to speak with her and assure her of his sympathy, and yet he was equally
conscious that she would reject it.

When the boat reached the Alameda wharf she slipped away with the other
passengers. He wandered about the hotel garden and the main street in
the hope of meeting her again, although he was instinctively conscious
that she would not follow the lines of the usual Sunday sight-seers, but
had her own destination. He penetrated the depths of the Alameda, and
lost himself among its low, trailing oaks, to no purpose. The hope of
the morning had died within him; the fire of adventure was quenched, and
when the clouds gathered with a rising wind he felt that the promise of
that day was gone. He turned to go back to the ferry, but on consulting
his watch he found that he had already lost so much time in his devious
wanderings that he must run to catch the last boat. The few drops that
spattered through the trees presently increased to a shower; he put up
his umbrella without lessening his speed, and finally dashed into the
main street as the last bell was ringing. But at the same moment a
slight, graceful figure slipped out of the woods just ahead of him, with
no other protection from the pelting storm than a handkerchief tied over
her hat, and ran as swiftly toward the wharf. It needed only one glance
for Randolph to recognize Miss Avondale. The moment had come, the
opportunity was here, and the next instant he was panting at her side,
with the umbrella over her head.

The girl lifted her head quickly, gave a swift look of recognition, a
brief smile of gratitude, and continued her pace. She had not taken
his arm, but had grasped the handle of the umbrella, which linked them
together. Not a word was spoken. Two people cannot be conversational or
sentimental flying at the top of their speed beneath a single umbrella,
with a crowd of impatient passengers watching and waiting for them.