"No. I shall go and help Hugh with the horses; you had better come too, Walter. We may have some trouble with them."
"Mr. Leslie, you will join us, I hope?" said Rose Saxon, peeping out from between the leaves.
"I think not, Miss Rose. I am hardened, you know; I have camped out in winter storms too many times to dread a July shower. But I insist upon Mr. Gay's going inside. The 'Boston man' will now have an opportunity; he can 'to a wigwam with a squaw go,'" quoted Mr. Leslie, helping the old bachelor under the overhanging branches.
In a few moments the storm was upon them; first a tornado of wind, then intense and almost continuous lightning, followed by heavy rolling thunder. Edith Chase trembled, and buried her face in her hands.
"This war of the elements affects my nerves," whispered Graham to
Sibyl, by whose side he was crouching.
"Does it?" she replied coldly; "I was not aware you were so timid."
Then came the rain, falling in sheets, the drenching torrent of a summer thunder-shower. In spite of the foliage, the wet began to penetrate the wigwam; Sibyl, who sat on the outside of the huddled circle, felt the drops on her shoulder through her light dress.
"Take this coat, Miss Warrington," said Mr. Leslie, stooping down and parting the branches.
"Oh no!" replied Sibyl; "you need it more than I do."
But the coat was thrown around her, and Mr. Leslie was gone before she could remonstrate.