Then his thoughts made their way to Surprise. Was his punishment coming to an end? If he went back and asked forgiveness, would he be forgiven? Molly had told him yes. He had no right to hope for such a thing, yet Maud knew now he loved her. And in truth he loved her as he had not known how to love a woman a little while ago—loving her body, because it was her body; but counting it of small value beside the spirit. Hope was coming back to him to-night with the reviving influence of a cool wind searching the forehead of a castaway in a desert place.
The door by the verandah steps swung wide open. The storm swept inside the house in a greedy gust. The curtains at the windows were caught up in the air. The light leapt up the chimney of the lamp and went out. He was in the dark. He ran across and pushed the door to. It buffeted him on the shoulder. A glare of lightning lit up the house. He bolted the door, came back and lit the lamp, and wiped the rain off his face.
The endurance of this storm was remarkable. Commonly the rain was spent within an hour and a lull came. If this did not abate the river would be coming down. They were safe up here on the rise, but it was another matter with the hut on Pelican Pool. Every few years there came a flood which covered all that country. Surely Gregory could look after himself. He was a bushman even if he was a fool. What was he—Power—worrying about? He was depressed because he was damp and circulation went down at this time and the jumping light thrown by the lamp would give any man the blues.
Finally, while Power stood there at odds with himself, the storm ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
The hush following on the heels of the tumult brought him abruptly out of his thoughts. He left the room, pushed open the wire door, and stood upon the verandah steps. The sky was covered with clouds over all its face, causing the night to be pitch dark. The air was very cool. A light wind felt the way hither and thither among the nodding boughs of the saplings; and in all places were countless small voices of dripping waters.
A frog croaked from the direction of the river. A frog replied to it. There followed several croaks, then many croaks. Presently in tens, presently in scores, presently in hundreds were raised the voices of the frogs. The chorus rose up everywhere. A-rrr! A-rrr! Mo-rrr-e! Mo-rrr-e! More water! More water! More water! Then the thunder began again in the South, and the lightning leapt across the dark. The second storm rolled out of the horizon and broke upon the land.
Later on Power found the way to bed; but he slept badly and quite soon it seemed to be morning.
Kaloona household woke up to a cheerless day. In a lull between the storms light crept into the sky. Power from his window, Mrs. Elliott and Maggie from the kitchen, stared upon a strange country. Heaven was choked with frowning clouds looking down upon a broken land. Pools of water filled the depressions. The higher country was beaten and furrowed. Many boughs had been torn from the timber by the river. The saplings bent piteously before the morning wind. Moisture dripped from the leaves down and down until it reached the ground. In all places tiny streams trickled about the country. A thousand small voices of dropping waters murmured in open and hidden places. Louder than the voices of the waters rose the concert of the frogs.
"Meg," said Mrs. Elliott, coming into the damp kitchen first thing, "we'll be drowned yet, mark me, before this is done."