"You're a game little woman!" he said earnestly, quite unnecessarily clasping the hand on his arm and wringing it to endorse his verdict. "And that makes it a lot easier, you know. Well then, we might as well face the whole truth at one fell swoop. We're up against it"--he laughed cheerfully--"hard. It's miles to anywhere--we don't know where 'anywhere' is--and of course you can't walk aimlessly around in the mud and rain." "N--no," she said thoughtfully. "I suppose there's no sense in that." "And of course you can't sit out here in the wet all night." "That sounds comforting--propitious even," commented Helena. "Quite!" agreed Thornton, laughing again. "Well, you wait here a moment, and I'll see if I can't knock up some sort of shelter--I used to be pretty good at that sort of thing." "And I'll help," announced Helena, preparing to get out. "By keeping at least your feet dry," he amended. "No--please. Just stay where you are, Miss Vail. You'll get as much protection here from the branches overhead as you will anywhere meanwhile, and you'll be more comfortable." She watched him as he disappeared into the wood, and after that, like a flitting will-o'-the-wisp, watched his flashlight moving about amongst the trees. Then presently the cheery blaze of a fire from where he was at work sprang up, and she heard the crackle of resinous pine knots--then a great crashing about, the snapping of branches as he broke them from larger limbs--and a rapid fire of small talk from him as he worked. Helena answered him more or less mechanically--her mind, roving from one consideration of their plight to another, had caught at a certain viewpoint and was groping with it. They were stalled more effectively than any accident to the car could have stalled them--they were there for the night, there seemed no escape from that. But there was nothing to be afraid of. She had no fears about passing the night alone with him here in the woods--why should she? _Why should she!_ She laughed low, suddenly, bitterly. Why should she--even if he were other than the man he was, even if he were of the lowest type! Fear--of _that_! A yearning, so intense as for an instant to leave her weak, swept upon her--a yearning full of pain, of shame, of remorse, of hopelessness--oh, God, if only she might have had the _right_ to fear! Then passion seized her in wild, turbulent unrestraint--hatred for this clean-limbed, pure-minded man, who flaunted all that his life stood for in her face--hatred for everybody in this life of hers, for all were good save her--hatred, miserable, unbridled hatred for herself.