[Illustration:  “Aided by Mr. Tredgold and a peal of thunder, she managed to clamber over.”]

The roof leaked in twenty places and the floor was a puddle, but it had certain redeeming features in Mr. Tredgold’s eyes of which the girl knew nothing.  He stood at the doorway watching the rain.

“Come inside,” said Miss Drewitt, in a trembling voice.  “You might be struck.”

Mr. Tredgold experienced a sudden sense of solemn pleasure in this unexpected concern for his safety.  He turned and eyed her.

“I’m not afraid,” he said, with great gentleness.

“No, but I am,” said Miss Drewitt, petulantly, “and I can never get over that gate alone.”

Mr. Tredgold came inside, and for some time neither of them spoke.  The rattle of rain on the roof became less deafening and began to drip through instead of forming little jets.  A patch of blue sky showed.

“It isn’t much,” said Tredgold, going to the door again.

Miss Drewitt, checking a sharp retort, returned to the door and looked out.  The patch of blue increased in size; the rain ceased and the sun came out; birds exchanged congratulations from every tree.  The girl, gathering up her wet skirts, walked to the gate, leaving her companion to follow.

Approached calmly and under a fair sky the climb was much easier.

“I believe that I could have got over by myself after all,” said Miss Drewitt, as she stood on the other side.  “I suppose that you were in too much of a hurry the last time.  My dress is ruined.”

She spoke calmly, but her face was clouded.  From her manner during the rapid walk home Mr. Tredgold was enabled to see clearly that she was holding him responsible for the captain’s awkward behaviour; the rain; her spoiled clothes; and a severe cold in the immediate future.  He glanced at her ruined hat and the wet, straight locks of hair hanging about her face, and held his peace.

Never before on a Sunday afternoon had Miss Drewitt known the streets of Binchester to be so full of people.  She hurried on with bent head, looking straight before her, trying to imagine what she looked like.  There was no sign of the captain, but as they turned into Dialstone Lane they both saw a huge, shaggy, grey head protruding from the small window of his bedroom.  It disappeared with a suddenness almost startling.

“Thank you,” said Miss Drewitt, holding out her hand as she reached the door.  “Good-bye.”

Mr. Tredgold said “Good-bye,” and with a furtive glance at the window above departed.  Miss Drewitt, opening the door, looked round an empty room.  Then the kitchen door opened and the face of Mr. Tasker, full of concern, appeared.

“Did you get wet, miss?” he inquired.

Miss Drewitt ignored the question.  “Where is Captain Bowers?” she asked, in a clear, penetrating voice.

The face of Mr. Tasker fell.  “He’s gone to bed with a headache, miss,” he replied.