The roar of the rain on the shingles of the porch and the splash and gurgle all about us would have made conversation difficult, even if we had wished to talk.

I, for one, did not.

At last she said: "Do you see or hear anything of Jenkins ?" I listened, or tried to.

I was wondering myself what had become of the coachman.
"No," I answered, "I don't hear him." "Where do you suppose he is?
He could not have been far away when you met him." "He was not.

And I know he intended to come back at once." "You don't suppose Caesar--the horse--ran away again?
When that second crack came ?" I was wondering that very thing.