She pointed due east, but now into a gloom that was impenetrable. On the instant the lapping wavelets became breakers, the wind rose to a deafening shriek, throwing Angelique to the ground, and causing even the strong man to reel before it. As soon as he could right himself, he lifted her in his arms and staggered up the slope. Rather, he was almost blown up it and through the open door into the cabin, about which the furnishings were flying wildly. Here the woman recovered herself and lent her aid in closing the door against the tempest, a task that, for a time, seemed impossible. Her next thought was for her dinner-pot, now swaying in the fireplace, up which the draught was roaring furiously. Once the precious stew was in a sheltered corner, her courage failed again, and she sank down beside it, moaning and wringing her hands. “It is the end of the world!” “Angelique!” Her wails ceased. That was a tone of voice she had never disobeyed in all her fifteen years of service. “Yes, Master Hugh?” “Spread some blankets. Brew some herb tea. Get out a change of dry clothing. Make everything ready against I bring Margot in.” She watched him hurrying about, securing all the windows, piling wood on the coals, straightening the disordered furniture, fastening a bundle of kindlings to his own shoulders, putting matches in the pocket of his closely-buttoned coat, and she caught something of his spirit. After all, it was a relief to be doing something, even though the roar of the tempest and the incessant flashes of lightning turned her sick with fear. But it was all too short a task; and when, at last, her master climbed outward through a sheltered rear window, closing it behind him, her temporary courage sank again. “The broken glass! the broken glass! Yet who would dream it is my darling’s bright young life must pay for that and not mine, the old and careworn? Ouch! the blast! That bolt struck--and near! Ah, me! Ah, me!” Meroude rubbed pleadingly against her arm, and, glad of any living companionship, she put out her hand to touch him; but drew it back in dread, for his sur-charged fur sparkled and set her flesh a-tingle, while the whole room grew luminous with an uncanny radiance. Feeling that her own last hour had come, poor Angelique crouched still lower in her corner and began to say her prayers with so much earnestness that she became almost oblivious to the tornado without. Meanwhile, by stooping and clinging to whatever support offered, Hugh Dutton made his slow way beachward. But the bushes uprooted in his clasp and the bowlders slipped by him on this new torrent rushing to the lake. Then he flung himself face downward and cautiously crawled toward the Point of Rocks whereon he meant to make his beacon fire. “She will see it and steer by it,” he reflected; for he would not acknowledge how hopeless would be any human steering under such a stress.