re, every little black window as clear as at noonday; but the
night and the storm added to their tragedy. Flung arching to the black
clouds, the great stone bridge seemed to bear the brunt of the storm. It
caught the full fury of the rushing wind. It lifted its noble crown to
meet the lightnings. Venters thought of the eagles and their lofty nest
in a niche under the arch. A driving pall of rain, black as the clouds,
came sweeping on to obscure the bridge and the gleaming walls and the
shining valley. The lightning played incessantly, streaking down through
opaque darkness of rain. The roar of the wind, with its strange knell
and the re-crashing echoes, mingled with the roar of the flooding rain,
and all seemingly were deadened and drowned in a world of sound.

In the dimming pale light Venters looked down upon the girl. She had
sunk into his arms, upon his breast, burying her face. She clung to him.
He felt the softness of her, and the warmth, and the quick heave of her
breast. He saw the dark, slender, graceful outline of her form. A woman
lay in his arms! And he held her closer. He who had been alone in the
sad, silent watches of the night was not now and never must be again
alone. He who had yearned for the touch of a hand felt the long tremble
and the heart-beat of a woman. By what strange chance had she come to
love him! By what change--by what marvel had she grown into a treasure!

No more did he listen to the rush and roar of the thunder-storm.
For with the touch of clinging hands and the throbbing bosom he grew
conscious of an inward storm--the tingling of new chords of thought,
strange music of unheard, joyous bells sad dreams dawning to wakeful
delight, dissolving doubt, resurging hope, force, fire, and freedom,
unutterable sweetness of desire. A storm in his breast--a storm of real
love.

CHAPTER XIV. WEST WIND

When the storm abated Venters sought his own cave, and late in the
night, as his blood cooled and the stir and throb and thrill subsided,
he fell asleep.

With the breaking of dawn his eyes unclosed. The valley lay drenched
and bathed, a burnished oval of glittering green. The rain-washed walls
glistened in the morning light. Waterfalls of many forms poured over
the rims. One, a broad, lacy sheet, thin as smoke, slid over the western
notch and struck a ledge in its downward fall, to bound into broader
leap, to burst far below into white and gold and rosy mist.

Venters prepared for the day,