He laughed aloud. “Doesn't the Prince always come suddenly?” he asked. “You are like the wandering princess in the fairy tale--all in blue upon a lonely road; but this isn't just the place for loitering, you know. Come up behind me and I'll carry you to shelter in Aunt Ailsey's cabin; it isn't the first time I've run away, with you, remember.” He lifted her upon the horse, and started at a gallop up the turnpike. “I'm afraid the steed doesn't take the romantic view,” he went on lightly. “There, get up, Barebones, the lady doesn't want to wet her bonnet. Lean against me, Betty, and I'll try to shelter you.” But the rain was in their faces, and Betty shut her eyes to keep out the hard bright drops. As she clung with both hands to his arm, her wet cheek was hidden against his coat, and the blue ribbons on her breast were blown round them in the wind. It was as if one of her dreams had awakened from sleep and come boldly out into the daylight; and because it was like a dream she trembled and was half ashamed of its reality. “Here we are!” he exclaimed, in a moment, as he turned the horse round the blasted tree into the little path amid the vegetables. “If you are soaked through, we might as well go on; but if you're half dry, build a fire and get warm.” He put her down upon the square stone before the doorway, and slipping the reins over the branch of a young willow tree, followed her into the cabin. “Why, you're hardly damp,” he said, with his hand on her arm. “I got the worst of it.” He crossed over to the great open fireplace, and kneeling upon the hearth raked a hollow in the old ashes; then he kindled a blaze from a pile of lightwood knots, and stood up brushing his hands together. “Sit down and get warm,” he said hospitably. “If I may take upon myself to do the duties of free Levi's castle, I should even invite you to make yourself at home.” With a laugh he glanced about the bare little room,--at the uncovered rafters, the rough log walls, and the empty cupboard with its swinging doors. In one corner there was a pallet hidden by a ragged patchwork quilt, and facing it a small pine table upon which stood an ash-cake ready for the embers. The laughter was still in his eyes when he looked at Betty. “Now where's the sense of going walking in the rain?” he demanded. “I didn't,” replied Betty, quickly. “It was clear when I started, and the clouds came up before I knew it. I had been across the fields to the woods, and I was coming home along the turnpike.” She loosened her hair, and kneeling upon the smooth stones, dried it before the flames. As she shook the curling ends a sparkling shower of rain drops was scattered over Dan. “Well, I don't see much sense in that,” he returned slowly, with his gaze upon her. She laughed and held out her moist hands to the fire. “Well, there was more than you see,” she responded pleasantly, and added, while she smiled at him with narrowed eyes, “dear me, you've grown so much older.”