And then, as she lay there passively at first, she seemed to sense again that curious diffidence, that gentleness, like the touch upon her throat of a little while ago, though now he held her in both his arms. How strong he was--and, oh, how miserably wet--her hand around his shoulder felt the thin shirt clinging soggily to his arm. Yes; she was glad he hadn't let her walk--it wasn't far, but she would have had to force her way continually through bushes that scattered showers from their dripping leaves, and underfoot she could hear his boots squash through the mud. And then suddenly it happened--the trees, just a yard or so from the fire, were thick together, tangled--she bent her head quickly, instinctively, to avoid a low-hanging branch as he for the same reason swerved a little--and their cheeks lay close-pressed against each other's, her hair sweeping his forehead, their lips mingling one another's breaths. He seemed to stumble--then his arms closed about her in a quick, fierce pressure, clasping her, straining her to him--relaxed as suddenly--and then he had set her down inside the shelter he had built. Quick her breath was coming now, and across the fire for a moment she met his eyes. His face was gray, and his hands at his sides were clenched. "I'll--I'll get the seat out of the car," he said hoarsely. "It will help to make things more comfortable." And turning abruptly, he started back for the road again. Helena did not move. Mechanically her eyes took in the little hut, crude, but rainproof at least--branches heaped across two forked limbs for a roof; the trunk of a big tree for the rear wall; branches thrust upright into the ground for the sides--the whole a little triangular shaped affair. The fire blazed in front just within shelter at the entrance; and beside it was piled quite a little heap of fuel that he had gathered. He came back bringing the leather upholstered seat, shook the rain from it, and dried it with the help of the fire and his handkerchief--then set it down inside the hut. His face was turned from her; and as he spoke, breaking an awkward silence, his voice was conscious, hurried. "I'm not going to be gone a minute more than I can help, Miss Vail. It's mighty rough accommodation for you, but there's one consolation at least--you'll be perfectly safe." Helena seated herself, and held her skirt to the fire. "Gone!" she said, a little dully. "Where are you going?" "Why, to get help of course," he told her. "Help!"--she shook her head. "You don't know where to find any--you only know for a certainty that there isn't any within miles." "I know there's a house back on the main road," he said. "I noticed it as we came along." "That's seven or eight miles from here," she returned. "And it's raining harder than ever--mud up to your ankles--it would take you hours to reach it." "Possibly two, or two and a half," he said lightly.