He came back bringing the leather upholstered seat, shook the rain from it, and dried it with the help of the fire and his handkerchief—then set it down inside the hut. His face was turned from her; and as he spoke, breaking an awkward silence, his voice was conscious, hurried.
"I'm not going to be gone a minute more than I can help, Miss Vail. It's mighty rough accommodation for you, but there's one consolation at least—you'll be perfectly safe."
Helena seated herself, and held her skirt to the fire.
"Gone!" she said, a little dully. "Where are you going?"
"Why, to get help of course," he told her.
"Help!"—she shook her head. "You don't know where to find any—you only know for a certainty that there isn't any within miles."
"I know there's a house back on the main road," he said. "I noticed it as we came along."
"That's seven or eight miles from here," she returned. "And it's raining harder than ever—mud up to your ankles—it would take you hours to reach it."
"Possibly two, or two and a half," he said lightly.
"Yes; and another two at least to get back. I won't hear of you doing any such thing—you are wet through now. It's far better to wait for daylight and then probably the storm will be over."