. The whole forest seemed to sway and
stir and urge them to haste and secrecy.

"A storm's coming," Pete answered. "I can't carry you, Sylvie, unless I
leave my load."

"Do you think I'd let you carry me?" she answered through her set teeth.
"I'd rather die here than let you lift me up in your arms. I'll go on
till I drop. I don't care for the storm. But I can't walk so fast. How
can you see? The moon isn't--can't be, I mean--very, very bright here in
the woods."

"The moon? There's a big storm-cloud just going to wipe it out. Listen!
Don't you hear that thunder, that wind?"

The storm blew its distant trumpets, shouted louder, trampled the world
with great steps, crashed and came upon them with a wet, cold blast.
They were stunned with noise, dazzled with flashes, smothered and beaten
with long, wet whips. Under a big rocking pine which shouted with a
hundred confused tongues they found a dangerous shelter. Not far from
them a tree was struck, splitting their ears, half stunning them. When
the worst was over, Pete drew Sylvie out relentlessly and started in
the heavily falling rain. The storm was drawing away, but the night was
still impenetrably black. They walked for a few groping yards when Pete
gave a sudden desperate laugh and stopped.

"What's the good of this! We're off the trail. We'll have to wait for
the light. My God! How cold and wet and trembling you are." He threw
down his pack, took off his coat, wet only on the outside, and wrapped
it closely about her. She felt that he parted branches for her, and she
knew that they were in a dry, still, scented place whose walls stirred
and breathed. She sank down beside him on the smooth pine-needles
and crept close. They were giddy, beaten and confused; they felt each
other's trembling warmth; for greater comfort she tucked her hands under
his arm. Her head dropped back against his shoulder so that her breath
fell on his cheek. He felt the silent tears of her humiliation, hot and
bitter and human after the cold, impersonal wetness of rain. It was as
though a hand drew them together in the darkness; they moved numbly at
the same instant, by the same impulse; then with a sort of convulsion
they were in each other's arms. Cold, wet, tremulous, their lips met.
The night became the beating of a heart.

CHAPTER XIV

Hugh sat in his great carved chair, his hands laid out across the bulky
arms, his head bent forward a little so that his eyes encompassed all