"Yes, of course, it's the heat," she said quietly. She must be
careful not to frighten them, these kind ones. "If you don't mind,
Mrs. Langdon, I think that I'll go down to the gate to watch the
storm burst. No, please, don't any of you come--I'll promise to
change everything if I get caught--yes, everything! I won't be long;
don't wait for me."

She walked sedately enough until she came to the turn in the path,
but after that she ran, only pausing for a minute to listen
breathlessly. Oh, yes--following, following, that gigantic music!
How he must be laughing at her now--blind, deaf, incredulous little
fool that she had been, to doubt that Jerry would find a way! But
where could he land? Not in the garden--not at the gates--oh, now
she had it--the far meadow. She turned sharply; it was dark, but the
path must be here. Yes, this was the wicket gate; her groping
fingers were quite steady--they found the latch--released it--the
gate swung to behind her flying footsteps. "Oh, Jerry, Jerry!" sang
her heart. Why hadn't she worn the rose-coloured frock? It was she
who would be a ghost in that trailing white thing. To the right
here--yes, there was the hawthorn hedge--only a few steps more--oh,
now! She stood as still as a small statue, not moving, not breathing,
her hands at her heart, her face turned to the black and torn sky.
Nearer, nearer, circling and darting and swooping--the gigantic
humming grew louder--louder still--it swept about her thunderously,
so close that she clapped her hands over her ears, but she stood her
ground, exultant and undaunted. Oh, louder still--and then suddenly
the storm broke. All the winds and the rains of the world were
unleashed, and fell howling and shrieking upon her, she staggered
under their onslaught, drenched to the bone, her dress whipping
frantically about her, blinded and deafened by that tumultuous