She made an instinctive
clutch at her companion and instantly her hand was caught fast in his.
He drew her arm close under his own, and she did not resist him. There
was something reassuring in his touch.
Later she wondered if they spoke at all during that terrible walk. She
could never recall a word on either side. And yet, though in a measure
frightened, she was not panic-stricken.
The storm was beginning to subside a little before they reached
Redlands, though the rain still fell heavily. In the intervals between
the lightning it was pitch dark. They had no lantern, but Nick was
undismayed. He walked as lightly and surely as a cat, and Muriel
had no choice but to trust herself unreservedly to his guidance. She
marvelled afterwards at the complete trust with which that night he
had managed to inspire her, but at the time she never questioned it.
Yet when the lights of Redlands shone at last through the gloom, she
breathed a sigh of relief. Instantly Nick spoke.
"Well done!", he said briefly. "You are your father's daughter still."
She knew that she flushed in the darkness, and was glad that he could
not see her face.
"You must go and get dry, first of all," he went on. "I told them to
light a fire somewhere. And you are to have some coffee too. Mind, I
say it.
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