The group of men came into her line of vision, moving across the flat land between the house and the ocean. She sat crouched, watching with set jaw. Presently they dropped over the edges of the cliffs, then inarticulate surges of prayer rose in her, blind pleadings; and, her hands clasped against her breast, she rocked back and forth as if in unassuagable pain. But they always reappeared without him, went down again, came up, scrambling through the stony mouths of ravines--always without him. When they returned to the house, she fell back in the chair, her eyes closed, whispering broken words of thanksgiving. With her breath and her voice under control she went down-stairs. She knew now that he must be in the house. After lunch she drifted out on the balcony with the others and from there saw Bassett and the two officers of the law go down the path to the pine grove. Following Sybil’s movements on the Point--that would take them some time. Mrs. Cornell said she was going to the kitchen to help Miss Pinkney (if it wasn’t for that work she thought she’d go crazy), and she advised Anne to go up-stairs and lie down. “You look like the wrath of God, honey,” she said, hooking her hand through Anne’s arm and drawing her with her. “You can’t sleep, no one expects that of you. But stretch out on the bed and relax--you get some sort of rest that way.” Anne went with her, Mrs. Cornell’s step dropping to a crawling pace as they crossed the living-room, her arm drawing Anne closer, her hearty voice dwindled to a whisper: “Do you know anything?” “No, how should I?” “I listen all I can but they’re as tight as clams when we’re around. I think they’ve got a hungry sort of look as if they were on some trail. Haven’t you noticed it?” Anne hadn’t noticed anything. “Well, I have. I sit there slumped together and acting helpless, but I’m not like the Foolish Virgins--my lamps are lit.” “Do you think they have any one in mind?” “They have two, dearie, as we all have.” They had reached the door and she opened it warily. “And one moment I’m thinking it’s one and the next moment I’m thinking it’s the other and the third moment I’m thinking it’s neither of them.” They passed through the doorway and went down the hall, stopping at the foot of the stairs. Mrs. Cornell offered a last consoling word: “You can be thankful for one thing, Anne, Joe’s not being here.” “Joe?” “Oh, I’m not saying he had anything to do with it. But these cases--you read about them in the papers. Every little thing traced up. And she and Joe having been at loggerheads they’d be pouncing on that--not telling you anything, sending up your blood pressure with their questions. You’re spared that and it’s worth keeping your mind on. Nothing so bad but what it might be worse.”