g, but yet the heavens
showed great lakes of blue, and a broken sunlight lay upon the path.

"There's time enough! We need not go too fast. The path is rough for
that."

They walked in silence, now side by side, now, where the way was
narrow, one before the other. The blue clouded over, there sprang a
wind. The trees bent and shook, the deep glen grew gray and dark.
That wind died and there was a breathless stillness, heated and heavy.
Each heard the other's breathing as they walked.

"Let us go more quickly! We have a long way."

"Will you go back to Mother Binning's?"

"That, too, is far."

They had passed the cave a little way and were in mid-glen. It was
dusk in this narrow pass. The trees hung, shadows in a brooding
twilight; between the close-set pillars of the hills the sky showed
slate-hued, with pallid feathers of cloud driven across. Lightning
tore it, the thunder was loud, the trees upon the hilltops began to
move. Some raindrops fell, large, slow, and warm. The lightning ran
again, blindingly bright; the ensuing thunderclap seemed to shake the
rock. As it died, the cataract sound of the wind was heard among the
ranked trees. The drops came faster, came fast.

"It's no use!" cried Ian. "You'll be drenched and blinded! There's
danger, too, in these tall trees. Come back to the cave and take
shelter!"

He turned. She followed him, breathless, liking the storm--so that no
bolt struck him. In every nerve, in every vein, she felt life rouse
itself. It was like day to old night, summer to one born in winter, a
passion of revival where she had not known that there was anything to
revive. The past was as it were not, the future was as it were not;
all things poured into a tremendous present. It was proper that there
should be storm without, if within was to be this enormous, aching,
happy tumult that was pain indeed, but pain that one would not spare!

Ian parted the swinging briers. They entered the cavern. If it was
dim outside in the glen, it was dimmer here. Then the lightning
flashed and all was lit. It vanished, the light from the air in
conflict with itself. All was dark--then the flash again! The rain now
fell in a torrent.

"At least it is dry here! There is wood, but I have no way to make
fire."

"I am not cold."

"Sit here, upon this ledge. Alexander and I cleared it and widened
it."

She sat down. When he spoke of Alexander she thought of Alexander,
without unkindness, without comparing