The things were hurriedly packed and everyone hastened over the gorse. They clambered into the wagonette. Across the sky great fleets of black clouds were hurrying and the sound of the thunder was closer at hand. Everything was still, with the immovability of something held by an invisible hand, and the trees seemed to fling black pointing fingers to the black gloomy sky. For a mile they raced the storm, and then it broke upon them. The thunder crashed and the lightning flared across their path, and then the rain came in sheeted floods. What fun for the gods! They cowered back in their seats and not a word was spoken by anyone; the driver lashed his horses along the shining road. Whilst they journeyed, each traveller was asking himself or herself a question. These questions must be recorded, because they will all be answered during the course of this history. Lady Gale’s question. Why did everything go wrong? Mrs. Maradick’s question. Why had a malevolent providence invented Mrs. Lester, and, having invented her, what could James see in her? Mrs. Lester’s question. At what hour that evening should she have her reconciliation scene with her husband and for how long could she manage to spin it out? Alice Du Cane’s question. What was Tony keeping back? Tony’s question. Was Janet afraid of thunder? Maradick’s question. What did it all mean? Mr. Lester’s question. What was the use of being alive at all? Rupert’s question. Why take a new suit to a picnic when it always rained? Mrs. Lawrence’s question. Would the horses run away? The only question that received an immediate answer was Mrs. Lawrence’s, because they didn’t. * * * * * That evening, Maradick went for a moment to the room of the minstrels. The storm was passing. On the horizon there stole a very faint band of gold. Out of the black bank of cloud a star shone, and suddenly there burst from the dark shadows of the fleeing storm a silver crescent moon. The light of it fell on the boards of the floor and then touched faintly the grinning face of the carved lion. THE PROLOGUE IS CONCLUDED PART II PUNCH CHAPTER IX MORELLI BREAKS SOME CROCKERY AND PLAYS A LITTLE MUSIC Punch was in bed asleep, with the bedclothes drawn up to his ears. It had just struck six, and round the corner of the open window the sun crept, flinging a path of light across the floor. Presently it would reach the bed and strike Punch’s nose; Toby, awake and curled up on a mat near the door, watched the light travel across the room and waited for the inevitable moment.