The master made no movement of avoidance.  “The mare’s going well enough,” he said quietly.  “We’ll draw rein at Red Fields, and then hurry home.  Use your whip and bring her on.”

They paused at Red Fields, then went on to the edge of town.  The forked lightnings were playing and the trees beginning to sway.  “We’ll stop a moment,” Rand said over his shoulder, “at Mr. Mocket’s.”

Door and window of the small house where Tom and Vinie lived were shut against the storm.  Tom was yet in Richmond, and Vinie was afraid of lightning.  In the darkened atmosphere the zinnias and marigolds up and down the path struck a brave note of red and yellow.  The grapevine on the porch was laden with purple bunches that the rising wind bade fair to break and scatter.  Rand dismounted, with a gesture bidding the boy to await him, entered the broken gate, and, walking up the path between the marigolds, knocked upon the closed door.

There was a sound within as of some one rising hastily, an exclamation, and Vinie opened the door.  “I knew ’twas you!  I just said to myself, ‘That ith Mr. Rand’s knock,’ and it was!  Wait, thir, and I’ll make the room light.”

She threw open the closed shutters.  “I’m jutht afraid of lightning when I’m by myself.  How are you, thir?”

“Very well.  Vinie, I want a basin of warm water and soap.”

“Yeth, thir.  The kettle’s on.  I’ll fix it in Tom’s room.”

In the bare little chamber Rand washed the blood from his coat-sleeve.  It was not easy to do, but at last the cloth was clean.  He came out of the room with the basin in his hands.  Vinie, waiting in the little hall, started forward.  “Open the back door,” he said, “and let me throw this out.”  Vinie tried to take the basin.  “I’ll empty it, thir.”  Her eyes fell upon the water.  “You’ve hurt yourself!”

“No,” answered Rand.  “I have not.  It is nothing—­a bit of a cut that I gave myself.”

He pushed the door open and poured out the stained water upon the ground, then took fresh from a bucket standing by and rinsed the basin before he set it down upon the table.  “Vinie—­”

“Yeth, thir.”

“I want a promise from you.”

“Yeth, Mr. Rand.”

“You’ve always been my good friend, ever since long ago when you came from the little house in Richmond to this little house in Charlottesville, and I was reading law with Mr. Henning.  Why, I don’t know what I should do without you and Tom!”

Vinie’s eyes filled.  “I couldn’t—­Tom and me couldn’t—­do without you, Mr. Rand.  You’re our best friend, and we’d die for you, and you know it.  I’ll promise you anything, and I’ll keep my promise.”

“I know that you will.  It’s nothing more than this.  Vinie, I don’t want it known that I stopped here to-day, and I want you to forget—­look at me, Vinie.”

“Yeth, thir.”

“I want you to forget what I asked you for, and what I did in Tom’s room.