e working convulsively.

Lucy, who could not believe that in the present emergency his stubbornness
would persist, waited.

"I ain't comin'," he remarked half to himself with dogged determination,
as if he were bolstering up some inward wavering of principle. "I ain't
comin'."

The touch of her hand still vibrated upon his arm, and he could feel the
flutter of her dress against his body.

"I ain't comin'," he repeated between his closed teeth.

"Very well."

With dignity, Lucy picked up her limp skirts, preparatory to breasting the
storm. "I _can't_ go with you," he suddenly burst out. "Don't you see I
can't?"

A wailing cry from the wind seemed to echo the pain in his voice. The girl
did not answer. Refusing both the light and shelter he offered her, she
stepped resolutely forth into the blackness of the night. Helplessly he
watched her go, the lantern's rays reflecting her white gown.

"I shan't bother you again, Mr. Howe," she called bitterly.

Martin made no reply but raised the lantern higher that it might brighten
the rough path. Unheeding him, the girl stumbled through the darkness, the
rain beating down upon her.

As she neared the house a faint glow flickered through the shrubbery,
making it evident that her aunt had already arrived home. Nervously she
mounted the porch and turned to look behind her. At the foot of the drive
stood Martin, the lantern high in his hands.

Now that Lucy was safely within the shelter of her own domain, her sense
of humor overcame her, and with an irresistible desire to torment him, she
called mischievously from her vantage ground on the veranda:

"Thank you so much for bringing me home, Mr. Howe. Can't I persuade you to
come in?"

There was a smothered exclamation of wrath in the distance, and she saw a
gleam of light precipitate itself hastily into the road, where, for a
moment, it flashed along the tree trunks, then disappeared.

Lucy laughed.

Ellen was in the kitchen when she entered.

"Where on earth have you been?" she demanded. "I should 'a' thought you
might 'a' come back in time to start the fire up an' get supper. It's
awful late. Was it Tony you was talkin' to outside?"

"No."

"It warn't?" she turned a hawklike glance on her niece. "Who was it?" she
asked inquisitively.

"Mr. Howe."

"Mr. Ho---- Not _Martin_ Howe!"

Lucy nodded.

"Yes."

"Martin Howe here--_on my land_! What was he doin'?"

"He wasn't on your land," Lucy said. "He left m