In a flash Hayward was in the clutch of the old terror.
"She did not know, then," he thought. "She was unconscious, and did not give herself to me." Again he was on the rack, all his doubts and fears and jealousies a-surge, but maddened and fired by the memory, the lingering perfume, of her smooth cheek and warm lips.
"How long must we stay here?" Helen asked, starting up.
"Until the storm is over, at the least. They may send after us when we do not arrive on time. I cannot leave you here, or I would go after help now."
"No! you must not leave me here! We will wait till help comes or until—I can go with you. Do you think it will be long?"
Hayward went to the little door and surveyed the heavens.
"Another storm seems to be headed this way," he said. "If that strikes us there's no telling when we will get away. We are perfectly safe here, however. This cabin is built back against the hill and there are no trees near enough to fall on us."
"Were you hurt?" asked Helen abruptly, for the first time thinking of the dangers they had gone through as dangers.
"Nothing worth reporting," said Hayward in order to allay her fears. It was a lie well told, for he had a decidedly caved-in feeling about his ribs.
"You saved my life again—this time at risk of your own. When the carriage was crushed I thought that I—oh, it is too horrible!" She trembled violently.