All of Eveley’s friends, realizing the loneliness and the sickness of heart which possessed her, united to plan little entertainments and bits of amusement for her. And Eveley accepted their plans gratefully, and acted upon their suggestions gladly, but the bitterness remained in her heart.

“I loved that girl,” she would say to herself. “How could she do such a thing to any one who loved her? It isn’t as if I had only tried to do what was right and kind by her. She owed me something for all that love.”

One evening she went to Eileen’s for a rollicking dinner with the twins in clamorous evidence. Eileen’s home was a new creation; every day, she said frankly, was a new cycle of life. Her years of sober, studied business had not at all prepared her for the raptures and the uncertainties and the annoyances and the thrills of a household that had young twins in it.

“Billy bosses Betty unmercifully, and I do not believe in the dominance of men,” she told Eveley. “And Betty charms Billy into submission, and I do not approve of the blandishments of woman upon man. And yet my sympathies are with both of them, and I adore them both. And I can never find anything when I want it, and when I do find it there is something wrong with it, and they both talk at once and I have to talk at the same time or I never get anything said, and yet we have wonderful times.”

“You are certainly doing your duty by those babies,” said Eveley tentatively.

Eileen took it quickly. “Um, not a bit of it. I am just fulfilling the desire of my heart. So you may take it that I am proving your theory if you like.”

“At least you are proving my exception,” said Eveley, with a smile.

“What is the exception?” Eileen questioned eagerly. “It seems to get all the proving, doesn’t it?”

“It used to,” said Eveley gravely. “But I have lost faith in it for myself. It worked for everybody else, but it failed for me. Now let’s talk of something else.”

They were in the midst of a merry game with the children, when the bell rang, and Eveley was called to the door, to look into the face of Amos Hiltze.

“You have found Marie,” she cried out at once.

“Yes. She is at the ranch in the mountains where we found her first. She is in trouble, and sick. I told her I would come for you, but I suppose you can not leave yet?”

“Not leave—when Marie is sick and wants me? Wait until I get my wraps. Shall we go in my car?”

“Yes, please. I was up at the Cote for you, and Mrs. Severs said you were here. I let the taxi go.”

Eveley’s face was alight with joy, and her heart sang with happiness. Marie had been sick—it had not been cold neglect that kept her away and silent. And she had sent for Eveley.

“You are certainly a wonder,” said Amos Hiltze, as she slipped into her place behind the wheel, and he took his seat at her side.

“You do not know how happy I am,” she cried, turning the car toward the country. “You—do get so awfully fond of a girl like Marie, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Is she very sick?”

“Not very. She will be better when she sees you.”

“Why did she really leave me?”

“Oh, she was afraid the Secret Service would locate her, and it would get you into trouble.”

“I might have known it was her duty. Wait till I get my hands on that girl. I’ll tell her a few things about duty that will astonish her.”

Already they were wheeling rapidly through East San Diego, and when a motorcycle pulled up beside them, Eveley stopped with a gasp. Of course she had been speeding—a thousand miles an hour, probably, though it had seemed like crawling.

“I am so sorry, Officer,” she began quickly. “But I have to hurry. I have a little friend in the country who is sick and needs me.”

“Oh, is it you, Miss Ainsworth?” And the officer smiled. “I did not recognize you. That is all right. Your car is a Rolls, isn’t it? We are looking for a man in a Rolls—but I can hardly hold you.” He turned his pocket flash upon Amos Hiltze.

“This is my friend, Mr. Hiltze,” she explained. “I think you do not want him, either.”

“No, I think not. Yet our man is supposed to have come this way. If you see any men on foot, or any one in trouble, better not stop. We’ll have a man out that way pretty soon.”

“Thank you,” said Eveley. “Good night.” And again they were on their way.

“Poor Mr. Man in the Rolls,” she said after a while. “I wonder what mischief he has been into.”

“I wonder.”

“I hope he gets away. Perhaps he is not so bad as they think, and may do better next time. Or maybe he had a reason.”

“I am sure of that,” said Hiltze with some earnestness. “There is always a reason, I think.”

