"Yes; and another two at least to get back. I won't hear of you doing any such thing--you are wet through now. It's far better to wait for daylight and then probably the storm will be over." "But don't you see, Miss Vail"--his voice was suddenly grave, masterful--"don't you see that there is no other thing to do?" "No," said Helena. "I don't see anything of the kind. I won't have you do anything like that for me--it's not to be thought of." Thornton stooped, placed a knot upon the fire, straightened up--and faced her. "It's awfully good of you to think of me," he said in a low tone; "but, really, it won't be half as bad as you are picturing it in your mind. And really"--he hesitated, fumbling for his words--"you see--that is--what other people might say--your--reputation--" With a sudden cry, white-faced, Helena was on her feet, staring at him, her hands clutched at her bosom--a wild, demoniacal, mocking orgy in her soul. Her reputation! It seemed she wanted to scream out the words--_her reputation_! Thornton's face flushed with a quick-sweeping flood of crimson. "I'm a brute--a brute with a blundering tongue!" he cried miserably. "You had not thought of that--and I made you. I could have found another excuse for going if I had only had wit enough. I was a brute once before to-night, and--" He stopped, and for a moment stood there looking at her, stood in the firelight, his face white again even in the ruddy glow--and then he was gone. Time passed without meaning to Helena. The steady patter of the rain was on the leaves, the sullen, constant drip of water to the ground, and now, occasionally, a rush of wind, a heavier downpour. She sat before the fire, staring into it, her elbows on her knees, her face held tightly in her hands, the brown hair, wet and wayward now, about her temples. Once she moved, once her eyes changed their direction--to fix upon her sleeve in a strange, questioning surprise. "I let him go without his coat," she said. --XVIII-- THE BOOMERANG It was early afternoon, as Madison, emerging from the wagon track, and walking slowly, started across the lawn toward the Patriarch's cottage. He was in a mood that he made no attempt to define--except that it wasn't a very pleasant mood. Before Thornton had returned to Needley it had been bad enough, after that, with his infernal car, it had been--hell.