She tried to break into a hobbling run, but he held her back. "Better not. You'll only hurt yourself. It isn't raining yet. You're not nervous?"
She laughed a little, breathlessly. "I don't admit it. I should never dare to show the white feather in your presence. Oh, look at that!" She shrank in spite of herself as another intolerable flare darted across the sky.
"We're nearly in," said Green, but his words were drowned in such a volume of sound as made further speech impossible. He awoke to the fact that Juliet was clinging to his arm with both hands, and in a second his free hand was on the top of them holding them tightly.
The thunder rolled away, and a deeper darkness fell. Great drops of rain began to splash around them.
"Quick!" gasped Juliet. "We can't—possibly—reach the house now. There is an arbour—by the garden gate. Let's go there!"
He turned off the road on to a side-path that led to a shrubbery. The rush and roar of the coming rain was sweeping up from the sea. Juliet pressed forward.
Again a jagged line of light gleamed before them. Again the thunder crashed. They found the little gate and the arbour beyond.
"Thank goodness!" gasped Juliet.
She stumbled at the step of the summer-house, and he thrust an arm forward to catch her. He almost lifted her into shelter. The darkness within was complete. She leaned upon him, trembling.
"You're not hurt?" he said.