“Yes. I—I supposed you were.”
“Yes, I am. There, good night, Mr. Ellery. All I ask is that you don't think too hardly of uncle. He didn't mean it.”
She turned away now, and it was the minister who detained her.
“I've been thinking,” he said slowly, for in his present state of mind it was a hard thing to say, “that perhaps I ought to apologize, too. I'm afraid I did disturb your service and I'm sorry. I meant well, but—What's that? Rain?”
There was no doubt about it; it was rain and plenty of it. It came in a swooping downpour that beat upon the trees and bushes and roared upon the roof of the chapel. The minister hurriedly raised his umbrella.
“Here!” he cried, “let me—Miss Van Horne! Where are you?”
The answer came from a short distance down the “Turn-off.”
“Good night,” called the girl. “I must run.”
Evidently, she WAS running. Therefore the young man ran after her. He caught up with her in a moment, in spite of some stumbles over the rough road.
“Here!” he commanded, “you must take the umbrella. Really, you must. You haven't one and you'll be wet through.”