The rain came steadily in a drizzle. She could feel her dress growing
damp around her knees--and she shivered a little. How strangely
wonderful the rain-beads looked on their background of green leaves
where the lamps played upon them--they seemed to catch and hold and
reflect back the light in a quick, passing procession of clear,
sparkling crystals. But it was raining more heavily now, wasn't it? The
drops were no longer clinging to the leaves, they were spattering dull
and lustrelessly to the ground. And Thornton seemed suddenly to be in
trouble--he was bending down working at something. How jerkily the car
was moving! And now it stopped.

Thornton swung out of his seat to the ground.

"It's all right!" he called out reassuringly. "I'll have it fixed in a
minute."

It was muddy enough now, and the ruts, holding the rain, were regular
wheel-traps. Apart from any other trouble, Thornton did not like the
prospect--and, away from Helena now, his face was serious. He cranked
the engine--no result. He tried it again with equal futility--then,
going to the tool-box, he took out his electric flashlight, and, lifting
the engine hood, began to peer into the machinery. Everything seemed all
right. He tried the crank again--the engine, like some cold, dead thing,
refused to respond.

"What's the matter?" Helena asked him from the car.

"I don't know," Thornton answered lightly. "I haven't found out yet--but
don't you worry, it's nothing serious. I'll have it in a jiffy."