She gained the door in safety.

It yielded to her touch.

She opened it, and was out alone in the black, gusty night.
Harriet Kingsland's brave heart quailed only for a moment; then she plunged resolutely forward into the gloom.

Slipping, stumbling, falling, rising again, the wind beating in her face, the branches catching like angry hands at her garments--still she hurried on.

It was a long, long, tortuous path, but it came to an end.