. It was the face almost of an animal yet of a quick, strong, wary animal that had them within its knowledge, almost within its power. She clung closer to Krebensky.

“My love?” she said to him, questioningly, when the car was again running in full motion.

He made no movement or sound. He let her hold his hand, he let her reach forward, in the gathering darkness, and kiss his still cheek. The crying had gone by — he would not cry any more. He was whole and himself again.

“My love,” she repeated, trying to make him notice her. But as yet he could not.