For in the skirts of the wind had come the rain--the soft rain that heals the mown, the many-wounded grass--soothing it with the sweetness of all music, the hush that lives between music and silence.

It bedewed the desert places around the cottage, and the sands of Lilith's heart heard it, and drank it in.

When Mara returned to sit by her bed, her tears were flowing softer than the rain, and soon she was fast asleep..