"Quite!" agreed Thornton, laughing again. "Well, you wait here a moment,
and I'll see if I can't knock up some sort of shelter--I used to be
pretty good at that sort of thing."

"And I'll help," announced Helena, preparing to get out.

"By keeping at least your feet dry," he amended. "No--please. Just stay
where you are, Miss Vail. You'll get as much protection here from the
branches overhead as you will anywhere meanwhile, and you'll be more
comfortable."

She watched him as he disappeared into the wood, and after that, like a
flitting will-o'-the-wisp, watched his flashlight moving about amongst
the trees. Then presently the cheery blaze of a fire from where he was
at work sprang up, and she heard the crackle of resinous pine
knots--then a great crashing about, the snapping of branches as he broke
them from larger limbs--and a rapid fire of small talk from him as he
worked.

Helena answered him more or less mechanically--her mind, roving from one
consideration of their plight to another, had caught at a certain
viewpoint and was groping with it. They were stalled more effectively
than any accident to the car could have stalled them--they were there
for the night, there seemed no escape from that. But there was nothing
to be afraid of. She had no fears about passing the night alone with him
here in the woods--why should she? _Why should she!_ She laughed low,
suddenly, bitterly. Why should she--even if he were other than the man
he was, even if he were of the lowest type! Fear--of _that_! A yearning,
so intense as for an instant to leave her weak, swept upon her--a
yearning full of pain, of shame, of remorse, of hopelessness--oh, God,
if only she might have had the _right_ to fear! Then passion seized her
in wild, turbulent unrestraint--hatred for this clean-limbed,
pure-minded man, who flaunted all that his life stood for in her
face--hatred for everybody in this life of hers, for all were good save
her--hatred, miserable, unbridled hatred for herself.

And then it passed, the mood--and she tried to think more calmly, still
answering him as he called from the woods. She had seen a great deal of
Thornton lately--a great deal. He had been kind and thoughtful and
considerate--nothing more. More! What more could there have been? Love!
There was something of mockery in that, wasn't there? Everything she
thought about lately, every way her mind turned seemed to hold something
of mockery now. Of course, Mrs. Thornton's