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And in the intervals, she
drifted.
The relief of tears didn't come to her until she saw, just ahead, the
island where, for two paradisiacal weeks, she and Rodney had made their
camp. Here she beached her canoe and went ashore; crept into a little
natural shelter under a jutting rock, where they had lain one day while,
for three hours, a violent unheralded storm had whipped the lake to
lather. The heap of hemlock branches he had cut for a couch for them was
still there.
At the end of half an hour, she observed with a sort of apathetic
satisfaction, that the weather conditions of their former visit were
going to be repeated now--a sudden darkness, a shriek of wind, a wild
squall flashing across the surface of the little lake, and a driving
rain so thick that small as the lake was, it veiled the shore of it.
She watched it for an hour before it occurred to her to wonder what
Rodney would be doing--whether he'd have discovered her absence from the
house and begun to worry about her.


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