I rose from my camp chair and prepared to start for home. As I stepped from behind the shrubbery the moonlight suddenly went out, as if it had been turned off like a gas jet. Except for the few remaining lanterns and the gleams from the church windows and door the darkness was complete. I looked at the western sky. It was black, and low down along the horizon flashes of lightning were playing. My prophecy of showers was to be fulfilled. The ladies of the Methodist Society, assisted by their husbands and male friends, were hurrying the tables and chairs indoors. I picked up and folded the chair I had been occupying and joined the busy group. It was so dark that faces were almost invisible, but I recognized Sim Eldredge by his voice, and George Taylor and I bumped into each other as we seized the same table. “Hello, Ros!” exclaimed the cashier. “Thought you'd gone. Going to have a tempest, ain't we.” “Tempest” is Cape Cod for thunderstorm. I agreed that one was imminent. “Hold on till I get this stuff into the vestry,” continued Taylor, “and I'll drive you home. I'll be ready pretty soon.” I declined the invitation. “I'll walk,” I answered. “You have Nellie to look after. If you have a spare umbrella I'll borrow that. Where is Nellie?” “Oh, she's over yonder with Miss Colton. They have been making each other's acquaintance. Say, Ros, she's a good deal of a girl, that Colton one, did you know it?” I did not answer. “Oh, I know you're down on the whole lot of 'em,” he added, laughing; “but she is, just the same. Kind of top-lofty and condescending, but that's the fault of her bringing-up. She's all right underneath. Too good for that Carver cub. By the way, if he doesn't come pretty soon I'll phone her pa to send the carriage for her. If I was Colton I wouldn't put much confidence in Carver's showing up in a hurry. You saw the gang he was with, didn't you? They don't get home till morning, till daylight doth appear, as a usual thing. Hello! that's the carriage now, ain't it? Guess papa wasn't taking any chances.” Sure enough, there were the lights of a carriage at the gate, and I heard the voice of Jenkins, the coachman, shouting. Nellie Dean called Taylor's name and he hurried away. A few moments later he returned. “She's off, safe and sound,” he said. “I judged she wasn't any too well pleased with her Victor for not showing up to look out for her.” A sharp flash of lightning cut the sky and a rattling peal of thunder followed. “Right on top of us, ain't it!” exclaimed George. “Sure you don't want me to drive you home? All right; just as you say. Hold on till I get you that umbrella.”