She hurried on; but the storm moved more rapidly than she, and just as she turned into the avenue she felt the splash of a large raindrop in her face. She attempted to raise her umbrella, but a sudden squall of wind nearly wrenched it from her grasp, and, becoming convinced it would be impossible to hold it against the now shrieking blast, she made no more effort to raise it, but ran on—the rain falling more heavily every moment.
By the time she sprang up the steps into the shelter of the veranda, she was thoroughly drenched. Morton met her there, just about to go in search of her, with a waterproof and overshoes, and cried,—
"Why, Sara, how wet you are!"
"Yes," she shivered, "I'm drenched," and hurried on and up to her room without more words.
By the time she was disrobed, however, that same sensation, as of utter weariness, came over her, and she concluded to retire for the night, telling Molly—who soon came up—that she was tired and thought she had better get some rest.
"I've been to supper," she added; "and Molly, tell Morton when he goes to the store, to-night, that I'd like him to do an errand at Mrs. Searle's for me, on the way. Just hand me a sheet of paper and a pen, dear."
"Won't it do in the morning, Sara? You look so tired!"
"No, to-morrow's Sunday, you know, and this is something that must be attended to before anything happens."
She took the writing materials from Molly, and wrote the explanation and request in regard to Bertha, then folding it with a listless gesture, handed it to her sister.
"Don't let him forget—it's important," she said wearily. "Molly, I'm so cold, can't I have another blanket?"