He was ready to do anything she wished, but the necessity for his yielding had passed. Her face assumed a set look. "I can't," she answered. "Take the road to the right. Why not?" CHAPTER VII. "SHE AINT YERE." Ferrol was obliged to admit when they turned their faces homeward that the day was hardly a success, after all. Olivia had not been at her best, for some reason or other, and from the moment they had taken the right-hand road Louisiana had been wholly incomprehensible. In her quietest mood she had never worn a cold air before; to-day she had been cold and unresponsive. It had struck him that she was absorbed in thinking of something which was quite beyond him. She was plainly not thinking of him, nor of Olivia, nor of the journey they were making. During the drive she had sat with her hands folded upon her lap, her eyes fixed straight before her. She had paid no attention to the scenery, only rousing herself to call their attention to one object. This object was a house they passed--the rambling, low-roofed white house of some well-to-do farmer. It was set upon a small hill and had a long front porch, mottled with blue and white paint in a sanguine attempt at imitating variegated marble. She burst into a low laugh when she saw it. "Look at that," she said. "That is one of the finest houses in the country. The man who owns it is counted a rich man among his neighbors." Ferrol put up his eye-glasses to examine it. (It is to be deplored that he was a trifle near-sighted.) "By George!" he said. "That is an idea, isn't it, that marble business! I wonder who did it? Do you know the man who lives there?" "I have heard of him," she answered, "from several people. He is a namesake of mine. His name is Rogers." When they returned to their carriage, after a ramble up the mountain-side, they became conscious that the sky had suddenly darkened. Ferrol looked up, and his face assumed a rather serious expression. "If either of you is weather-wise," he said, "I wish you would tell me what that cloud means. You have been among the mountains longer than I have." Louisiana glanced upward quickly. "It means a storm," she said, "and a heavy one. We shall be drenched in half an hour." Ferrol looked at her white dress and the little frilled fichu, which was her sole protection. "Oh, but that won't do!" he exclaimed. "What insanity in me not to think of umbrellas!" "Umbrellas!" echoed Louisiana. "If we had each six umbrellas they could not save us. We may as well get into the carriage. We are only losing time." They were just getting in when an idea struck Ferrol which caused him to utter an exclamation of ecstatic relief. "Why," he cried, "there is that house we passed! Get in quickly. We can reach there in twenty minutes." Louisiana had her foot upon the step. She stopped short and turned to face him. She changed from red to white and from white to red again, as if with actual terror.