ed and stood shaking, his heart pounding so that Lance felt its
tremulous tattoo against his thigh. The rumbling after-note of the
thunder seemed like silence.

"It struck close. That shed--look!" Lance's voice was no longer the
voice of the young male whose love would override Fate itself. It was
the voice of the man who will meet emergencies quietly, unflinchingly,
and soothe the woman's fear. "Don't be afraid--it's all right,
sweetheart."

He forced Coaley to go on. He smiled at Mary Hope's pallor, he
reassured her as they neared her home. A shed, sufficiently detached
to keep its fire to itself, was blazing. The wind puffed suddenly from
nowhere and waved the high, yellow flames like torn ribbons. Great
globules of water splashed upon them from the pent torrent above.
Coaley galloped through the gate, passed the house, shied at something
lying on the ground, stopped abruptly when Lance pulled sharply on the
bit.

"Girl--sweetheart--_be game!_" Lance said sternly when Mary Hope
screamed.

He let her to the ground, swung off and passed her, running to the
pitifully still little figure of Mother Douglas lying in the pathway,
her checked apron flapping, its starchy stiffness showing limp dark
spots where the raindrops splashed.

"She's only shocked. She's all right--_stop that screaming!_ Good God,
girl, where's your nerve?"

His severity steadied her. Mary Hope stopped screaming, both hands
held tightly over her mouth. Lance was already on his way to the
house, carrying Mother Douglas like a sleeping child in his arms. And
the rain came, a white curtain of water that drenched them to the skin
in the first ten seconds.

On the bed where Aleck Douglas had stared at the ceiling, and raved,
and died, Lance laid her carefully as though he feared to waken her.
He tore open the faded calico dress at the throat, laid his ear upon
her heart.

"She's alive, sweetheart," he said hearteningly. "It's only a shock.
Bring a basin of water. We'll have her all right in no time."

He worked over the old woman, using all the means he could remember or
invent, while the house shook with the fury of the wind, and the
lightning dazzled them and the rain drummed incessantly on the roof.
Mary Hope watched him, her eyes wide, her lips refusing to form any
words. For her own sake he sent her on many little errands, kept her
busy at useless little tasks. After what seemed an interminable time
he stood looking down at the gently heav