III-IX

On an afternoon of mid-August Gordon was
sitting in the chamber of his dwelling that
had been formerly used as dining room.
The table was bare of the castor and the red cloth,
and held an inkpot, pens upright in a glass of shot,
and torn envelopes on an old blotter. An iron safe
stood against the wall at Gordon's back, and above it
hung a large calendar, advertising the Stenton
Realty and Trust Company.

A sudden gloom swept over the room, and Gordon
rose, proceeded to the door. A bank of purple
cloud swept above the west range, opened in the sky
like a gigantic, menacing fist; the greenery of the
valley was overcast, and a white flash of lightning,
accompanied by a shattering peal of thunder,
stabbed viciously at the earth. There was no rain.
An edge of serene light followed in the west a band
of saffron radiance that widened until the cloud had
vanished beyond the eastern peaks. The sultry heat
lay like a blanket over Greenstream.

He turned back into the room, but, as he moved,
he was aware of a figure at the porch door. It was

[[309]]

p308 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p309w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p310

v?