The storm which had been raging farther down the valley was at
last whirling up to the hill-tops, long delayed as if in gleeful
anticipation of catching her alone and unprotected. The little
electric saddle-lamp that she carried gave out a feeble glow, scarce
opening the way in the darkness more than ten feet ahead. Rough and
irksome was the road, most stubborn the wall of wind. The second
threat of the storm was more terrifying than the first; at any instant
it was likely to break forth in all its slashing fury--and she knew
not whither she went.
Even as she lost heart and was ready to turn wildly back in an effort
to reach Shaw's home before the deluge, the lightning flashes revealed
to her the presence of a dwelling just off the road not two hundred
feet ahead. She stumbled forward, crying like a frightened child.
There were no lights. The house looked dark, bleak, unfriendly.
Farther up the hillside still gleamed the little light that was meant
to keep Renwood's ghost from disturbing the slumbers of old man Grimes
and his wife. She could not reach that light, that much she knew.
Her feet were like hundredweights, her limbs almost devoid of power;
Grimes' hut appeared to be a couple of miles away. With a last,
breathless effort, she turned off the road and floundered through
weeds and brush until she came to what proved to be the rear of the
darkened house. Long, low, rangy it reached off into the shadows,
chilling in its loneliness. There was no time left for her to climb
the flight of steps and pound on the back door.
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