She did not finish, for there was a bright flash of lightning in their faces, followed by a deafening clap of thunder on the mountain-side above them. With a terrified snort, Jack plunged onward. They reached the point where the roads divided, and Floyd managed to pull the animal into the right one. For half an hour they sped onward. Every effort Floyd made to check the horse was foiled; the spirited animal seemed to have taken the bit between his teeth. Then the storm broke upon them in alarming fury, and they suddenly found themselves before a high, isolated building. The horse, as with almost human instinct, had paused. “It's Long's mill,” Floyd told Cynthia. “It's not in use. Pole and I stopped here to rest when we were out hunting last month. The door is not locked. There is a shed and stable behind for horses. We must get in out of danger.” Cynthia hesitated. “Is it the only thing?” she asked. “Yes, it might cost us our lives to drive on, and it is two miles to the nearest house.” “All right, then.” He was already on the ground, and she put her hands on his shoulders and sprang down. “Now, run up the steps,” he said. “The door opens easily. I'll lead Jack around to the shed and be back in a minute.” She obeyed, and when he returned after a few moments he found her on the threshold waiting for him, her beautiful, long hair blown loose by the fierce wind. They stood side by side in the darkness for a few minutes, and then a torrent of rain dashed down upon the roof like tons of solid matter, which threatened to crush the building like an egg-shell. He pushed her back, and with a great effort managed to close the big sliding-door. “We must keep the wind out,” he said. “If we don't the mill will be blown away.” It was now too dark for them to see each other at all, and the roar of the storm rendered speech between them almost impossible. She suddenly felt his hands grasp hers, and then he shouted, as he held them in his tight clasp: “There is a big pile of fodder over there against the wall. Come, sit down. There is no telling how long this may last, and you are already fagged out.” She offered no resistance, and he cautiously led her through the darkness till he felt the fodder under his feet. Then he bent down and raked a quantity of it together and again took her hand. “Sit here,” he said, gently pushing her downward. “It is dry and warm.” He was right. The soft bed of sweet-smelling corn leaves felt very comfortable to the tired girl. He laughed out impulsively as he pulled a quantity of the fodder near to her and sat down on it, locking his arms over his knees. “This isn't so very bad, after all,” he said. “You know, it might have been a great deal worse. Jack's well housed, and this old mill has withstood a thousand storms.” She said nothing, and he leaned nearer till his lips almost touched her ear. “Why are you so silent?” he asked. “Are you still afraid?”