“How do you do, Mr. Landholm,” said the one, with a bow.

“O Mr. Winthrop!” cried the other, —­ “what shall we do? we can’t get home, and I’m so frightened! —­”

Winthrop had not time to open his lips, for either civility or consolation, when a phaeton, coming at a furious rate, suddenly pulled up before them, and Mr. Satterthwaite jumped out of it and joined himself to the group.  His business was to persuade Miss Haye to take the empty place in his carriage and escape with him to the shelter of her own house or his father’s.  Miss Haye however preferred getting wet, and walking through the mud, and being blinded with the lightning, all of which alternatives Mr. Satterthwaite presented to her; at least no other conclusion could be drawn, for she very steadily and coolly refused to ride home with him.

“Mr. Landholm,” said Mr. Satterthwaite in desperation, “don’t you advise Miss Haye to agree to my proposition?”

“I never give advice, sir,” said Winthrop, “after I see that people’s minds are made up.  Perhaps Miss Cadwallader may be less stubborn.”

Mr. Satterthwaite could do no other than turn to Miss Cadwallader, who wanted very little urging.

“But Rose!” said her cousin, —­ “you’re not going to leave me alone?”

“No, I don’t,” said Rose.  “I’m sure you’ve got somebody with you; and he’s got an umbrella.”

“Don’t, Rose!” said Elizabeth, —­ “stay and go home with me —­ the storm will be over directly.”

“It won’t —­ I can’t,” said Rose, —­ “It won’t be over this hour, and I’m afraid —­”

And into Mr. Satterthwaite’s phaeton she jumped, and away Mr. Satterthwaite’s phaeton went, with him and her in it.

“You had better step under shelter, Miss Haye,” said Winthrop; “it is beginning to sprinkle pretty fast.”

“No,” said Elizabeth, “I’ll go home —­ I don’t mind it.  I would rather go right home —­ I don’t care for the rain.”

“But you can’t go without the umbrella,” said Winthrop, “and that belongs to me.”

“Well, won’t you go with me?” said Elizabeth, with a look half doubtful and half daunted.

“Yes, as soon as it is safe.  This is a poor place, but it is better than nothing.  You must come in here and have patience till then.”

He went in and Elizabeth followed him, and she stood there looking very doubtful and very much annoyed; eyeing the fast falling drops as if her impatience could dry them up.  The little smithy was black as such a place should be; nothing looked like a seat but the anvil, and that was hardly safe to take advantage of.

“I wish there was something here for you to sit down upon,” said Winthrop peering about, —­ “but everything is like Vulcan’s premises.  It is a pity I am not Sir Walter Raleigh for your behoof; for I suppose Sir Walter didn’t mind walking home without his coat, and I do.”

“He only threw off his cloak,” said Elizabeth.