“Can't—can't we go together?”
“We could, of course, but there is no use in your getting wetter than you are. If you are willing to stay here I will run up the road and see if I can find him.”
“Thank you. But you will get wet yourself.”
“Oh, I am wet already. Take the umbrella. I'll be back in a minute.”
I pressed the handle of the umbrella into her hand—it was as steady as mine—and darted out into the flood. I think she called me to come back, but I did not obey. I ran up the road until I was some distance beyond the point where I had stopped the runaway, but there were no signs of horse, carriage or coachman. I called repeatedly, but got no reply. Then, reluctantly, I gave it up and returned to the porch.
She gave a little gasp of relief when I reached her side.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, “did you find him?”
“No,” I answered. “He seems to have gone on. He cannot have gone far. It is only a little way to the Corners.”
“Is—isn't there a house, a house with people living in it, near this place?”
“No nearer than your house, Miss Colton. We seem to have chosen the most forsaken spot in Denboro to be cast away in. I am very sorry.”