a little sob. So swiftly had darkness gathered that Philip could
no longer see her, except where her face made a pale shadow in the
gloom, but he could feel the tremble of her body against him. Was
it only this morning that he had first seen her, he asked himself?
Was it not a long, long time ago, and had she not in that time
become, flesh and soul, a part of him? He put out his arms. Warm
and trembling and unresisting in that thick gloom she lay within
them. His soul rose in a wild ecstasy and rode on the wings of the
storm. Closer he held her against his breast, and he said:

"Nothing can hurt you, dear. Nothing--nothing--"

It was a simple and meaningless thing to say--that, and only
that. And yet he repeated it over and over again, holding her
closer and closer until her heart was throbbing against his own.
"Nothing can hurt you. Nothing--nothing--"

He bent his head. Her face was turned up to him, and suddenly he
was thrilled by the warm sweet touch of her lips. He kissed her.
She did not strain away from him. He felt--in that darkness--the
wild fire in her face.

"Nothing can hurt you, nothing--nothing--" he cried almost
sobbingly in his happiness.

Suddenly there came a blast of the storm that rocked the cabin
like the butt of a battering-ram, and in that same moment there
came from just outside the window a shrieking cry such as Philip
had never heard in all his life before. And following the cry
there rose above the tumult of the storm the howling of Bram