Through La Mesa, through El Cajon, they drove in silence as they had driven once before, when they went for Marie the first time. Only then Eveley had been quivering with anxiety and nervousness—and now it was only hope and joy. But was it only hope and joy? For she realized suddenly that her hands were gripping the wheel with nervous intensity, and that she was shivering.

“Are you cold?”

“I do not know,” she faltered.

He turned slightly in his seat, and reached for a rug.

“A disorderly pile on the floor as usual,” he said with a slight smile. “Don’t your friends ever put the rugs back on the rack, Eveley?”

“No, never,” she replied, smiling, too, but gravely.

He tucked the rug closely about her, but she still shivered, and a sense of dread was heavy upon her.

When they came at last to the branch in the road, he looked carefully about in every direction, and then told her to drive quickly. Under his direction she took the car far back from the road in a sheltered place, and stopped the engine.

“Please hurry, will you? I have not Angelo with me this time, and I am afraid.”

“Eveley, I must talk to you first. You know I love you, you must know it. You have tried to discourage me, but I will not take discouragement. I shall never go away without you.”

“Are you going away?”

“Yes, to-night. Business takes me away. I am going to South America. I have money—lots of money, and we can start afresh and do well. But I can not go without you.”

“Mr. Hiltze, it is impossible. I do not love you. I told you that before.”

“But you will love me. If you come away with me, and take time, you can love me. I will be good to you, and not hurry you. You must let yourself go, and try.”

“But I do not wish to. Love should not be forced. It ought to come spontaneously of itself. And I love Nolan.”

“Damn Nolan! Oh, I don’t mean that, but—Eveley, you will forget him. Just come with me, and give yourself time. Marie will go with us—”

“Marie.”

“Yes, she has promised to go with us, to help make you happy.”

“Then she is not sick?”

“No, not sick.”

“You only brought me here to—”

“Yes, Eveley. I am sorry, but I had to. We are going out by aeroplane to-night, and there is a fishing fleet at sea waiting to pick us up. I hated to trick you, but it was my love that forced it. I can not give you up. I will not. Did you think I was a fool to be with you, and know your loving lovely ways, and—and—”

Suddenly he crushed her in his arms, and for a moment she was helpless. Then he released her.

“Your bag is here—yes, in the back of the car.”

“My bag?”

“Yes, I took Marie to the Cote this afternoon and she packed it for you—things necessary until you can shop again.”

“Marie did that?”

“Oh, I told her to. I told her you wished it. Oh, yes, I lied, but I would do worse than that for you, yes, I would kill for you. Now be reasonable, Eveley, and come with us nicely. You shall have all the time you wish. I know you will love me.”

“Love you. Love you after this! I hate you, I despise you. Do not say you love me.”

“Eveley, be quiet, this will do no possible good.”

“Then it was you they were looking for, in the car? You are a common criminal.”

“Not a criminal, no,” he cried furiously. “Yes, they wanted me, of course. You should have known there was a reason why a man like myself should live as I have done here. But we are not criminals—we are advance agents of freedom.”

“Anarchists,” she interrupted, in a cutting voice.

“Some time there must be justice and equality in the world—”

“And you have got rich by preaching lawlessness.”

“Eveley, do not talk like that. I—I lose my head—and I do not wish to frighten you. Sit quietly, and let me tell you. Peace can come only through warfare—and out of the death throes of an old world, a new world of peace will—”

“You are traitors.”

“Eveley, you know I was in the service, but there must be a union of the free men of the world against oppression—”

“Do not make stump speeches to me. I will not stand for it. Justice and freedom will come to the world, but not through lying and trickery and bloodshed. Justice must come through sympathy and love and comradeship.”

“It did not get you far with Marie, though, did it?”

“Marie.”

“Certainly. That was my interest in her. Marie was working with us, doing what she could for us, for what we could do for her in Mexico. She is a regular traitor if you like, putting things over in great style, on you and Nolan and Ames—the whole bunch of you. She is a slick little devil. But I fell—because I loved you.”

