clamour. She had only one weapon against it--laughter--and she
laughed now--straight into its teeth. And as though hell itself must
yield to mirth, the fury wavered--failed--sank to muttering. But
Janie, beaten to her knees and laughing, never even heard it die.

"Jerry?" she whispered into the darkness, "Jerry?"

Oh, more wonderful than wonder, he was there! She could feel him stir,
even if she could not hear him--so close, so close was he that if she
even reached out her hand, she could touch him. She stretched it out
eagerly, but there was nothing there--only a small, remote sound of
withdrawal, as though some one had moved a little.

"You're afraid that I'll be frightened, aren't you?" she asked
wistfully. "I wouldn't be--I wouldn't--please come back'"

He was laughing at her, she knew, tender and mocking and caressing;
she smiled back, tremulously.

"You're thinking, 'I told you so!' Have you come far to say it to me?"

Only that little stir--the wind was rising again.

"Jerry, come close--come closer still. What are you waiting for,
dear and dearest?"

This time there was not even a stir to answer her; she felt suddenly
cold to the heart. What had he always waited for?

"You aren't waiting--you aren't waiting to go?" She fought to keep