"And I can carry you," he said--and, from the step, gathered her into
his arms.

And then, as she lay there passively at first, she seemed to sense again
that curious diffidence, that gentleness, like the touch upon her throat
of a little while ago, though now he held her in both his arms. How
strong he was--and, oh, how miserably wet--her hand around his shoulder
felt the thin shirt clinging soggily to his arm. Yes; she was glad he
hadn't let her walk--it wasn't far, but she would have had to force her
way continually through bushes that scattered showers from their
dripping leaves, and underfoot she could hear his boots squash through
the mud. And then suddenly it happened--the trees, just a yard or so
from the fire, were thick together, tangled--she bent her head quickly,
instinctively, to avoid a low-hanging branch as he for the same reason
swerved a little--and their cheeks lay close-pressed against each
other's, her hair sweeping his forehead, their lips mingling one
another's breaths. He seemed to stumble--then his arms closed about her
in a quick, fierce pressure, clasping her, straining her to him--relaxed
as suddenly--and then he had set her down inside the shelter he had
built.

Quick her breath was coming now, and across the fire for a moment she
met his eyes. His face was gray, and his hands at his sides were
clenched.

"I'll--I'll get the seat out of the car," he said hoarsely. "It will
help to make things more comfortable." And turning abruptly, he started
back for the road again.

Helena did not move. Mechanically her eyes took in the little hut,