Sudden illumination came to Eveley. “Then that is why she left me. When she learned to love me, she would not profane our friendship. That is why she left.”

“She left because the cops were getting wise, and she had to get out in a hurry or get pinched.”

“And she is going with you—”

“Sure. She will be the idol of the revolutionists for what she has done—they will carry her about on a tin platter.”

“You will let me go now, Mr. Hiltze, please. But tell Marie that I understand everything, and when she wishes to come back to me, the Cote is open. It was only a mistaken loyalty to a wrong principle. Please go, I want to hurry home.”

He laughed a little. “Eveley, you are going to South America with me.”

In a sudden panic she turned, flinging open the door of the car, hoping to rush away into the darkness, but his arm held her.

“You will love me. I may not care for your Americanization, but I love you. I am going to be good to you. Don’t be a fool, Eveley, it will do you no good. You’ve got to go.”

Struggling was in vain, as Eveley realized at once, and she subsided quickly, trying to think. The thing was impossible. It could not be. Such things did not happen any more—not in real life in the United States. It was cruel, preposterous, unbelievable.

“Please let me go,” she pleaded. “I shall not try to report you, you can get away without trouble. But let me go home, please. I could never change toward you—I am not the kind that changes.”

“I shall have to tie you for a few minutes. I am sorry, but I do not wish you to go to the shack. I have wasted a lot of time trying to reason with you. Put out your hands—yes yes, that way, and let me tie them to the wheel. I hate to do this—there is no use for you to yell, Eveley, for no one can hear, so I shall not gag you. Let me wrap the blanket about you; it is very cold. Sit still, dear, and do not shake it off. I love you very much. We are going to start the world afresh with a clean slate, and leave the past behind. The future shall be of your choosing, only it must be with me.”

Then he went away, and Eveley began a valiant tugging on the straps that bound her.

“Wait a minute, Eveley, I’ll cut them,” came a friendly whisper, and Eveley with a cry turned to look into Angelo’s face.

“Sure, I come along,” he said. “I saw him up at the house, and when he came down for you, I followed his taxi on my bike. And when he went in to get you, I got into the back under the rugs. Lucky he only took one rug for you, or he’d got hold of my legs. Gee, he uses good straps.”

All this, while Angelo was sawing on the straps with his rusty knife, and almost before he finished talking, Eveley was free.

Like a flash she was starting the engine.

“Suppose you get out and hide a while, and let me scout around,” he said. “I hate to leave a decent sort like your Marie with those cutthroats. Maybe I can get hold of her.”

“Yes, do try. I’ll hide among the bushes for fear they come while you are gone. Be careful, Angelo. We are going to need you.”

Eveley waited what seemed an endless length of time, crouching almost breathless under the shrubs. But finally she heard light running steps, and in a moment Marie was in her arms.

“Oh, my poor child, they told me you wanted to go. And did they tie you—the cruel straps? You are free now, and you will go back to your Cote and be happy. But do not forget your poor Marie. And never play with fire again, sweet; in the end it always burns. American women never know what a tempest love can be. Now, kiss Marie, and say your forgive her, and then go quickly.”

“Marie, come with me,” begged Eveley, clinging to her. “You must not go with them. They are treacherous, selling their honor for money. Do not trust them. Come with me. Nolan and I will take care of you, and Nolan will straighten out your tangles with the law. And Jimmy is wild for you, raging all over town trying to find you. Please, dear, let all the ugly past lie dead, and live a new life with us here. Oh, I can not let you go.”

“For them I care nothing,” Marie cried, with a smart snap of her fingers. “They are dogs. They only help us for money, and they wish only to embroil the world in war. It is no love for us—but they are cheap—we buy them. When the time comes, we tramp them under our feet. Eveley, if you wish me, I will come.”

Then in a moment they were away, the car swinging dizzily down the steep grade rocking from side to side.

“How did you get Marie, Angelo—you angel?” asked Eveley, after a while.

“They were all running around moving things, and Marie was helping. So I pitched in and helped too. When I walked by Marie she understood and came. And they did not notice. There isn’t much difference between a Wop and a Greaser.”

