d, or waded a little way I stopped and
called.

"Miss Colton," I called. "Where are you?"

"Here," came the answer from just ahead. "Is that you, Jenkins?"

I did not reply until I reached her side.

"You are not hurt?" I asked.

"No, not at all. But who is it?"

"I am--er--your neighbor. Paine is my name."

"Oh!" the tone was not enthusiastic. "Where is Jenkins?"

"He is attending to the horse. Pardon me, Miss Colton, but won't you
take this umbrella?"

This seemed to strike her as a trifle absurd. "Why, thank you," she
said, "but I am afraid an umbrella would be useless in this storm. Is
the horse all right?"

"Yes, though he is very much frightened. I--"

I was interrupted by another flash and terrific report from directly
overhead. The young lady came closer to me.

"Oh!" she exclaimed.

I had an idea. The flash had made our surroundings as light as day
for an instant and across the road I saw Sylvanus Snow's old house,
untenanted, abandoned and falling to decay. I took Miss Colton's arm.

"Come!" I said.

She hung back. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"Just across the road to that old house. On the porch we shall be out of
the rain."

She made no further objections and together we stumbled through the
wet grass and over Sylvanus's weed-grown flower beds. I presume I shall
never again smell the spicy fragrance of "old maids' pinks" without
thinking of that night.

I found the edge of the piazza by the direct process of barking my shins
against it, and helped her up on to the creaking boards. My sanguine
statement that we should be out of the rain proved not quite true. There
was a roof above us, but it leaked. I unfurled the wet umbrella and held
it over her head.

For some moments after we reached the piazza neither of us spoke. The
roar of the rain on the shingles of the porch and the splash and gurgle
all about us would have made conversation difficult, even if we had
wished to talk. I, for one, did not. At last she said:

"Do you see or hear anything of Jenkins?"

I listened, or tried to. I was wondering myself what had become of the
coachman.

"No," I answered, "I don't hear him."

"Where do you suppose he is? He could not have been far away when you
met him."

"He was not. And I know he intended to come back at once."

"You don't suppose Caesar--the horse--ran away again? When that second
crack came?"

I was wondering that very thing. That particular thunder clap was loud