And then quite suddenly deliverance came; she knew not how nor stayed to question whence. She realized only the presence of a power beyond her own, uplifting her, succouring her. She put away the arms that sought to hold her, and even as she did so, there came a sound beyond the dripping of the rain—the sound of a child’s voice singing a little tuneless song to itself out in the darkness. Frances gasped and uttered a cry. “Is that you, child? Is that you?” The song ceased. A child’s voice made reply. “Is that the pretty lady who gives me flowers?” They could not see her, but she was close to them. She had entered the shed and stood before them. “I dreamt I would find you here,” she said. “It was Daniel in the lions’ den at first, then it was you. Why are you in here?” Frances was on her feet. The man behind her never stirred. “I have lost my way, little darling,” she said. “How did you get here in the dark?” “I don’t know the dark,” said the child. “What is dark?” Frances groping, touched and held a small figure standing before her. “Can you take me back, Rosebud?” she said. A tiny hand, full of confidence, found and clasped her own. “I will take you to Tetherstones,” said the child. They went out together, hand in hand, into the dripping darkness. PART II CHAPTER I THE STRANGERS How long she wandered with the child, stumbling through the darkness, Frances never knew. All that she realized and that with a deep thankfulness, was that her guide was quite sure of the way. They spoke but little during the journey, only now and then the child’s voice, sweet and confident, broke the silence with words of encouragement. “I’m so glad I found you. . . . We’re nearly there. . . . Granny has a big fire that you can get dry by. . . . And you can come and sleep in my bed. I can sleep with Aunt Maggie. . . . Are you very tired? We shall soon be there.” And then at last there shone a glare of light in the darkness, and Frances roused herself to speech. “What is that light?” “That is Tetherstones,” said the child. “That is home.” Ah, home! Somehow the words brought the hot tears to Frances’ eyes. She was weak with the long struggle, with the mingled fear and pain and exhaustion of the day. She longed—very desperately she longed—for some safe shelter where she could sink down, and this child spoke to her of home. She could not check her tears. “Never mind!” said the voice at her side. “Don’t cry! We are just there. Here is the gate!” Frances fumbled at it, but the child opened it. They went through together and trod the smooth stones that led to the house.