"Well, he gave me an awful rowing for not going up to your room
with you when you said you were ill. And when we found you'd gone
we were frightened--and he was awfully upset--so I said I'd catch
you. ... You're NOT ill, are you?"
"Ill? No. Never better." Faxon picked up the lantern. "Come; let's
go back. It was awfully hot in that dining-room," he added.
"Yes; I hoped it was only that."
They trudged on in silence for a few minutes; then Faxon
questioned: "You're not too done up?"
"Oh, no. It's a lot easier with the wind behind us."
"All right. Don't talk any more."
They pushed ahead, walking, in spite of the light that guided
them, more slowly than Faxon had walked alone into the gale. The
fact of his companion's stumbling against a drift gave him a
pretext for saying: "Take hold of my arm," and Rainer, obeying,
gasped out: "I'm blown!"
"So am I. Who wouldn't be?"
"What a dance you led me! If it hadn't been for one of the
servants' happening to see you--"
"Yes: all right. And now, won't you kindly shut up?"