CHAPTER 5.
It must have been a little while after midnight when Bridget was awakened by more thunder and lightning and a confused tornado of sound.
She had been dreaming that Harris was throwing her from the gully cliffs on to the boulders in its bed--only it seemed to her bewildered senses that the boulders rose towards her instead of her descending to meet them.

Next she discovered that rain was pattering on the zinc roof, and that the violent concussions she felt beneath her must be due to the horns of goats knocking up against the boards of her bedroom.
Ah! she thought, the men had forgotten to pen the goats, and they were sheltering from the rain in the open space under the floor of the house.

There could be no more sleep for her that night, unless they were dislodged.
She waited through the din until there came a lull in the storm, then got up and put on her shoes and a waterproof coat over her nightdress.
It was not the first time by any means that, when sleeping alone, she had been obliged to rise and drive away stray animals that had been inadvertently allowed means of entrance.
She went out to the back veranda, which was connected by steps with the verandas of the other two wings.

The moon was full and shed occasional pale gleams through the scudding clouds.

The close heat had given place to a chill wind and the rain came down intermittently but in no volume--it could not make much difference to the parched earth.