could be certain that she really saw it. At last it came nearer, moving along past the door that David had used, slipped over the tumbled wall, even showed double for a second in the shattered old mirror. She was trying to speak, to cry out, but she could not find her voice, could only stare, fascinated, quaking inwardly with the thought that the light, after all, might be something unearthly. But as it progressed farther toward the end of the house where the fire had raged fiercest, the sense of danger brought her to her senses at last.
"Stop," she cried frantically. "It is not safe there. Stop, come back."
She had called a second too late. There was a sound of rending walls and tumbling bricks, a crash, a startled cry and then a groan. She rushed across the grass, could find no place to climb over and ran up and down wildly, seeking a point of vantage where she might scramble across. A new sound caught her attention, for flying feet were coming up the path.
"Oh, David, David is it you?" she cried, in an overwhelming rush of relief. "I can't climb up, I can't reach him."
"You are not to try it, it is not safe," David ordered sternly, setting his foot on the first big block of stone even as he spoke.
"I am going where you go," she replied and evi-
