Of course if they thought it an elopement, they might not take that trouble. They might be merely waiting and conjecturing.
If only Cousin Jim had not returned to New York! He was so kind and concerned that he would be searching. There would be a chance of his understanding. But Cousin Jane—what would she believe?
Cousin Jane had seen Johnny draw her significantly back.
At her folly of the afternoon she looked back with horror. How bold she had been in that new American freedom! Mamma had warned her—dear Mamma so far away, so innocent of this terrible disgrace. . . .
Wildly she plunged on through the dark, hoping always for a path but finding nothing but rough wilderness. She knew no landmarks to guide her, but down she went determinedly, down, down continually.
An hour had passed. Perhaps two hours. The sky had grown blacker and blacker. There were occasional gusts of rain. The wind that had been threshing the tree tops blew with increasing fury.
Jagged tridents of lightning flashed before her eyes. Thunder followed almost instantly, great crashing peals that seemed to be rending the heavens.
Maria Angelina felt as if the splinters must fall upon her. It was like the voice of judgment.
On she went, down, down, through a darkness that was chaos lit by lightning. Rain came, in a torrent of water, heavy as lead, drenching her to the skin. Her hair had streamed loose and was plastered about her face, her throat, her arms. A strand like a wet rope wound about her wrist and delayed her. Often she slipped and fell.
Still down. But if she should find the Lodge, what then? What would they think of her, wet, torn, disheveled, an outcast of the night?