I carried her with little effort to the bridge.
And there I stopped. The bridge was blocked, covered with a mass of wet
leafy branches and splintered wood. The lightning bolt had missed us by
just that much. It had overthrown and demolished the big willow tree by
the brook and to get through or over the tangle was impossible.

So again history repeated itself. I descended the bank at the side of
the bridge and waded through the waters with Mabel Colton in my arms. I
staggered up the opposite bank and hurried on. She lay quiet, her head
against my shoulder. Her hat had fallen off and a wet, fragrant strand
of her hair brushed my cheek. Once I stopped and bent my head to listen,
to make sure that she was breathing. She was, I felt her breath upon my
face. Afterwards I remembered all this; just then I was merely thankful
that she was alive.

I had gone but a little way further when she stirred in my arms and
spoke.

"What is it?" she asked. "What is the matter?"

"Nothing," I answered, with a sigh of relief. "It is all right. We shall
be there soon."

"But what is the matter? Why are you--let me walk, please."

"You had better stay as you are. You are almost home."

"But why are you carrying me? What is the matter?"

"You--you fainted, I think. The lightning--"

"Oh yes, I remember. Did I faint? How ridiculous! Please let me walk
now. I am all right. Really I am."

"But I think--"

"Please. I insist."

I set her gently on her feet. She staggered a little, but she was plucky
and, after a moment, was able to stand and walk, though slowly.

"You are sure you can manage it?" I asked.

"Of course! But why did I faint? I never did such a thing before in my
life."

"That flash was close to us. It struck the big willow by the brook."

"Did it! As near as that?"

"Yes. Don't try to talk."

"But I am all right . . . I am not hurt at all. Are we almost home?"

"Yes. Those are the lights of your house ahead there."

We moved on more rapidly. As we turned in at the Colton walk she said,
"Why; it has stopped raining."

It had, though I had not noticed it. The flash which smashed the willow
had been the accompaniment of what Lute would call the "clearing-up
shower." The storm was really over.

We stepped up on the portico of the big house and I rang the bell.
The butler opened the door. His face, as he saw the pair of dripping,
bedraggled outcasts before him, was worth looking at. He was shocked out
of his di