The dusk deepened.

A sense of utter forlornness, utter weariness, came upon Avery.

The struggle was over, and she had emerged triumphant; but it did not seem to matter.

She could think only of those awful blows raining down upon the defenceless shoulders of the boy who had championed her.

And, leaning there in the drizzling wet, she covered her face with her hands and wept..