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 Iheard 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."He borrowed an umbrella from the parsonage.I took it, thanked him, and hastened out of the church grounds.I looked up the road as I passed through the gate.I could have seen an auto's lamps for a long distance, but there were none in sight.With a malicious chuckle I thought that my particular friend Victor was not taking the surest way of making himself popular with his fiancee, if that was what she was.
The storm overtook me before I was half-way down the Lower Road.Afew drops of rain splashed the leaves.A lightning stroke so near and sharp that I fancied I could hear the hiss was accompanied by a savage thunder-clap.Then came the roar of wind in the trees by the roadside and down came the rain.I put up my umbrella and began to run.We have few "tempests" in Denboro, those we do have are almost worthy of the name.
I had reached the grove of birches perhaps two hundred yards from the Shore Lane when out of the wet darkness before me came plunging a horse drawing a covered carriage.I had sprung to one side to let it go by when I heard a man's voice shouting, "Whoa!" The voice did not come from the carriage but from the road behind it.
"Whoa! Stop him!" it shouted.
I jumped back into the road.The horse saw me appear directly in front of him, shied and reared.The carriage lamps were lighted and by their light I saw the reins dragging.I seized them and held on.It was all involuntary.I was used to horses and this one was frightened, that was all.
"Whoa, boy!" I ordered."Whoa! Stand still!"The horse had no intention of standing still.
He continued to rear and plunge.I, clinging to the reins, found myself running alongside.I had to run to avoid the wheels.But Iran as slowly as I could, and my one hundred and ninety pounds made running, on the animal's part, a much less easy exercise.
The voice from the rear continued to shout and, in another moment, a man seized the reins beside me.Together we managed to pull the horse into a walk.Then the man, whom I recognized as the Colton coachman, vented his feelings in a comprehensive burst of profanity.I interrupted the service.
"What is the matter?" I asked.
"Oh, this blessed--"or words to that effect--"horse is scared of thunder; that's all.He's a new one; we just bought him before we came down here and I hadn't learned his little tricks.Whoa! stand still, or I'll break your dumb neck! Say," turning to me, "go back, will you, and see if she's all right.""Who?"
"Miss Colton--the old man's daughter.She got out when he began to dance and I was holding him by the bridle.Then came that big flash and he broke loose.Go back and see to her, will you? Ican't leave this horse."
For just a moment I hesitated.I am ashamed of my hesitation now, but this is supposed to be a truthful chronicle.Then I went back down the road.By another flash of lightning I saw the minister's umbrella upside down in the bushes where I had dropped it, and Itook it with me.I was about as wet as I well could be but I am glad to say I remembered that the umbrella was a borrowed one.
After I had walked, or stumbled, or waded a little way I stopped and called.
"Miss Colton," I called."Where are you?""Here," came the answer from just ahead."Is that you, Jenkins?"I did not reply until I reached her side.
"You are not hurt?" I asked.
"No, not at all.But who is it?"
"I am--er--your neighbor.Paine is my name.""Oh!" the tone was not enthusiastic."Where is Jenkins?""He is attending to the horse.Pardon me, Miss Colton, but won't you take this umbrella?"This seemed to strike her as a trifle absurd."Why, thank you,"she said, "but I am afraid an umbrella would be useless in this storm.Is the horse all right?""Yes, though he is very much frightened.I--"I was interrupted by another flash and terrific report from directly overhead.The young lady came closer to me.
"Oh!" she exclaimed.
I had an idea.The flash had made our surroundings as light as day for an instant and across the road I saw Sylvanus Snow's old house, untenanted, abandoned and falling to decay.I took Miss Colton's arm.
"Come!" I said.
She hung back."Where are you going?" she asked.
"Just across the road to that old house.On the porch we shall be out of the rain."She made no further objections and together we stumbled through the wet grass and over Sylvanus's weed-grown flower beds.I presume Ishall never again smell the spicy fragrance of "old maids' pinks"without thinking of that night.
I found the edge of the piazza by the direct process of barking my shins against it, and helped her up on to the creaking boards.My sanguine statement that we should be out of the rain proved not quite true.There was a roof above us, but it leaked.I unfurled the wet umbrella and held it over her head.
For some moments after we reached the piazza neither of us spoke.
The roar of the rain on the shingles of the porch and the splash and gurgle all about us would have made conversation difficult, even if we had wished to talk.I, for one, did not.At last she said:
"Do you see or hear anything of Jenkins?"I listened, or tried to.I was wondering myself what had become of the coachman.
"No," I answered, "I don't hear him."
