She could hear her mother's laugh, and then the voice of a man, a voice she knew but too well--that of Mr.Budge.
Her nerves were excited.

The night was close, and there were mutterings of thunder at times; the cloud whence they came seemed to her to spread its doleful blackness over this one roof.

An impulse seized her; she took paper and sat down at her desk to write.

It was a letter to Waymark, a letter such as she had never addressed to him, and which, even in writing it, she was conscious she could not send.

Her hand trembled as she filled the pages with burning words.