breaths. He seemed to stumble--then his arms closed about her
in a quick, fierce pressure, clasping her, straining her to him--relaxed
as suddenly--and then he had set her down inside the shelter he had
built.

Quick her breath was coming now, and across the fire for a moment she
met his eyes. His face was gray, and his hands at his sides were
clenched.

"I'll--I'll get the seat out of the car," he said hoarsely. "It will
help to make things more comfortable." And turning abruptly, he started
back for the road again.

Helena did not move. Mechanically her eyes took in the little hut,
crude, but rainproof at least--branches heaped across two forked limbs
for a roof; the trunk of a big tree for the rear wall; branches thrust
upright into the ground for the sides--the whole a little triangular
shaped affair. The fire blazed in front just within shelter at the
entrance; and beside it was piled quite a little heap of fuel that he
had gathered.

He came back bringing the leather upholstered seat, shook the rain from
it, and dried it with the help of the fire and his handkerchief--then
set it down inside the hut. His face was turned from her; and as he
spoke, breaking an awkward silence, his voice was conscious, hurried.

"I'm not going to be gone a minute more than I can help, Miss Vail. It's
mighty rough accommodation for you, but there's one consolation at
least--you'll be perfectly safe."

Helena seated herself, and held her skirt to the fire.

"Gone!" she said, a little dully. "Where are you going?"

"Why, to get help of course," he told her.

"Help!"--she shook her head. "You don't know where to find any--you only
know for a certainty that there isn't any within miles."

"I know there's a house back on the main road," he said. "I noticed it
as we came along."

"That's seven or eight miles from here," she returned. "And it's raining
harder than ever--mud up to your ankles--it would take you hours to
reach it."

"Possibly two, or two and a half," he said lightly.

"Yes; and another two at least to get back. I won't hear of you doing
any such thing--you are wet through now. It's far better to wait for
daylight and then probably the storm will be over."

"But don't you see, Miss Vail"--his voice was suddenly grave,
masterful--"don't you see that there is no other thing to do?"

"No," said Helena. "I don't see anything of the kind. I won't have you
do anything like that for me--it's not to be thought of."