We splashed on through the mud and water, she clinging lightly to my arm and I holding the perfectly useless umbrella over her head.

The rain was descending steadily and the sky overhead was just black, but along the western horizon, as I caught a glimpse of it between the trees, I fancied the blackness was a little less opaque.

The storm was passing over, sure enough.
But before it passed it gave us one goodby salute.

We had about reached the point on the Shore Lane where I first met her and Carver in the auto.

The shaky bridge over Mullet's cranberry brook was just ahead.
Then, without warning, the black night split wide open, a jagged streak of fire shot from heaven to earth and seemed to explode almost in our faces.