The lightning flashed again, and the thunder crashed above them like the clanging of brazen gates.  From the room behind them came the sound of a man’s laugh, but it was a laugh that chilled her to the soul.

Again there came the sound of the piano,—­a tremendous chord, then a slow-swelling volume of harmony, a muffled burst of music like the coming of a great procession still far away.

Avery sprang upright as one galvanized into action by an electric force.  “I cannot bear it!” she cried aloud, “I cannot bear it!”

She almost thrust Jeanie from her.  “Oh, go, child, go!  Tell him—­tell him—­” Her voice broke, went into a gasping utterance more painful than speech, finally dropped into hysterical sobbing.

Jeanie sprang into the dark room with a cry of, “Piers, oh, Piers!”—­and the music stopped, went out utterly as flame extinguished in water.

“What’s the matter?” said Piers.

His voice sounded oddly defiant, almost savage.  But Jeanie was too precipitate to notice it.

“Oh, please, will you go to Avery?” she begged breathlessly.  “I think she is frightened at the storm.”

Piers left the piano with a single, lithe movement that carried him to the window in a second.  He passed Jeanie and was out on the terrace almost in one bound.

He discerned Avery on the instant, as she discerned him.  A vivid flash of lightning lit them both, lit the whole scene, turned the night into sudden, glaring day.  Before the thunder crashed above them he had caught her to him.  They stood locked in the darkness while the great reverberations rolled over their heads, and as he held her he felt the wild beating of her heart against his own.

She had not resisted him, she did not resist him.  She even convulsively clung to him.  But her whole body was tense against his, tense and quivering like a stretched wire.

As the last of the thunder died, she raised her head and spoke.

“Piers, haven’t you tortured me enough?”

He did not speak in answer.  Only she heard his breath indrawn sharply as though he checked some headlong word or impulse.

She stifled a great sob that took her unawares, and even as she did so she felt his arms slacken.  He set her free.

“There is nothing to be afraid of,” he said.  “Better come indoors before the rain begins.”

They went within, Jeanie pressing close to Avery in tender solicitude.

They turned on the lights, but throughout the frightful storm that followed, Piers leaned against the window-frame sombrely watching.

Avery sat on a sofa with Jeanie, her throbbing head leaning against the cushions, her eyes closed.

Nearly half an hour passed thus, then the storm rolled sullenly away; and at last Piers turned.

As though his look pierced her, Avery’s eyes opened.  She looked back at him, white as death, waiting for him to speak.