rstood what was missing. The fire was out.

The fact went home to her with an inexplicable shock. She had become so
accustomed to seeing the bright, cheerful blaze at the cavern mouth that
its absence was like a little tragedy in itself. Always it had been the
last vista of her closing eyes as she dropped off to sleep--the soft,
warm glow of the coals--and the sight always comforted her. She could
scarcely remember the morning that it wasn't crackling cheerily when she
wakened. Ben had always been so considerate of her in this
regard--removing the chill of the cave with its radiating heat to make
it comfortable for her to dress. Not even coals were left now--only
ashes, gray as death.

She got up, then walked to the cavern maw. For a moment she stood
peering into the gloom, one hand resting against the portals of stone.
The twilight was already deep. It was the supper hour and past; dark
night was almost at hand. There could be no further doubt of Ben's
absence. He was not at the little creek getting water, nor did she hear
the ring of his axe in the forest. She wondered if he had gone out on
one of his scouting expeditions and had not yet returned. Of course this
was the true explanation; she had no real cause to worry.

Likely enough he had little desire to return to the cavern now. She
could picture him following at his tireless pace one of the winding
woods trails, lost in contemplation, his vivid eyes clouded with
thought.

She looked up for the sight of the familiar stars that might guide him
home. They were all hidden to-night. Not a gleam of light softened the
stark gloom of the spruce. As she watched the first drops of rain fell
softly on the grass.

The drops came in ever-increasing frequency, cold as ice on her hand.
She heard them rustling in the spruce boughs; and far in the forest she
discerned the first whine of the wakening wind. The sound of the rain
was no longer soft. It swelled and grew, and all at once the wind caught
it and swept it into her face. And now the whole forest moaned and
soughed under the sweep of the wind.

There is no sound quite like the beat of a hard rain on dense forest. It
has no startling discords, but rather a regular cadence as if the wood
gods were playing melodies in the minor on giant instruments,--melodies
remembered from the first, unhappy days of the earth and on instruments
such as men have never seen. But this was never a melody to fill the
heart with joy. It to