e struggle took
place in the middle of the road, Victoria had to stop. By the time the
person had got the horse by the nose,--shutting off his wind,--the rain
was coming down in earnest.

"Drive right in," cried Mr. Jenney, hospitably; "you'll get wet. Look
out, Austen, there's a lady comin'. Why, it's Miss Flint!"

Victoria knew that her face must be on fire. She felt Austen Vane's
quick glance upon her, but she did not dare look to the right or left as
she drove into the barn. There seemed no excuse for any other course.

"How be you?" said Mr. Jenney; "kind of lucky you happened along here,
wahn't it? You'd have been soaked before you got to Harris's. How be
you? I ain't seen you since that highfalutin party up to Crewe's."

"It's very kind of you to let me come in, Mr. Jenney."

"But I have a rain-coat and a boot, and--I really ought to be going on."

Here Victoria produced the rain-coat from under the seat. The garment
was a dark blue, and Mr. Jenney felt of its gossamer weight with a
good-natured contempt.

"That wouldn't be any more good than so much cheesecloth," he declared,
nodding in the direction of the white sheet of the storm. "Would it,
Austen."

She turned her head slowly and met Austen's eyes. Fortunate that the
barn was darkened, that he might not see how deep the colour mantling in
her temples! His head was bare, and she had never really marked before
the superb setting of it on his shoulders, for he wore a gray flannel
shirt open at the neck, revealing a bronzed throat. His sinewy
arms--weather-burned, too--were bare above the elbows.

Explanations of her presence sprang to her lips, but she put them from
her as subterfuges unworthy of him. She would not attempt to deceive him
in the least. She had wished to see him again--nor did she analyze her
motives. Once more beside him, the feeling of confidence, of belief
in him, rose within her and swept all else away--burned in a swift
consuming flame the doubts of absence. He took her hand, but she
withdrew it quickly.

"This is a fortunate accident," he said, "fortunate, at least, for me."

"Perhaps Mr. Jenney will not agree with you," she retorted.

But Mr. Jenney was hitching the horse and throwing a blanket over him.
Suddenly, before they realized it, the farmer had vanished into the
storm, and this unexplained desertion of their host gave rise to an
awkward silence between them, which each for a while strove vainly to
break. In the great