rick's presence dawned behind her
daughter--and her voice--"Why, child, what are you doing there?"--and
her hands seemed apprehensive in their haste to hurry the child away, as
if, truly, in this drawing-room, for the first time, something was
dangerous.

XXI

THE HOUSE OF QUIET

The day which had dawned so still and gloomy was wakening to something
like wildness, threatening, brightening, gusty, when they stepped out of
the train upon the platform of the San Mateo station. Clouds were piling
gray and castle-like from the east up toward the zenith, and dark
fragments kept tearing off the edges and spinning away across the sky.
But between them the bright face of the sun flashed out with double
splendor, and the thinned atmosphere made the sky seem high and far, and
all form beneath it clarified and intense.

There upon the narrow platform Mrs. Herrick hesitated a moment, looking
at Flora. "What train do you want to meet?" she asked.

Flora stood perplexed. "I hardly know. You see I can't tell how soon my
letter would reach--would be received."

"Then we would better meet them all," the elder woman decided.

They drove away into the face of the wet, fresh wind and flying drops of
rain. Flora, leaning back in the carriage, looked out through the window
with quiet eyes. The spirited movement of the sky, the racing of its
shadows on the grass, the rolling foliage of the trees, seen tempestuous
against flying cloud, were alike to her consoling and inspiring. She had
never felt so free as now, driving through the fitful weather, nor so
safe as with this companion who was sitting silent by her side. She was
driving away from all her complications. She was retreating to a fresh
stronghold, where her conflict would be a duel hand to hand, and where
the outside forces, which had harassed her and threatened ignobly to
down her antagonist with a stab in the back, could be held at bay.

Already she was looking toward the house which she had never seen as
her own kindly castle; and the generous opening of its gate--old granite
crowned with rose of sharon--did not disappoint her. The house was
hidden in the swelling trees, but the drive winding beneath them gave
glimpses through of lawns, of roses wreathing scarletly the old gray
fountain basin, of magnolia and acacia, doubly delicate and white and
fragile beneath the thunderous sky.

The house, when finally it loomed upon them, with its irregular roofs
topped by cu