Against the wall was a pile of something, and on that pile was the searching first light of day that had fallen upon it for nearly half a century.

The pile was a man crumpled down; across it, her skeleton arms thrown about it protectingly, was a woman.

This time Aldous did not go forward.

MacDonald was alone, and Aldous took Joanne from the cabin, and held her while she swayed in his arms.

Donald came out a little later, and there was a curious look of exultation and triumph in his face.
"She killed herself," he said.