Look back, Mr.Elemere; the rain has beaten us!' He looked back and saw the great Pike over Shanmoor village blotted out in a moving deluge of rain.

The quarry opposite on the mountain side gleamed green and livid against the ink-black fell; some clothes hanging out in the field below the church flapped wildly hither and thither in the sudden gale, the only spot of white in the prevailing blackness; children with their petticoats over their heads ran homeward along the road the walking party had just quitted; the stream beneath, spreading broadly through the fields, shivered and wrinkled under the blast.

Up it came and the rain mists with it.

In another minute the storm was beating in their faces.
'Caught!' cried Elsmere, in a voice almost of jubilation.

'Let me help you into your cloak, Miss Leyburn.' He flung it around her and struggled into his own Mackintosh.