together, Phillis innermost, almost too tightly packed to free her arms enough to divest herself of the coat, which she, in her turn, tried to put lightly over Holdsworth’s shoulders. In doing so she touched his shirt. “Oh, how wet you are!” she cried, in pitying dismay; “and you’ve hardly got over your fever! Oh, Mr Holdsworth, I am so sorry!” He turned his head a little, smiling at her. “If I do catch cold, it is all my fault for having deluded you into staying out here!” but she only murmured again, “I am so sorry.” The minister spoke now. “It is a regular downpour. Please God that the hay is saved! But there is no likelihood of its ceasing, and I had better go home at once, and send you all some wraps; umbrellas will not be safe with yonder thunder and lightning.” Both Holdsworth and I offered to go instead of him; but he was resolved, although perhaps it would have been wiser if Holdsworth, wet as he already was, had kept himself in exercise. As he moved off, Phillis crept out, and could see on to the storm-swept heath. Part of Holdsworth’s apparatus still remained exposed to all the rain. Before we could have any warning, she had rushed out of the shelter and collected the various things, and brought them back in triumph to where we crouched. Holdsworth had stood up, uncertain whether to go to her assistance or not. She came running back, her long lovely hair floating and dripping, her eyes glad and bright, and her colour freshened to a glow of health by the exercise and the rain. “Now, Miss Holman, that’s what I call wilful,” said Holdsworth, as she gave them to him. “No, I won’t thank you” (his looks were thanking her all the time). “My little bit of dampness annoyed you, because you thought I had got wet in your service; so you were determined to make me as uncomfortable as you were yourself. It was an unchristian piece of revenge!”