The merrymakers scattered like flies--into the house, into the tower, into the sheds and stables in the court behind, under the trees in front--anywhere out of the hall, where shelter was none from the perpendicular, abandoned down-pour.
At that moment, Letty was dancing with Tom, and her hand happened to be in his.

He clasped it tight, and, as quickly as the crowd and the confusion of shelter-seeking would permit, led her to the door of the tower already mentioned.

But many had run in the same direction, and already its lower story and stair were crowded with refugees--the elder bemoaning the sudden change, and folding tight around them what poor wraps they were fortunate enough to have retained; the younger merrier than ever, notwithstanding the cold gusts that now poked their spirit-arms higher and thither through the openings of the half-ruinous building: to them even the destruction of their finery was but added cause of laughter.

But a few minutes before, its freshness had been a keen pleasure to them, brightening their consciousness with a rare feeling of perfection; now crushed and rumpled, soiled and wet and torn, it was still fuel to the fire of gayety.

But Tom did not stay among them.