wetness in heaven. It whipped, it stung, it thrashed; he was drenched
in a moment as though by a trick. He could see nothing, but groped
blind and frightened under it, feeling along the wall with one hand,
still carrying the bronze image by the head with the other. Once he
dropped it, and would have left it, but with an impulse like an
effort of self-respect, he searched for it, groping elbow-deep in the
slush and water, found it, and stumbled on. Another corner presented
itself; he came round it, and almost at once a light showed itself.

It was a slit of brightness below a door, and without a question the
drenched and bewildered Dawson lifted the image and hammered on the
door with it. A hum of voices within abated as he knocked, and there
was silence. He hammered again, and he heard bolts being withdrawn
inside. The door opened slowly, and a man looked out.

"I've lost my way," flustered Dawson pitifully. "I'm wet through, and
I don't know where I am." Even as he spoke the rain was cutting
through his clothes like blades. "Please let me in;" he concluded.
"Please let me in."

The man was backed by the light, and Dawson could see nothing of him
save that he was tall and stoutly made. But he laughed, and opened
the door a foot farther to let him pass in.

"Come in," he bade him. His voice was foreign and high. "Come in. All
may come in to-night."

Dawson entered, leading a trail of water over a floor of bare boards.
His face was running wet, and he was newly dazzled with the light.
But when he had wiped his eyes, he drew a deep breath of relief and