words expressing the wish
that she and Thornton might come together had been often enough with
her--mockingly again!--but Thornton could have known nothing of
that--so, after all, what did that matter? She had snatched at every
opportunity to motor with Thornton despite Doc's protests, protests that
had grown sullen and angry of late--snatched at the opportunities
eagerly, as she would snatch at a breath of air where all else stifled
her--snatched at them because they took her out of herself temporarily,
away from everything, where everything at times seemed to be driving her
mad. Hate Thornton! No, of course, she didn't hate him--she had thought
that a moment ago because--because her brain was--was--oh, she didn't
know--so tired and weary, and she was cold now and quite wet. She didn't
hate him, she even--

"All ready now--house to let furnished"--he was calling out, laughing as
he came thrashing through the undergrowth--"excellent situation, high
altitude, luxuriant pine grove surrounds the property, and--and"--he
had halted beside the car and opened the door--"what else do they say?"

Helena caught his spirit--or, rather, forced herself to do so. It wasn't
quite fair that one of them should do all the pretending.

"Flies," she laughed. "They always speak of flies in Maine."

"None!" said Thornton promptly. "There hasn't been one since the house
was built. Now then, Miss Vail"--he held out his arms.

"Oh, but really, I can walk."

"And I can carry you," he said--and, from the step, gathered her into
his arms.

And then, as she lay there passively at first, she seemed to sense again
that curious diffidence, that gentleness, like the touch upon her throat
of a little while ago, though now he held her in both his arms. How
strong he was--and, oh, how miserably wet--her hand around his shoulder
felt the thin shirt clinging soggily to his arm. Yes; she was glad he
hadn't let her walk--it wasn't far, but she would have had to force her
way continually through bushes that scattered showers from their
dripping leaves, and underfoot she could hear his boots squash through
the mud. And then suddenly it happened--the trees, just a yard or so
from the fire, were thick together, tangled--she bent her head quickly,
instinctively, to avoid a low-hanging branch as he for the same reason
swerved a little--and their cheeks lay close-pressed against each
other's, her hair sweeping his forehead, their lips mingling one
another's