Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. I struck him across the face, twisted the steering wheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on the road with the motor on top of him. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. Then Valade—was the man as big a fool as Nicholas?—tried again. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. “I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued.
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