"Shall--shall I go for help?" whispered the girl. "Hadn't we better
leave him here and--He doesn't sound like a tramp, does he. What DO you
suppose--"

"I hope you won't be alarmed," continued the voice, broken by panting
pauses, as if the speaker was struggling into a garment. "I know this
must seem strange. You see, I came on the coach as far as Bayport
and then we lost a wheel in a rut. There was a--oh, dear! where IS
that--this is supremely idiotic!--I was saying there happened to be a
man coming this way with a buggy and he offered to help me along. He was
on his way to Wellmouth. So I left my trunk to come later and took my
valise. It rained on the way and I was wet through. I stopped at Captain
Daniels's house and the girl said he had gone with his daughter to the
next town, but that they were to stop here at the parsonage on their
way. So--there! that's right, at last!--so I came, hoping to find them.
The door was open and I came in. The captain and his daughter were not
here, but, as I was pretty wet, I thought I would seize the opportunity
to change my clothes. I had some dry--er--things in my valise and
I--well, then you came, you see, and--I assure you I--well, it was the
most embarrassing--I'm coming now."

The door opened. The two in the sitting room huddled close together,
Keziah holding the broom like a battle-ax, ready for whatsoever might
develop. From the dimness of the tightly shuttered study stepped the
owner of the voice, a stranger, a young man, his hair rumpled, his
tie disarranged, and the buttons of his waistcoat filling the wrong
buttonholes. Despite this evidence of a hasty toilet in semidarkness, he
was not unprepossessing. Incidentally, he was blushing furiously.