Then, suddenly, she was carried out—in no other way could she describe it afterwards—out of the stress and the battle on a wave of very pure and perfect compassion into the heart of a radiance before which even the radiance of the fullest sunlight would be as a rush candle. And into that infinite radiance came too the deadly hatred, the unspeakable malice, the craving for revenge, the bitterness, the rebellion—came and was swallowed up, purified, transmuted. In a great and glorious moment she knew that the Force was one and the same, and that it is the motive power behind which makes it Good or Evil. Then the outside storm concentrated and fell in one overwhelming crash. The house rocked, and rocked again. Ruth, mechanically stepping forward, caught in her arms a body which fell against her almost like a paper shell. Very swiftly she carried it out into the hall. Her normal senses were suddenly again acute; they worked quickly. And on the stair, infinitely to her relief, appeared the shining polished countenance of Miss McCox. Her attire defied description, and in her hands she held, one in each, at the carry, the proverbial poker and tongs. Behind her came Gladys, open-mouthed, dishevelled, likewise fully armed, and accomplishing a weird sound which appeared to be a combination of weeping and giggling. Ruth struggled with delightful and inextinguishable laughter, which she felt might very easily degenerate into hysterics, for she was shaking in every limb. “No, no; it is not burglars!” she said. “Put those things down, and take Mrs. Riversley. She has been walking in her sleep, and I am afraid has fainted. You know what to do. I must telephone the doctor.” In her mind was the immediate necessity of dealing with that sinister bonfire before it could work damage, also before any eyes but her own should see it. The lighted wick had fallen on to papers sprinkled with the oil, and already, when she returned to the sitting-room, little tongues of flame were alight and a thin pillar of smoke crowned its apex. She dealt swiftly with it with the heavy rugs luckily to her hand, and when the creeping fire was crushed out and stifled she put the injured remains of treasured books and ornaments hurriedly into the drawers of the big bookcase. The damage to the carpet there was no possibility of concealing, and after a moment of thought she took one of the charred logs, black and burnt out, and scattered it where the pile had been. Then she took the wick in which the light still burned, true symbol of the Life Eternal, and restored it and the lamp to its own place, drew back the curtains, and opened the great window looking south.