“And you will never leave me again, Marie?”

“I am all through with hatred and strife, now. I want only a home, where I can be happy, and live as you and I have lived. That is the only Americanization. Talk is nothing. Social service is a game. But when one makes living so fine that every one in the world wants to live that way—then it is Americanization. I am satisfied now.”

“Say, you’d better cut the talk and watch the road,” said Angelo suddenly. “You’ve been half over the grade a dozen times.”

“Yes, I will,” promised Eveley. “But I must hurry. They will follow us—will they follow us, Marie?”

“Oh, surely, when they miss us. They have motorcycles. Listen. Hear them far back? Of course they would follow.”

“Sit tight, Marie, and do not worry. I know this road all right.”

“They are gaining on us, dear. Can you do better?”

But Eveley was afraid to go faster on those sharp curves, though she strained her eyes to see the road before them.

“We are nearly to Flynn Springs,” she said. “We must be. We can stop there.”

“They will soon be up with us,” said Angelo, looking back.

“We must leave the car, and hide in the woods,” said Marie.

“Oh, I am afraid to leave the car.”

“The woods will not hurt us. It is only men who harm. Come, we must. If they catch us, we are lost. Pull out here to the left, and turn off the lights. They may pass us in the darkness. Take the key with you. And hurry.”

Acting upon this plan, they were soon slipping over the small stones and pebbles down a shallow gully and up among the rocks and shrubs of a little cliff.

Already the tremendous roar of the motorcycles was close upon them.

“Quick, Eveley, behind this bush.—Lie down flat. Yes, all right, Angelo. Sh, quiet now.”

At that instant the motorcycles whirled past—a sudden call from the familiar voice of Amos Hiltze, and with a great tearing and crashing of brakes, the cycles stopped and the men ran back to the car.

“It is her car,” cried Amos Hiltze. “They have deserted it. They must be very close, we shall find them quickly. You go—”

“We can not find them,” said a new authoritative voice. “The cops may be here any moment. We’ve got to get away to-night, or it is everlastingly too late. You have lost the girl—lost them both. Now make the best of it.”

And one motorcycle was started again.

“I’ll slash their tires for luck,” said Amos Hiltze. “And we can send a couple of men to look for them. Then we can send back for them later on if they find them.”

Eveley ground her teeth at the ripping of the tires, for the rubber is to a motorist as a baby to a loving mother. But in a moment came the sputter and roar of the motors, and the men had gone again back the road they had come.

“We’ll just have to crawl into Flynn Springs on the rims, and phone for Nolan. It can not be far.”

But even that was impossible, for with devilish foresight, Amos Hiltze had taken the timer from the carburetor, and the little Rolls was powerless.

“We’ll walk then,” said Eveley bravely, and hand in hand, the three of them set out on the rocky winding road to Flynn Springs.

“Nolan will not waste any time coming for us,” said Eveley confidently.

“And perhaps Lieutenant Ames is in town and can come also,” suggested Marie softly.

Some time later, wearily, weakly, they limped into Flynn Springs, and Eveley hurriedly put in her call.

“Nolan? It is Eveley. I am at Flynn Springs. You must come for me, and bring Jimmy Ames. Yes, Marie is with me, and Angelo.—Yes, we are all right. And have a man from the garage with extra tires and a timer for the carburetor. No, we do not need the police. No guns either. Nolan, your voice is sweeter than any angel’s.”

Then they went into a small room where there was a bed, and Eveley took off her ruined pumps, and bathed her burning feet, and they fixed their hair, and had hot coffee, always looking at each other with tender eyes.

“Will you never go back on me again, little sister?”

And Marie kissed her in answer.

So they waited patiently for the men breaking all known speed laws to come to them, and the time did not seem long, for they lay on the bed together, each with an arm across the other’s shoulder. And in the small dark hallway outside, Angelo sat before their door, his arms clasped around his knees, his head sunk upon his breast, sound asleep. But even in his sleep keeping guard over his Americanizer and the “little Greaser.”