The suddenness startled them. Katherine drew away her hand hastily as he looked round. “Why did you?” he asked. “Because--because the little dream-time came to an end.” “Why should it?” “It is the nature of dreams.” “Why, then, should it be a dream?” “Because it can never be a reality.” “It can. If you cared.” The words were low, scarcely audible, but they stirred the woman's soul to its depths. She remained for a moment spellbound, gazing away from him, down at the fantastically flecked water. A yearning, passionate desire shook her. One glance, one touch, one little murmured word, and she would unlock the flood-gates of a love that her whole being cried aloud for. Often she had given herself up to the tremulous joy of anticipation. Now the moment had come. It depended upon her to give a sign. But she could not. She dared not. A sign would make it all a reality in sober fact. She shrank from it now that she was brought face to face with it. With a woman's instinct she sought to temporize. But what could she say? If she cared! To deny was beyond her strength. Meanwhile the pause was growing embarrassing. She felt that his eyes were fixed upon her--that he was awaiting an answer. “What I have said has pained you.” She turned her head to reply desperately, she scarce knew how. But the first syllable died upon her lips. A flash of lightning quivered across the space, bringing into view for a vivid, dazzling second the semicircle of the quay, the old clustering city, the Salèves; and almost simultaneously a terrific peal of thunder broke above their heads. Katherine was not a nervous woman, but the flash and the peal were so sudden, that she instinctively gave a little cry and grasped Raine's arm. Before the rumble had died away, great drops of rain fell. In another moment it came down as from a water-spout. The evening had been close, but they had not thought of a storm. Katherine had only a light wrap to put over her thin dress. The gay lanterns swinging above their heads and before their eyes--now they were a lightless mass of wet paper--had prevented them from noticing the gradual clouding over of the sky. They were in the middle of the basin. Amid the roar of the rain and the shouts from the boats around them, they could hear the dull noise of the crowd on the quays scampering away to shelter. “My poor child, you will get wet through,” cried Raine, “put this round you. Let us get in as quickly as we can.” He pulled off his rough tweed coat and threw it over her shoulders; and then, before either Katherine or the old boatman were aware of his intentions, he had dispossessed the latter of his place, taken the sculls, and was pulling for shore with a vigour that the little boat had never before felt in its rowlocks.