"It is I who thank you. What was hard as death you have made easy. I had thought the lady to whom Jeremy Langdon gave his heart the luckiest creature ever born--now I think him that luckiest one." The grave grace with which he had bent to kiss her hand made of the formal salutation an accolade--"My homage to you, Jerry's Janie!" A quick salute, and he had turned on his heel, swinging off down the flagged path with that swift, easy stride--past the sun-dial--past the lily-pond--past the beech-trees--gone! For hours and hours after he had passed out of sight she had sat staring after him, her hands lying quite still in her lap--staring, staring--they had found her there when they came back, sitting where Rosemary was seated now. Why, there, on those same steps, a bare six months ago--Something snapped in her head, and she stumbled to her feet, clinging to the arm of her chair. "I can't _stand_ it!" she gasped. "No, no, it's no use--I can't, I tell you. I--" Rosemary's arm was about her--Mrs. Langdon's soft voice in her ears--a deeper note from Rosemary's engineer. "Oh, I say, poor girl! What is it, dear child--what's the matter? Is it the heat, Janie?" "The heat!" She could hear herself laughing--frantic, hateful, jangling laughter that wouldn't stop. "Oh, Jerry! Oh-h, Jerry, Jerry, Jerry!" "It's this ghastly day. Let me get her some water, Mrs. Langdon. Don't cry so, Janie--please, please don't, darling." "I c-can't help it--I c-can't----" She paused, listening intently, her hand closing sharply over Rosemary's wrist. "Oh, listen, listen--there it comes again--I told you so!" "Thank Heaven," murmured Mrs. Langdon devoutly, "I thought that it never was going to rise this evening. It's from the south, too, so I suppose that it means rain." "Rain?" repeated Janet vaguely. "Why in the world should it mean rain?" Her small, pale face looked suddenly brilliant and enchanted, tilted up to meet the thunderous music that was swinging nearer and nearer. "Oh, do listen, you people! This time it's surely going to land!" Rosemary stared at her blankly. "Land? What _are_ you talking about, Janie?" "My airplane--the one that you said was the fat Hodges boy on a motorcycle! Is there any place near here that it can make a landing?" "Darling child--" Mrs. Langdon's gentle voice was gentler than ever-- "darling child, it's this wretched heat. There isn't any airplane, dear--it's just the wind rising in the beeches." "The wind?" Janet laughed aloud--they really were too absurd. "Why, Mrs. Langdon, you can hear the _engines_, if you'll only listen! You can hear them, can't you, Mr. Bain?" The young engineer shook his head. "No plane would risk flying with this storm coming, Miss Abbott. There's been thunder for the last hour or so, and it's getting nearer, too. It's only the wind, I think."