stranger to her. She forgot his presence in the car.

Into the thick of the storm the motor chugged. Grim and silent,
the man at the wheel, ungoggled and tense, sent the whirring thing
swiftly over the trackless village street and out upon the open
country road. The woman closed her eyes and waited.

You would know the month was March. He said: "It comes in like a
lion," but apparently the storm swallowed the words for she made
no response to them.

They crossed the valley and crept up the tree-covered hill, where
the force of the gale was broken. If she heard him say: "Fierce,
wasn't it?" she gave no sign, but sat hunched forward, peering ahead
through the snow at the blurred lights that seemed so far away and
yet were close at hand.

"Is that the inn?" she asked as he swerved from the road a few
moments later.

"Yes, Mrs. Wrandall. We're here."

"Is--is he in there?"

"Where you see that lighted window upstairs." He tooted the horn
vigorously as he drew up to the long, low porch. Two men dashed
out from the doorway and clumsily assisted her from the car.

"Go right in, Mrs. Wrandall," said Drake. "I join you in a jiffy."