"And on an empty stummick!" Jan-an had a sympathetic twinge. "Yes," again Mary-Clare whispered and smiled. "Noreen, you go on sopping her face--I'm going to get something hot." And while Noreen bathed and soothed the face upon the pillow into consciousness and reason, Jan-an made a fire on the hearth, carried water from a spring outside, and brought forth tea and some little cakes from the cupboard. The girl's face was transfigured; she was thinking, thinking, and it hurt her to think consecutively--but she thought on. "Norrie darling, I am all right. Quite all right." At last Mary-Clare was able to assert herself; she rose unsteadily and Jan-an sprang to her side. "Lay down," she commanded in a new and almost alarming tone. "Can't yer see, yer must hold on ter yerself a spell? Let me take the lead--I know, I know!" And Mary-Clare realized that she did! Keenly the two gazed at each other, Eve's two children! Mary-Clare sank back; her face quivered; her eyes filled with weak tears. Outside the darkness of the coming storm pressed close, the wind was straining at the leash, the lightning darted and the thunder rolled. "The storm," murmured Mary-Clare, "the storm! It is the breaking up of summer!" The stale cakes and the hot tea refreshed the three, and after an hour Mary-Clare seemed quite herself. She went to the door and looked out into the heart of the storm. The red lightning ran zigzag through the blackness. It seemed like the glad summer, mad with fear, seeking a way through the sleet and rain. Bodily bruised and weary, mentally exhausted and groping, Mary-Clare still felt that strange freedom she had experienced while Larry was devastating all that she had believed in, and for which she had given of her best. She felt as one must who, escaping from an overwhelming flood, looks upon the destruction and wonders at her own escape. But she _had_ escaped! That became, presently, the one gripping fact. She had escaped and she would find safety somewhere. The late sunset after the storm was glorious. The clear gold that a mighty storm often leaves in its wake was like a burnished shield. The breeze was icy in its touch; the bared trees startled one by the sudden change in their appearance--the gale had torn their colour and foliage from them. Starkly they stood forth against the glowing sky. And then Mary-Clare led the way down the trail--her leaf-strewn, hidden trail. She held Noreen's hand in hers but she leaned upon Jan-an. As they descended Mary-Clare planned. "When we get home, Jan-an, home to the yellow house, I want you to go for Peneluna." From all the world, Mary-Clare desired the old understanding woman. "I guess you mean Aunt Polly," Jan-an suggested. "No. To-morrow, Aunt Polly, Jan-an. To-day I want Peneluna." "All right." Jan-an nodded. "And, Noreen dear." "Yes, Motherly." "Everything is all right. I had a--queer fall. It was quite dark in the cabin--I hit my face on the edge of the table. And, Noreen."