The clouds were breaking, the birds were singing.

The day of creation could not have seen the glen more lucent and fragrant.

When, soon, they came to its lower reaches, with White Farm before them, they saw overhead a rainbow.
* * * * * The day of the storm and the cave was over, but with no outward word their inner selves had covenanted to meet again.

They met in the leafy glen.

It was easy for her to find an errand to Mother Binning's, or, even, in the long summer afternoons, to wander forth from White Farm unquestioned.