Drenched, blinded, bewildered by the avalanche of water, Katherine felt a triumphal glow of happiness. The heavens seemed to have come to her rescue, to have given her another chance of life. She was pleased too at having his coat about her, at having heard the rough, protecting tenderness in his voice. It pleased her to feel herself borne along by his strong arms. She could just distinguish his outline in the pitch darkness, and the shimmer of his white shirt-sleeves. There was nothing particularly heroic in his action, but it was supremely that of a man, strong, prompt, and helpful. Another flash as vivid as the first showed him a smile on her face. He shouted a cheery word as the swift darkness fell again, and rowed on vigorously, delighted at the transient vision. In a few moments they were by the Grand Quai, amidst a confusion of boats hurriedly disgorging their loads. Experienced in many a river crush, Raine skilfully brought his boat to the landing-place, paid the old boatman, and assisted Katherine to land. It was still pouring violently. When they reached the top of the quay, Raine paused for a moment to take his bearings. “It is ridiculous to think of a cab or shelter,” he said, “We must dash home as quickly as we can. Come along.” He passed her arm through his hurriedly, and set off at a smart pace. “Don't take off that,” he cried, preventing an attempt on her part to remove the coat from her shoulders. “But you--oh--I can't!” “You must,” he said, authoritatively. And Katherine found it sweet to yield to his will. They walked rapidly homewards, speaking very little, owing to the exigencies of the situation, but feeling very close to one another. Even the touch of grotesqueness in this unconventional flight through the rain made them laugh happily together, as they stumbled along in their haste. “It is very sweet of you not to mind,” he said. She gave his arm a little pressure for reply, and laughed light-heartedly. At the _porte-cochere_ of the pension, Katherine paused before mounting the stairs, to take breath and to restore Raine his coat. The gas-lamp by the door threw its light upon them and for the first time they saw each other clearly. They were drenched to the skin. A simultaneous exclamation rose to the lips of each. “I earnestly hope you have taken no hurt,” added Raine in a tone of concern. “Oh no! One never takes hurt when one is happy.” The glow on her wet cheeks and the light in her eyes confirmed the statement as far as the happiness went. They entered at the door; he gave her his hand to help her up the stairs. “When do you start to-morrow?” “At seven.” “Must you go?” “Yes. There seems to be no help for it. But I shall come back. You know that. I hate going away from you.” They stopped at the end of the little corridor where her room was situated. He detained the parting hand she gave him. “Tell me. Were you pained at what I said--the last thing, in the boat?” “Pained? No.”