In process of time, as the war swept hither and thither, there grew a cheerful hope in Madge’s mind that the clouds might be beaten. When all seemed lost and new vapours gathered even to her feet, she saw the upper heaven shine with sudden access of glory. It collected in close, dazzling centres; it pierced and riddled the fog beneath with silver that warmed into gold. And then the earth, that had taken service with storm and lifted her dark bosom to welcome rain--the faithless earth paid court to the conqueror and welcomed him with beauty. No longer she sulked; no longer the tors and hog-backed hills answered the dark strata of the sky with greater darkness, and spread beneath the sullen colours of the clouds a face still more sullen. Instead they donned a brighter aspect; while banderoles of blue unfurled aloft in the widening rents of the cloud rack. A great wind gathered strength, scattered the mists, and drove them flying down the hills; there fell warmth on the watcher’s cheek; the world smoothed out her granite wrinkles, smiled, and reflected the azure of heaven upon her manifold stony faces, her water-ways and plains. Light conquered and upon the skirts of the defeated fog there burnt cold fires and glimmered the iris. This transformation and overthrow of the day’s dark prophecy much heartened Madge. The victory of sunshine lifted her spirits unconsciously. She grew happier with the unfolding serenity of the hour; and she was singing to herself when Bartley Crocker arrived. Of late not seldom they had met unseen in lonely places, far afield. Sometimes she waited for him by the great menhir of Thrushel Coombe; sometimes at Plym Steps; sometimes in spots even more remote, haunted by the heron and the shadows of clouds. But during the past fortnight Margaret had only seen Mr. Crocker on one occasion, when she called to know of his mother’s fading health. Then he made the present appointment; and now, as she sang, he climbed up through the wild clitters of Lether Tor to keep it. "Go on," he said. "I heard you long afore you saw me. ’Tis pleasant to my ear; for nought be singing just now but the robins." "I was cheered somehow when the sun mastered the fog." "How’s Rhoda?" "Very well. She’ll come this way herself presently, by Nosworthy bridge." "Mr. Snell called again?" "Not again. ’Tis a pity you can’t see a bit more of Rhoda, however." "My mother wouldn’t let me out of her sight at the last." "Well I know it, poor dear. How does she find herself to-day, Bartley?" "A bit strange, no doubt; but with my father to show her the new place. She’s dead." "Dead! Oh, Bartley!"