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.She tried to steady herself by watching the show from the windows.Thecar swung through little villages, past vineyards and pinewoods and the blueof lakes, and over the gorges of mountain streams.There seemed to be notrouble about passports.The sentries at the controls waved a reassuring handwhen they were shown some card which the chauffeur held between his teeth.Inone place there was a longish halt, and she could hear Ivery talking Italianwith two officers ofBersaglieri, to whom he gave cigars.They were freshfaced, upstanding boys,and for a second she had an idea of flinging open the door and appealing tothem to save her.But that would have been futile, for Ivery was clearly amplycertificated.She wondered what part he was now playing.The Marjolana route had been chosen for a purpose.In one town ivery met andtalked to a civilian official, and more than once the car slowed down andsomeone appeared from the wayside to speak a word and vanish.She wasassisting at the last gathering up of the threads of a great plan, before theWild Birds returned to their nest.Mostly these conferences seemed to be inItalian, but once or twice she gathered from the movement of the lips thatGerman was spoken and that this rough peasant or that blackhatted bourgeoiswas not of Italian blood.Early in the morning, soon after she awoke, Ivery had stopped the car andoffered her a wellprovided luncheon basket.She could eat nothing, and watchedhim breakfast off sandwiches beside the driver.In the afternoon he asked herpermission to sit with her.The car drew up in a lonely place, and a teabasketwas produced by the chauffeur.Ivery made tea, for she seemed too listless tomove, and she drank a cup with him.After that he remained beside her.'In half an hour we shall be out of Italy,' he said.The car was running up along valley to the curious hollow between snowy saddles which is the crest ofthe Marjolana.He showed her the place on a road map.As the altitudeincreased and the air grew colder he wrapped the rugs closer around her andapologized for the absence of a footwarmer.'In a little,' he said, 'we shallbe in the land where your slightest wish will be law.'She dozed again and so missed the frontier post.When she woke the car wasslipping down the long curves of the Weiss valley, before it narrows to thegorge through which it debouches on Grunewald.'We are in Switzerland now,' she heard his voice say.It may have been fancy,but it seemed to her that there was a new note in it.He spoke to her with theassurance of possession.They were outside the country of theAllies, and in a land where his web was thickly spread.'Where do we stop tonight?' she asked timidly.'I fear we cannot stop.Tonight also you must put up with the car.I have alittle errand to do on the way, which will delay us a few minutes, and then wepress on.Tomorrow, my fairest one, fatigue will be ended.'There was no mistake now about the note of possession in his voice.Mary'sheart began to beat fast and wild.The trap had closed down on her and she saw the folly of her courage.It hadPage 150ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmldelivered her bound and gagged into the hands of one whom she loathed moredeeply every moment, whose proximity was less welcome than a snake's.She hadto bite hard on her lip to keep from screaming.The weather had changed and it was snowing hard, the same storm that hadgreeted us on the Col of theSwallows.The pace was slower now, and Ivery grew restless.He lookedfrequently at his watch, and snatched the speakingtube to talk to the driver.Mary caught the word 'St Anton'.Mr.StandfastMr.Standfast145'Do we go by St Anton?' she found voice to ask.'Yes, he said shortly.The word gave her the faintest glimmering of hope, for she knew that Peter andI had lived at St Anton.She tried to look out of the blurred window, butcould see nothing except that the twilight was falling.She begged for theroadmap, and saw that so far as she could make out they were still in thebroad Grunewald valley and that to reach St Anton they had to cross the lowpass from the Staubthal.The snow was still drifting thick and the carcrawled.Then she felt the rise as they mounted to the pass.Here the going was bad,very different from the dry frost in which I had covered the same road thenight before.Moreover, there seemed to be curious obstacles.Some carelesswoodcart had dropped logs on the highway, and more than once both Ivery andthe chauffeur had to get out to shift them.In one place there had been asmall landslide which left little room to pass, and Mary had to descend andcross on foot while the driver took the car over alone.Ivery's temper seemedto be souring.To the girl's relief he resumed the outside seat, where he wasengaged in constant argument with the chauffeur.At the head of the pass stands an inn, the comfortable hostelry of HerrKronig, well known to all who clamber among the lesser peaks of the Staubthal.There in the middle of the way stood a man with a lantern.'The road is blocked by a snowfall,' he cried.'They are clearing it now.Itwill be ready in half an hour's time.'Ivery sprang from his seat and darted into the hotel.His business was tospeed up the clearing party, and HerrKronig himself accompanied him to the scene of the catastrophe.Mary satstill, for she had suddenly become possessed of an idea
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