even there among the cool rocks they had
found it necessary to put out the little blaze, as making their niche
too warm. Down below in the open valley the heat was unbroken; and to be
wet and warm, and obliged to exert all one's strength at the same time,
is hard for a large man like Gregory Dexter. The rain dripped from the
roof directly down upon his hat, and probably, the looker-on thought
with glee, was stealing down his back also. At any rate he was becoming
impatient, for he broke a pane of glass and put his hand through to try
and reach the sash-spring. But the spring was broken; it would not move.
And now he must be growing angry, for he shivered all the panes, broke
the frame, and then tried to clamber in; the cushions were already
sacrificed down on the wet boards below. But it is difficult for a
broad-shouldered heavy man to climb through a small window, especially
if he have no firm foot-hold as a beginning. Heathcote laughed out aloud
now, and Anne leaned forward to look also.

"Who is it?" she said, as she caught sight of the struggling figure. At
this moment Dexter had one knee on the sill and his head inside, but he
was too broad for the space.

"He is caught! He can neither get in nor out," said Heathcote, in an
ecstasy of mirth.

"Who is it?" said Anne again.

"Dexter, of course; he is here looking for you. There! he has
slipped--he is in real danger! No; he has firm hold with his hands. See
him try to find the edge with his feet. Oh, this is too good!" And
throwing back his head, Heathcote laughed until his brown eyes shone.

But Anne, really alarmed, held her breath; then, when the struggling
figure at last found its former foot-hold, she gave a sigh of relief.
"We must go down," she said.

"And why, Miss Douglas?"

"Did you not say he had come for me?"

"That was a supposition merely. And did not I come for you too?"

"But as he is there, would it not be better for us to go down?"

"Have we not done well enough by ourselves so far? And besides, at this
late hour, I see no object in getting a wetting merely for his sake."

"It is not raining hard now."

"But it is still raining."

She leaned forward and looked down at Dexter again; he was standing
under a tree wiping his hat with his handkerchief.

"Please let me go down," she said, entreatingly, like a child.

"No," said Heathcote, smiling back, and taking her hand as if to make
sure. "Do you remember the evening after the quarry a