Floyd closed his eyes. His admiration for Pole Baker had never been so intense. For perhaps the first time in his life he felt the sting of the hot blood of shame in his face. “I'll take care of your little sister, Pole,” he said. “I'll do it--I'll do it!” He closed his eyes. The storm was beating more steadily now. His thoughts became a delicious blur. He was asleep. Several hours must have passed. He waked, sat up, and looked about him; it was not so dark now, and while it was still raining, the noise of the falling drops was not so loud. He stood up and stretched himself. From the stiffness of his limbs he knew he had slept a long time. “Cynthia!” he called out, but there was no reply. “Cynthia!” he called again, but still only his own voice rang out above the falling rain and whistling wind. He groped forward. In the darkness he saw her white dress like a drift of snow against the pile of fodder. He bent over her and touched her. She sat up with a start. “You've been asleep, too,” he laughed. “Oh, have I?” she exclaimed. “I--I--forgot where I was, and I was so tired. Is--is the rain over? Can we go on now?” “Not yet, I'm afraid, Cynthia,” he said, consolingly. “If you don't object to staying here alone, I'll go outside and look around. I want to see if we can cross the mill creek. Sometimes it gets very high.” “Oh, I'm not afraid,” she assured him. “There's nothing here to be afraid of.” “Some women would imagine the mill was full of tramps or escaped negro convicts,” he laughed, “but you are different, little girl. You are plucky. I'll be back in a few minutes.” He returned very soon, stamping his wet boots on the mill steps. “The rain is about over,” he told her. “The sky in the east is clearing up; in fact, it is almost daybreak. Cynthia, we have both, slept longer than we had any idea of. But the worst part of the business is that the creek is out of its banks and we can't get across till it runs down; but that won't take long. We can start for home about sunrise, and then we can go like the wind. Jack will want his breakfast.” She said nothing, but he fancied he heard her sigh. She started to rise and he put out his hand. She gave him hers with a strange, new show of confidence that touched him, thrilled him, and sent a flush of vague gratification over him. “You are disappointed,” he said, tentatively. With her hand still in his they walked to the door and looked out towards the pale sky in the east. “I was wondering what my mother will think,” she said. “She won't like this at all. But you know, Nel--you know, Mr. Floyd, that I couldn't help it.” “Of course not,” he said, frowning darkly. “Stopping here really saved our lives. She'll have to see that. You can make her see it, Cynthia.” “She's very peculiar,” Cynthia sighed. “The smallest things almost drive her insane. The rain is over; don't you think we could go some other way and avoid the creek?”