And in the sallow glow of that pleasant lantern-light little Eve
Edgarton sat cross-legged on the ground with a great pulpy clutter of
rain-soaked magazines spread out all around her like a giant's pack of
cards. And diagonally across her breast from shoulder to waistline her
little gray flannel shirt hung gashed into innumerable ribbons.

To Barton's blinking eyes she looked exceedingly strange and untidy.
But nothing seemed to concern little Eve Edgarton except that
spreading circle of half-drowned papers.

"For Heaven's sake--wha--ght are you--do'?" mumbled Barton.

Out from her flickering aura of yellow lantern-light little Eve
Edgarton peered forth quizzically into Barton's darkness. "Why--I'm
trying to save--my poor dear--books," she drawled.

"Wha--ght?" struggled Barton. The word dragged on his tongue
like a weight of lead. "Wha--ght?" he persisted desperately.
"Wh--ere?--For--Heaven's sake--wha--ght's the matter--with us?"

Solicitously little Eve Edgarton lifted a soggy magazine-page to the
lantern's warm, curving cheek.

"Why--we're in my cave," she confided. "In my very own--cave--you
know--that I was headed for--all the time. We got--sort of--struck by
lightning," she started to explain. "We--"

"Struck by--lightning?" gasped Barton. Mentally he started to jump up.
But physically nothing moved. "My God! I'm paralyzed!" he screamed.