CHAPTER XXVI.
A pall of swiftly enveloping blackness closed about the toll-house and its surroundings, which had been revealed for one short space.
The girl started back with a sharp cry, wrung from her in surprise and consternation at the sudden apparition she had beheld, while the Squire, naturally mistook her perturbation for fear of the storm.
"Come! don't be afraid, my dear, you are quite safe," he said, soothingly, striving clumsily at the words to slip his arm about her waist. But she adroitly avoided the movement and retreated toward the door of the toll-house.
"Hurry home!" she cried anxiously, thinking rather of ridding herself of his presence, than of entertaining a fear for his safety. "The storm is near at hand."
"It's a good deal bluster," answered the Squire calmly, after a critical glance heavenward, "It may not rain at all. I hope it may not, as to-morrow's our wedding—only think of that, chickie, our wedding day!"
"Hurry home!" repeated Sally, faintly, scarcely knowing what she was saying, and only desirous of hastening his departure, and ridding herself of his hateful presence—doubly hateful at this moment. There was a touch of very entreaty in her voice.
"I thought you were going to ride with me a little way," remonstrated the Squire in disappointed tones. "You said you were."